Corona Sharona

Today on the way to Lebanon, I had the radio on, like usual, classic rock station.

The old song My Sharona starts to play.  I don't know if I spelled that right.

Instantly I started singing "My Corona' instead of the real lyrics.

The news is all about coronavirus and where it is and how many cases and deaths.

14 cases now in Oregon.  But we have like 4 million people in the state.

Or something like that I think.

I suppose the panic is over the death rate for older adults and those with health issues.  Leading to a long conspiracy theory ridden conversation with a colony caretaker I'd contacted when trying to find a 7th cat, to fill my reservations tomorrow.

She thinks China developed it to kill off the old people in China and that someone brought it here to do the same, to save on Social Security costs.  Ok, I said.  I didn't argue.  I've heard a zillion conspiracy theories lately.  They're interesting and funny (some of them).

So one of the people on my list for a cat they feed to be fixed tomorrow failed to trap the cat.

Six, not seven then, I had lined up.  Darn it.

I wanted an easy day.  I headed to Sweet Home and picked up three at the place where I picked up the tweenagers last week, who went through the kitten caboose at the FCCO then on to OHS for adoption.  By Saturday, four days later, they were both in new homes.  Nice.

But their moms need fixed and so does a boy.  All three were left there by an adult daughter.  So I got them.  Then I passed the Egg Place colony, going 55, back to Lebanon from Sweet Home. Got to thinking, there's another big boy there, in fact the last cat needing fixed.  Why not try to get him.  So I turned around and went back.  Lucky me.  There he was, sleeping in a bed in the shed.  I tossed some wet cat food his way, just so he wouldn't spook far when I set up the drop trap.  Had to keep him interested.  he ate that, then went out and spray marked the back of my car.

I set up the drop trap and caught him fast.  He's massive.  I'll call him Tron for the records.

I had two emergency female pickups in Lebanon.  Strays, both, needed fixed before they got pregnant and had kittens under a porch.  Got both of those.  I was up to six cats then.  I figured I had the seven now, because the 7th cat was to be the last cat needing fixed from an Albany house.

This was set up two weeks back.  I'd texted and messaged reminders.  I went over, at appointed time, nobody home. Nobody answered phone either.  Shoot.

I went back to Lebanon looking for another cat then, at the Lebanon colony.  I got most of them fixed last fall there, except for one older male who isn't always there.  But he wasn't there again.  They are cleaning up their yard of junk.  I commented it looked nicer and they said the cops were making them do it.  Good, I thought.   She just had a mammogram and is nearly 80 and it showed a small lump that turned out to be cancer on biopsy.  They assured her its caught early but she's worried I could tell.  The C word is scary, at any age at any time.

I saw Gunny, that gray male who was in my garage awhile, waiting on a dental before he went back home.  He's fat now. 

I tried calling others when Lion the orange boy never showed.  Finally one lady who had called me when my car was broken called back and yeah, she had two, both born in a chicken coop and destined to kill mice and rats around their place once old enough and fixed.  She'd tried to find somewhere to get it done but got quoted hundreds of dollars at private vets and was astonished at the price asked for a spay or a neuter.  Anyhow, the girl will be done tomorrow.

 I have my quota of cats.