When I pull animals from shelters, I like to pick the sick ones. I know that they have more of a chance with me, than they do in the shelter. I can give them things like better vet care, more nutritious food, and one on one love which I think is important. I have things like a nebulizer for kitties with a bad URI, a baby scale to determine weight gain/loss, and an arsenal of meds for everything. I also do silly things like make up words to songs and sing it to them, words about how they're going to get better and a family is going to see them and want to take them home.
When I lose one, my world crumbles. I do rescue with my whole heart, and a death rips my insides out and stomps on them. I feel like a failure, despite illnesses that are often far beyond my control or capacity to fix. I always hold an animal through their death, and I try so hard not to cry. I want them to only feel love, not me cursing the Universe for taking a life so innocent and undeserving. I tell them it's okay, that they're going somewhere beautiful and to not be afraid. The end is usually violent, messy, and causes me to sob uncontrollably. I cry to the point that it's hard to inhale again. I curse God for giving me a heart so big that I got into rescue in the first place. I cry, and I cry, and I plead for a way to make that hurt stop.
Given that I live in a major city, there is nowhere to bury an animal at my house. Everything here is concrete, and the few public parks certainly won't appreciate a rescue burying lost animals there. The hardest part about losing an animal is having to throw them away. This is the part that actually makes me feel like I am a horrid person, on top of feeling like a failure. I have tried so hard to find a way to make it better. I wrap them in one of my good towels, place them in a shoebox, and then in a shopping bag - but not a crappy bag from Safeway, they always get a good bag because they at least deserve to not have insects get at them, despite that being the circle of life. I don't want that for them. I have to check the shoebox over and over again. I'm not a vet, and I know they've passed, but you hear weird stories about animals not really being dead.
Then they go in the trash. And doing so causes me more misery than I have been able to admit to. I sob all over again. It doesn't seem fair for them to go that way.
I know this probably makes me sound like I've gone bonkers, but it's because I truly care about every animal that I take in. They are lives that depend solely on me and what I am capable of doing for them. It's a lot of pressure, and when I fail one of them, which is how I see it, I break down for a while. It takes a lot to keep getting back up.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
When I grow up...
I want to open a bar and name it Feral, because I think it should give folks an idea of what kind of crowd I'd have in there. Nobody would be purposely mean, but I bet there would be that one guy who kind of picks on people just to start fights when he's had too much to drink.
It would be a success simply because all single word establishments are successful, or so TV wants me to think. The barmaids, named Kat or Tabby, would wear whiskers and file their nails into a point so they could scratch people who tipped poorly. We would only play music by the Pussycat Dolls. Wait, I mean we would NEVER play music by the Pussycat Dolls. Instead, we'd have on music by great cats like Ray Charles, Mike Ness, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, and Johnny Cash. I'd make bar stools from cat perches. Parties of 5 or more would be referred to as colonies. With the exception of Ravens and Orioles games, no TV would be allowed, just a running loop of cats available for adoption, those who need help, and those who have been adopted. Anyone who adopts gets on the VIP list.
This is probably a good indication that I'm becoming the cat lady and need to get the hell out of the house for a while. Or, it's brilliant and someone is going to steal my idea. Fuckers.
It would be a success simply because all single word establishments are successful, or so TV wants me to think. The barmaids, named Kat or Tabby, would wear whiskers and file their nails into a point so they could scratch people who tipped poorly. We would only play music by the Pussycat Dolls. Wait, I mean we would NEVER play music by the Pussycat Dolls. Instead, we'd have on music by great cats like Ray Charles, Mike Ness, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, and Johnny Cash. I'd make bar stools from cat perches. Parties of 5 or more would be referred to as colonies. With the exception of Ravens and Orioles games, no TV would be allowed, just a running loop of cats available for adoption, those who need help, and those who have been adopted. Anyone who adopts gets on the VIP list.
This is probably a good indication that I'm becoming the cat lady and need to get the hell out of the house for a while. Or, it's brilliant and someone is going to steal my idea. Fuckers.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Why I Hate July.
I run a large cat rescue in Baltimore City, and July is the month I hate the most. It's the peak of what's known as Kitten Season (aka: I'd Rather Poke My Eyes Out With a Stick Than Read Another Email From Someone Who Wants to Give Up a Cat Season.) I usually average 10 or so emails a week, asking me to help an orphaned kitten, a stray cat, or a random mama/babies living on the street. During kitten season, that number increases significantly. I hate this time of year because I know the number of animals I can't help increases, and since I do rescue with my whole heart, I worry about what happens to those I have to turn away.
What people don't realize is that my worry, my heartache, my bank account, my stress level, my insomnia, my sanity....all of that could be improved if they'd just get their animal one simple surgery. Excuses such as "it's too expensive" fall on deaf ears, because there are clinics everywhere. Not to mention that the person giving the excuse usually has a cigarette in one hand, and beer in the other. Stop drinking for a week and be responsible so I can have a break, asshole. Then there are the women who try to pass off the threat of toxoplasmosis during pregnancy as a reason to give up their cats. When I tell them that the chances of them contracting the disease is hundreds of times more likely to happen from raw chicken or beef, than it is their cat, I usually get a scathing reply about how insensitive I am to their needs. Really? I can only hope that your kids pick up some sense of responsibility during their lifetime that you obviously won't provide.
I think my favorite people this time of year are the halfwits who lie on their applications for animals, as if I'm too stupid to figure out that a 19-year old doesn't own their own home with an occupation of "ticket taker at AMC movies." That salary can't make a Vespa payment, let alone a home mortgage. It's not my first day at the rodeo, jackass, and you certainly aren't getting one of my kittens.
July brings the massive amounts of requests for help, because those kittens born in January are now having their own litters, in addition to their mom having her 2nd litter of the year. July is when the horror stories come:
"My neighbor is out in his lawn throwing kittens over the fence like Frisbees, can you help? (But don't tell him I called you, because I don't want to have to deal with his retaliation.)"
"Did you call the police?"
"No, I just want you to come get the kittens."
"Where are the kittens?"
"I don't know, you'll have to go walking around and look for them. Be careful of this guy though, he's a crackhead with a ton of cats that aren't fixed."
"But if he has a bunch of cats out there breeding, and he's throwing the kittens away, you'll need me to come every four months."
"Yeah, probably....is that ok?"
No, it's not okay. Rescues are not shelters. We don't get funding from the government, we don't have people dying and willing us thousands of dollars. We do this out of our own paychecks, with sporadic donations from good people, and the occasional fundraiser that gives us ulcers putting together and praying people show up. If I help you, I want you to do everything in your power to make sure I won't have to help you again. Spay your cat, turn in your psycho neighbor, hold a bake sale to TNR the colony you've been feeding. I am ONE PERSON, and while I am making a huge difference, I still have the same amount of hours in my day as you.
What people don't realize is that my worry, my heartache, my bank account, my stress level, my insomnia, my sanity....all of that could be improved if they'd just get their animal one simple surgery. Excuses such as "it's too expensive" fall on deaf ears, because there are clinics everywhere. Not to mention that the person giving the excuse usually has a cigarette in one hand, and beer in the other. Stop drinking for a week and be responsible so I can have a break, asshole. Then there are the women who try to pass off the threat of toxoplasmosis during pregnancy as a reason to give up their cats. When I tell them that the chances of them contracting the disease is hundreds of times more likely to happen from raw chicken or beef, than it is their cat, I usually get a scathing reply about how insensitive I am to their needs. Really? I can only hope that your kids pick up some sense of responsibility during their lifetime that you obviously won't provide.
I think my favorite people this time of year are the halfwits who lie on their applications for animals, as if I'm too stupid to figure out that a 19-year old doesn't own their own home with an occupation of "ticket taker at AMC movies." That salary can't make a Vespa payment, let alone a home mortgage. It's not my first day at the rodeo, jackass, and you certainly aren't getting one of my kittens.
July brings the massive amounts of requests for help, because those kittens born in January are now having their own litters, in addition to their mom having her 2nd litter of the year. July is when the horror stories come:
"My neighbor is out in his lawn throwing kittens over the fence like Frisbees, can you help? (But don't tell him I called you, because I don't want to have to deal with his retaliation.)"
"Did you call the police?"
"No, I just want you to come get the kittens."
"Where are the kittens?"
"I don't know, you'll have to go walking around and look for them. Be careful of this guy though, he's a crackhead with a ton of cats that aren't fixed."
"But if he has a bunch of cats out there breeding, and he's throwing the kittens away, you'll need me to come every four months."
"Yeah, probably....is that ok?"
No, it's not okay. Rescues are not shelters. We don't get funding from the government, we don't have people dying and willing us thousands of dollars. We do this out of our own paychecks, with sporadic donations from good people, and the occasional fundraiser that gives us ulcers putting together and praying people show up. If I help you, I want you to do everything in your power to make sure I won't have to help you again. Spay your cat, turn in your psycho neighbor, hold a bake sale to TNR the colony you've been feeding. I am ONE PERSON, and while I am making a huge difference, I still have the same amount of hours in my day as you.
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