In the four weeks since I procured and commenced my recorder playing career I have mastered a few tunes, including but not exclusively:
Hot Cross Buns
Mary Had a Little Lamb
When The Saints Come Marching In
Snail
Now that my Tenor Recorder has arrived I’m working on Amazing Grace, and the cats have stopped leaving the room in disgust when I start practice.
I’m having a crisis of faith in the human race.
Mahatma Gandhi once said ‘The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated’.
If this is the case we, as a country are on a path to ruin and despair.
I was speaking with L. today, she works in small animal rescue. She told me that recently a baby guinea pig came into her care after the box it was in (with the rest of it's litter mates) was fished out of the river. It was the only one to survive.
My friend N, recently came into procession of a six week old kitten after it was found in a dumpster, cuddled up to his dead sister.
Dogs being surrendered to the pound and being kicked and beaten between the car and the office. This I have seen with my own eyes.
I was told of a Maltese that came to the pound so matted it had barbed wire stuck in its coat. The dog had to be shaved and several infected wounds were treated.
What kind of animal would do that to another? The Human Animal, that's who.
***
Anne Sewell (1820 - 1878), author of the novel Black Beauty said,
‘We call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they have no words.’
I believe this to be true; they simple are unable to tell us. They don’t have a voice that we understand, it doesn’t mean that they don’t have a voice. I’m convinced they know when a kind human crosses their path and helps them. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. After months and years of abuse, animals will present themselves to be helped. Dogs will let you dress wounds, even though they are clearly in pain. I have had cats that fight when you give them a worming tablet, but when injured will let you administer antibiotics and cleanse wounds.
I’ve been called a mad cat lady for helping out. I've had friends turn their backs to me and fall from contact because of my desire to help out.
I know others that have been told they’re wasting their time fighting for new laws about puppy farming.
I’ve had conversations with animal rescuers that have had friends turn their backs on them because of their obsession with helping animals.
I’ve been told, ‘it’s just a dog’. It's not just a dog, she's a member of the family, my pack.
***
Anyone who tries to improve the lives of animals invariably comes in for criticism from those who believe such efforts are misplaced in a world of suffering humanity.
Jane Goodall (1934 - )
Why are humans so dismissive of the suffering of animals? Is it because it’s so easy to avoid the gaze of a distressed puppy?
I’ve seen this look, it’s devastating. They may not be able to speak the words, ‘I’m hurting’ but their eyes speak volumes.
I’ve come to the realisation that I do not need people in my life that think I’m a fruitcake for caring about animals more than I care for humans.
Humans, for the most part can fend for themselves, animals can’t. They need a kind and loving hand to feed them, house them and provide a safe environment that keeps them from harm, but they also need family.
Dogs are pack animals, and humans form that pack if there are no other dogs around. If they are beaten, they will still be loyal but not because they don’t care about being beaten, not because they don’t feel the pain and betrayal of it, it’s because the crave the pack life. Be a kind pack leader or don’t bring a dog into your life. Certainly don’t use them as money machines just because they can’t tell you they’re in pain and would love to see the sunshine.
Alas I fear that the human condition is that we treat the voiceless with contempt and not just animals. I will continue to be that mad animal lady, whether it be cats, dogs, chooks, or whatever comes my way. If it needs caring for I will do my best and it will break my heart to let them go when it’s time.
I will continue to talk to my animals regardless of the looks and comments I receive from strangers and friends alike. I may not understand their reply in words, but I know they understand me and that I only wish them well.
As for all my friends that continue the pursuit of rights for animals in the belief that all animals deserve to be treated with respect. You go for it. I’m behind you all the way and will help in any way I can.
I’m going to go home tonight, i'll hug the cats, once again ask Oren why she keeps chasing Jack but get no reply except the look that says, I just don't like his face', feed the chooks and give them their favourite food, cracked corn and all weekend I shall continue to pursue my hunt for Cara. If I have no other human contact I won’t feel like I’ve missed out, because frankly the more I deal with some humans, the more I like animals. They have no hidden agenda.
'Never a good deed goes unpunished'
In 1980, Clare Booth Luce, wrote those words in the book 'The Book of Laws'. What do you think caused her to have such a pessimistic outlook on life? She was voted into Congress in the 40s, a pretty good achievement in those times. She was the editor of Vogue and Vanity Fair in the 30s. She was 84 when she passed away in 1987.
A pharmacist quoted her at me today. After she'd sold me anti fungal cream to apply to the ringworm that has sprouted on my left side.
A few weeks I fostered some cats. They would have surely died if I hadn't have done this. The only problem is they brought fungal disease into the house. I've been treating them with shampoo washes, iodine cream and regular hoovering (those that know me will know this is the hardest of the treatments). It takes time to get rid of it and it has a two week incubation period.
This is it for me. I'm done, all tapped out. Once this intake is gone I'm never helping again unless it's throwing money at a problem.
I may have written about this before, if so and you can remember it, sorry. For everyone else, something new :-)
I'm a sucker. I try to do my bit by being a good person and helping those in need. Whether it be buying the homeless lunch, or looking after animals in need.
My latest helping hand has been extended to four cats. Three kittens and a mum. They are lovely and energetic, but last week they were all diagnosed with cat flu and one of them had ringworm. I was sent away with antibiotics for the flu, twice daily treatments and cream for the ring worm. I have been dutifully administering the treatments.
Today, I took one of the kittens to a vet clinic for rehoming. They couldn't take him because he has now too has ringworm. I was told by the vet the all the cats have to shampooed to kill the ringworm. Not just once either, but three times, a week apart. The cream I was given is of no use and I've been wasting my time. In the mean time she has more than likely infected the other cats and me too.
Giles and Willow, cute but infested
Once again I get royally f**ked for trying to help out. The two affected kittens have to be segregated for the others and treated, the others have to shampooed, 'just in case'.
I've ben told by people (you know who you are) not to help. Why won't I learn? Do I call the rescue organisation and tell them to collect the foster cats, so I then only have to deal with my animals. Look after my own family first and myself? I'm torn into the good vs bad person cycle again.
I had a good day yesterday, I was feeling upbeat, despite my calve muscle still hurting from last weekends activities, I felt like doing things. After today news I feel like taking to my bed again.
But before I do that I have to wrestle at least five cats and dress the ensuing lacerations on my arms and body.
I always been a cat lover. Well, not a cat Lover, but a lover of cats...let me start again.
I have always had cats in my life and I adore having them in it. That’s better. I grew up with cats (Jodie and Sorrell, then came Percy), for a few years when I was married I couldn’t have cats, hubby was allergic, but I eventually got them back into my life (Puss and Newk, then later Oren). I enjoy have cats around as they bring me great joy. Of course there have been moments of heartbreak when the dear ones have passed away.
Recently, due to my involvement with animal cruelty awareness (www.oscarslaw.org) and various other rescue groups I have found myself with more cats in my house than planned. After Millie Dogdog came and went from my life in a whirlwind of destruction, I realised that I couldn’t have any dog larger than Cara. I am just not set up for it and despite living a reasonably solitary life, I still have to go to work, so cats it is.
First I adopted a couple of pussy cats that had been in foster care for nearly a year. Jack and Danni. Now I’ve fostered a few myself. I currently have nine cats in my house, four of them kittens between six and nine weeks old.
All the fosters are on behalf of Sydney Pet Rescue and Adoption and are from Renbury Farm Shelter. There is an eighteen month old mum and nine week old kitten. They were surrendered by their owners because, ‘she had a kitten.’ My response was, well, that wouldn’t have happened if you’d been responsible and got her desexed. Mum is called Polly (stoopid name for a cat) and bub is Charley (pictured). Both mainly black with white bibs and socks.
The kittens were dumped by the gate of the shelter in a box. A silver tabby and a tabby are brother and sister are six or seven weeks old. The tabby is less active than the silver, but still mischievous, and the longer I have him, the more he develops. The silver, she’s a little minx. By day they are in large runs, but at night all hell breaks loose...bedlam, but they have a cute factor off any scale that has been devised, so they could pretty much burn down the house and they’d be forgiven.
They tumble, jump, climb, do the sideways fuzzed up crab at anything strange things and at each other, they try to nick Cara’s dinner, they do nick Puss’ dinner, they accept the hisses of the grown up cats un-phased and they make me laugh.
Because they are rarely still it’s not easy getting photos, but I’m working on it in between cleaning up an extraordinary amount of poo. Seriously, for such small creatures they create an awful lot of waste matter. It’s really quite remarkable. If I was a science type person, I’d bet there was some sort of study that could be done on the ratios of waste to body mass.
In the meantime, I shall keep playing and cleaning up after them until they find their furever home (that’s the new cute animalcentric term), and laughing heartily and sharing their antics :-)
I’m not a mother in the classical sense of the word. I have not have life burst forth for my loins and I hope that I never do. Mainly because it would likely kill me, but more so because I not really a big fan of the little ones that run around on two feet screaming. I can take them in small doses, but I really like giving them back to the parents.
I do however love the four legged variety of small creatures. Cats, dogs, birds, lizards, pretty much everything except for earwigs, they just give me the wiggings.
I have two cats of my own. Puss and O-Ren. I love them to bits and if anything happens to them I get extremely upset, I fret and I want to do bodily harm to the perpetrator of any wrong doing to them. Going by what friends have said about how they feel about their kids, I would say then that Puss and O-Ren are my children because I feel the same.
This said why is it I don’t get the same consideration from work that the ‘real’ mothers get? I digress, back to my point.
Last night I planned an early night. I didn’t feel like starting the week tired and washed out. I was already feeling a bit rough because of the rainy humid weather, so it was early to bed for me. At nine thirty I whistled at the back door to get the cats in.
Puss appeared not to have left the veranda all night and looked up at me from the deck chair by the back door.
Max (the neighbour’s cat who wants to move in, but due to his spraying can’t) came for his dinner of biscuits and brushing before disappearing back over the fence for the night.
O-Ren was nowhere to be seen.
I went back inside to watch House (season five, very good :-)
At ten forty I went out again and whistled. Puss looked up at me from the deck chair. No sign, so I went in and had a shower.
My early night was slipping away from me.
After my shower I dried and dressed and whistled again. Puss looked up at me from the deck chair, I asked him ‘Could you go and look for her please?’ He stretched then curled back into a ball. Max had reappeared at the sound I was making and smooched my legs in the vain hope of getting a little more food.
I went back inside and watched the end of ‘Swordfish’ while I waited. It finished at midnight. So much for my early night.
I went outside again and whistled again, there was silence. I went to the front of the house and whistled. Nothing, deathly silence, not even the roar of a nearby V8.
I decided to wait, in bed. I’d read I told myself. I lay in bed trying to read Lolita, but a read of Humbert Humbert’s adolescent crush over and over and over again. My mind kept flicking to the image of O-Ren after her last night out, twenty seven stitches, drains and a course of antibiotics, not to mention the $500 bill.
At 1245 I got up and put on my dressing and slippers. I grabbed the torch and wandered to the back fence. I whistled then listened. No faint mewing sounds. Was that good? Was that bad?
I walked to the side fence and whistled, then listened. No mewing or jingle of bell. There was no sound from the other side of the garden either.
I was starting to panic.
What if she was lying somewhere in the rain, unable to get home, badly mutilated but able to hear me calling her.
What if she fallen from a tree and impaled herself?
The darkest thoughts ran through my head as I stood in the middle of my garden at twenty passed one in the morning wishing my cat would come home.
I heard a faint jingle, then a white streak flew over the back fence and landed a few feet away from me before coming to a sudden stop.
She sat down and let out a small mew as she looked at me through her big green eyes, before lifting a paw and slowly, but deliberately wiped her ear. Then she stood and walked across the garden and through the back door.
Does my rage, but overwhelming relief sound familiar?
Someone said something to me on Friday that made me really look at the way I live. I was told that I was in an abusive relationship, but I think she was joking.
I have some marks on the back of my right hand and when called on it by a lady at work I made excuses, I told her it was my fault. I was hugging him too hard; I moved too quick, it was an accident. This is not the first time I’ve made excuses. I do it regularly.
Over the weekend I realized I jump when he says jump, I serve him dinner as soon as he sits in the correct position, I open and close doors and groom on demand. I even move over in the bed so I don't disturb him when he's sleeping.
Is it really possible to be in an abusive relationship with a cat?
I was lying in bed this morning asleep, or at least I think I was, or at the very least in the half state between sleep and awake waiting for the drilling next door to start when I heard a rat-a-tat-tat knock on my front door. I looked at the clock, 0705.
I got out of bed, opened the door a crack and hid everything but my head behind it (naked from the waist down you see). Standing on my step was the lady from next door but one. Bobbie I think her name is. She moved out yesterday.
‘Have you seen my cat?’
Well…I won’t write what went through my head at the point, but what I said was, ‘I’ve only seen my own.’
A little further investigation revealed, after all she wouldn’t leave and she kept talking about her white half Persian with blue eyes called Rocky, that her was two years old, not de-sexed, unmicro-chipped and had no collar. Also, she revealed that when she was loading up the car with all her stuff she let him out because the friends that came to help brought their dog with them.
D’oh!
I didn’t have the heart to tell her she would probably never see him again.
If I don’t get a full night sleep soon, I’m going to go mad. He wakes me by pawing my face, my shoulder and by biting my toes should they dare peek out from under the covers.You may have seen some of this pictures before, or ones similar. These are OK, but some of the other are just Wrong.
With a capital W!
The other, 'just Wrong ones' can be found here.
So, I’ve been absent for a few days. Well that’s due to Chicken soup being the opposite of a cure all and the thing that finally made me projectile vomit all over the bathroom on Tuesday afternoon, twice. I’ve been curled up in bed feeling extremely sorry for myself with tummy ache, the shakes, the shivers and aching bones. I spent all but three hours of yesterday asleep and still managed to sleep through the night. I’m feeling much better today and Puss and Newk have been keeping me company.
And they are sooo cute....
Newk in Fushia
A long time ago, in a land far from here a little man, or woman came up with the concept of furniture that you put together yourself with the assistance of some dowels, screws and glue…ohh, and a hammer.
My friend Edna, required some of this furniture last weekend and we took a drive out to the rather large store, wandered round, picked up some other bits (not quite so necessary items), a bookshelf (she’s literary), a bedside table disguised as a five drawer filing unit, and a rather funky little lamp table for the lounge.
I should also mention that that have a little Swedish food shop and they have Dime Bars in various forms. I got the Bar form, the mini bar form, but Edna drew the line at the Dime Nuggets. Spoil sport! ;-)
