naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Helpless)
Christ. Tomorrow, on the first of September, it's been a year since Joey.

I still think about the little guy sometimes, especially when I'm holding Tazendra, my favorite. Sometimes, when it's dark and I can't see her, only feel the weight of her warm and purring on the bed beside me, I think of Joey. I only got to hold him that one time. I was so proud of him for having made it overnight. I had hope that he'd live. But he was just too sick and too frail.

A part of me will always be afraid that I didn't get him to the vet's fast enough. I'm afraid that if I'd taken him home that day and sat with him, kept him warm, hand-fed him, then he would be alive now. I'm afraid I took him to the wrong vet. I know that I'm always going to be afraid I could have done more. That's what it is to love – knowing you have never given enough.

I think of what Joey would be like now, at a year old: a big black and white tom with a black handlebar moustache. That's what should have been. But I don't even have a picture to remember him by.

I gave him a name. I held him. I loved him for the short time I had him, and I love him still. It's so very little. So very much less than he should have gotten.

Ah. Fuck. I'm crying.

I haven't walked past that bitch's house in several weeks, but last time I did, there were still cats hanging around, and more inside the houses. She hasn't stopped what she's doing, the disgusting, morally-bankrupt pile of shit.

I feel like I've lost the fight. Nobody will do anything to make her stop. Bringing her to task for this was the only thing I thought would make it right, make it okay, make sense of all of it, and it is the thing I can't make happen. I feel impotent and helpless.

There is, I confess, an almost uncontrollable urge to leave that disgusting cow a letter in her mailbox. I'm never going to get what I want out of her, though. Her neglect allowed an animal to die, and she considered herself the wronged party. Sadly, vengeance is illegal, and filth like her . . . they never feel sorry for the evil they do, even when their noses are rubbed in it. I firmly believe that she is not capable of feeling remorse.

So I won't leave her a letter telling her how I wish for her slow death, blind and cold, without even the pitiful succor I gave to Joey. I won't say that I wish her name to be forgotten. I won't say that I wish that nobody will cry over her. I won't say that I wish her to die utterly alone, in a strange and terrifying place full of pain. I won't say I wish her to spend her last hour with nobody to hold her, nobody to tell her that she is brave, and beautiful, and loved.

But I wonder if I could get away with a shorter note, just two words:

I remember.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Helpless)
Christ. Tomorrow, on the first of September, it's been a year since Joey.

I still think about the little guy sometimes, especially when I'm holding Tazendra, my favorite. Sometimes, when it's dark and I can't see her, only feel the weight of her warm and purring on the bed beside me, I think of Joey. I only got to hold him that one time. I was so proud of him for having made it overnight. I had hope that he'd live. But he was just too sick and too frail.

A part of me will always be afraid that I didn't get him to the vet's fast enough. I'm afraid that if I'd taken him home that day and sat with him, kept him warm, hand-fed him, then he would be alive now. I'm afraid I took him to the wrong vet. I know that I'm always going to be afraid I could have done more. That's what it is to love – knowing you have never given enough.

I think of what Joey would be like now, at a year old: a big black and white tom with a black handlebar moustache. That's what should have been. But I don't even have a picture to remember him by.

I gave him a name. I held him. I loved him for the short time I had him, and I love him still. It's so very little. So very much less than he should have gotten.

Ah. Fuck. I'm crying.

I haven't walked past that bitch's house in several weeks, but last time I did, there were still cats hanging around, and more inside the houses. She hasn't stopped what she's doing, the disgusting, morally-bankrupt pile of shit.

I feel like I've lost the fight. Nobody will do anything to make her stop. Bringing her to task for this was the only thing I thought would make it right, make it okay, make sense of all of it, and it is the thing I can't make happen. I feel impotent and helpless.

There is, I confess, an almost uncontrollable urge to leave that disgusting cow a letter in her mailbox. I'm never going to get what I want out of her, though. Her neglect allowed an animal to die, and she considered herself the wronged party. Sadly, vengeance is illegal, and filth like her . . . they never feel sorry for the evil they do, even when their noses are rubbed in it. I firmly believe that she is not capable of feeling remorse.

So I won't leave her a letter telling her how I wish for her slow death, blind and cold, without even the pitiful succor I gave to Joey. I won't say that I wish her name to be forgotten. I won't say that I wish that nobody will cry over her. I won't say that I wish her to die utterly alone, in a strange and terrifying place full of pain. I won't say I wish her to spend her last hour with nobody to hold her, nobody to tell her that she is brave, and beautiful, and loved.

But I wonder if I could get away with a shorter note, just two words:

I remember.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (You Fool!)
Well, hey! I went for a walk yesterday just to see what was going down, and lo and behold, there was a pink slip on the crazy cat lady's door! A different sort of pink slip than the one that the city shelter leaves.

So I called the SPCA myself to make sure they had my contact information, and I updated the investigating officer on everything that's happened since October and my initial email. And golly, hey, while I was on the phone I just happened to let the investigating officer have that horse-boning skank's actual home address, which I didn't have at the time. It'd be good for them to have that, I thought.

The SPCA officer is going to do what she can; she can't fine the bitch for cats she can't see, and privacy laws (quite justly) dictate that she can't just barge into the house and search it, so we're at an impasse somewhere in the gray area where "good for humans and civil rights in general" clashes just a little with "good for animals and putting this particular wiffletwat away."

The good thing is that there's still a lot that can be done, and the SPCA is going to try to do it. Reach a happy solution and all that. And at the very least, there's now a file on this rancid sow. SPCA-lady indicated she'd be in touch with the city shelter and Animal Control to get access to all their records.

And there's always the psychological pressure of knowing she's being watched. Paranoid scab-pickers like this twisted bitch really hate the feeling of being under surveillance.

Ms. Cuntinella McTwatsalot may be a worthless cat-killing pile of beetle barf, but I'm telling you right now, I'm not having this sort of fuckery in my neighborhood.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (You Fool!)
Well, hey! I went for a walk yesterday just to see what was going down, and lo and behold, there was a pink slip on the crazy cat lady's door! A different sort of pink slip than the one that the city shelter leaves.

So I called the SPCA myself to make sure they had my contact information, and I updated the investigating officer on everything that's happened since October and my initial email. And golly, hey, while I was on the phone I just happened to let the investigating officer have that horse-boning skank's actual home address, which I didn't have at the time. It'd be good for them to have that, I thought.

The SPCA officer is going to do what she can; she can't fine the bitch for cats she can't see, and privacy laws (quite justly) dictate that she can't just barge into the house and search it, so we're at an impasse somewhere in the gray area where "good for humans and civil rights in general" clashes just a little with "good for animals and putting this particular wiffletwat away."

The good thing is that there's still a lot that can be done, and the SPCA is going to try to do it. Reach a happy solution and all that. And at the very least, there's now a file on this rancid sow. SPCA-lady indicated she'd be in touch with the city shelter and Animal Control to get access to all their records.

And there's always the psychological pressure of knowing she's being watched. Paranoid scab-pickers like this twisted bitch really hate the feeling of being under surveillance.

Ms. Cuntinella McTwatsalot may be a worthless cat-killing pile of beetle barf, but I'm telling you right now, I'm not having this sort of fuckery in my neighborhood.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Helpless)
Wow. Okay. That's . . . unexpected.

Y'all remember back in September when I was dealing with the crazy cat lady and her complete insanity, yes?

I've been keeping an eye on her. On one of my walks about two months ago I found her car in a different neighborhood, not far from the cat house, so I know where her "real" base of operations is. I've been watching the cat property, and the one time I caught her putting food out again I called Animal Control and gave them her real address. It stopped real quick after that. I guess knowing that Animal Control had somehow obtained her real address spooked her.

Stalkerish? No. Just dumb luck, and an inability to forget the creaking cries of a dying kitten as I held him in my hands.

At the time, when Animal Control weren't acting fast enough to suit me, I contacted a local news station through their community action line and asked if they would please look into it. I forgot about it completely until . . . well, until Channel 2 called me today.

I explained the whole thing over again, completely appalled the woman on the other end of the phone, and got a follow up call less than a half hour later. They've spoken to the SPCA cruelty investigator, who is sending someone out to contact the woman.

It's doubtful that they can really do anything legal to her at this point; any cats she has, she is keeping indoors where they can't be seen (though they can be smelled, to me anyway). However, it's still possible that having the SPCA sniffing around her doorstep will put the fear into her, and it also means that there's a chance that the SPCA rep will get a load of how cricket-shit fucking crazy she is and perhaps weigh that against her in the future, should she relapse.

I'm not tremendously hopeful she'll wind up fined into a greasy spot, as she so richly deserves, but I'm fairly certain that by prolonging this and staying on her ass about it, I'm making her life uncomfortable. Paranoid types hate being watched. Hate it. I should know, since I've got a fair amount of latent crazy, myself.

Every once in a while I'll catch myself doing the mental math for Joey, that ill-fated little scrap of fur, checking to see how old he would be. About twenty weeks old by now. He'd have finished up his kitten shots by now. Twenty-week-old cats are almost real cats, just a little gangly and dopey, and generally annoying. I'd give an awful lot to see him at the clumsy, stupid worst.

I try very hard not to think about what I wanted for him, because the hope I had makes thinking of what happened unbearable. But I do still think about it, and then I have to desperately cuddle my own cats because it's the only thing that stops the pain.

I wish I had pictures of him, even though he looked terrible, even all cleaned up. Under all that nastiness, he had such a sweet, funny little face. Whenever I feel like forgetting about it, letting it go, I think of that poor face, blind and afraid. Whatever is done to punish that woman, it's not enough.

I truly wish I had a flaming sword, but I'm not an avenging angel. Just a stubborn, stubborn bitch.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Helpless)
Wow. Okay. That's . . . unexpected.

Y'all remember back in September when I was dealing with the crazy cat lady and her complete insanity, yes?

I've been keeping an eye on her. On one of my walks about two months ago I found her car in a different neighborhood, not far from the cat house, so I know where her "real" base of operations is. I've been watching the cat property, and the one time I caught her putting food out again I called Animal Control and gave them her real address. It stopped real quick after that. I guess knowing that Animal Control had somehow obtained her real address spooked her.

Stalkerish? No. Just dumb luck, and an inability to forget the creaking cries of a dying kitten as I held him in my hands.

At the time, when Animal Control weren't acting fast enough to suit me, I contacted a local news station through their community action line and asked if they would please look into it. I forgot about it completely until . . . well, until Channel 2 called me today.

I explained the whole thing over again, completely appalled the woman on the other end of the phone, and got a follow up call less than a half hour later. They've spoken to the SPCA cruelty investigator, who is sending someone out to contact the woman.

It's doubtful that they can really do anything legal to her at this point; any cats she has, she is keeping indoors where they can't be seen (though they can be smelled, to me anyway). However, it's still possible that having the SPCA sniffing around her doorstep will put the fear into her, and it also means that there's a chance that the SPCA rep will get a load of how cricket-shit fucking crazy she is and perhaps weigh that against her in the future, should she relapse.

I'm not tremendously hopeful she'll wind up fined into a greasy spot, as she so richly deserves, but I'm fairly certain that by prolonging this and staying on her ass about it, I'm making her life uncomfortable. Paranoid types hate being watched. Hate it. I should know, since I've got a fair amount of latent crazy, myself.

Every once in a while I'll catch myself doing the mental math for Joey, that ill-fated little scrap of fur, checking to see how old he would be. About twenty weeks old by now. He'd have finished up his kitten shots by now. Twenty-week-old cats are almost real cats, just a little gangly and dopey, and generally annoying. I'd give an awful lot to see him at the clumsy, stupid worst.

I try very hard not to think about what I wanted for him, because the hope I had makes thinking of what happened unbearable. But I do still think about it, and then I have to desperately cuddle my own cats because it's the only thing that stops the pain.

I wish I had pictures of him, even though he looked terrible, even all cleaned up. Under all that nastiness, he had such a sweet, funny little face. Whenever I feel like forgetting about it, letting it go, I think of that poor face, blind and afraid. Whatever is done to punish that woman, it's not enough.

I truly wish I had a flaming sword, but I'm not an avenging angel. Just a stubborn, stubborn bitch.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Horatio Chrissake)
Thank you for all your kind words yesterday. It actually helped more than I can say.

It's not that I feel like I'm responsible for the cats' suffering, it's that I feel bad that I can't do more, and in light of that, sending them to their deaths just seems so very bleak. I thank [livejournal.com profile] lizblackdog again for articulating what I couldn't: ". . . it's hard to live with when instead of the happy ending, you just get the absence of suffering." That's exactly it.

I know I did everything I knew to do, and I know that the animals would only suffer and breed more suffering if left to blindly reproduce, but part of me would rather believe that I screwed up than that I did everything I could and it still didn't work. I'd rather have misapplied my power than not have enough power to effect lasting change.

But the good news is that I'm not in that boat! Change has been made!

As of this morning, Crazy Cat Lady has removed the food dishes from her porch. I saw her do it. I like to think this is her complying with the freaking law, and not her trying to hide evidence by shifting the feeding site to her backyard. The people at Animal Control seem to think they've finally gotten the message through her thick skull, anyway. Apparently their boss is the one investigating it himself, so it's not like I didn't blow the whistle hard enough to get attention.

I'll be checking on it, needless to say, but I think this is a victory. Not the only one, perhaps, and lord knows I don't feel good about it, but I at least feel like the situation has improved, and might continue to do so without me cracking the whip every damn day. Not that I won't, if it's needed.

Now the bad news: Someone apparently dumped a puppy in the neighborhood. I'm not good with dogs, but she looked like a healthy, 12-week-old black lab/pit bull mix, cute as the devil's baby shoes. And FULL OF ENERGY. My God. She followed me for half a mile, cannonballing into my legs every four paces.

I spent a good part of this morning hunting around the neighborhood for her people, found nothing, and then had a neighbor tell me she saw the puppy in the middle of the nearest major intersection early this morning. Fucking tragic. Goddamn irresponsible cockbreath crotch sucking monkey-furred heathens.

None of the other neighbors could be coaxed into taking her even for a couple of hours, so I brought her home, fed her, watered her, and since I can't keep a puppy in the backyard (there's a huge hole in the fence for one), I shipped her off to the animal shelter where, if she has people, they will hopefully have the sense to look for her, and where, if she doesn't, she at least has a chance of finding some.

God dammit.

She's very healthy at least, even if she could stand to put on a pound or so, and the shelter staff thought her chances of being adopted were really, really good. Most of the animals they bring in are sickly or older or skittish, hard to adopt out. Healthy, young, well-socialized animals are comparatively rare.

Better than being street pizza or starving to death, but I still feel like I just sent her off to be murdered.

Dammit all to hell.

Now I understand why people don't get involved. They don't want to be the one to send an animal to be put down. And because nobody's willing to do it, the animals wander around, suffer, and never even have a chance of being adopted before they die horribly.

Well, fuck that noise.

As I have grown up I've come to realize that the deciding factor in being an adult (and in being a leader, for that matter) is not the ability to make a right decision, but the ability to make any decision at all. Especially when no "right" decision presents itself.

So I decide, and even if I fuck up, it's better than having done nothing at all.

Here endeth the lesson.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Horatio Chrissake)
Thank you for all your kind words yesterday. It actually helped more than I can say.

It's not that I feel like I'm responsible for the cats' suffering, it's that I feel bad that I can't do more, and in light of that, sending them to their deaths just seems so very bleak. I thank [livejournal.com profile] lizblackdog again for articulating what I couldn't: ". . . it's hard to live with when instead of the happy ending, you just get the absence of suffering." That's exactly it.

I know I did everything I knew to do, and I know that the animals would only suffer and breed more suffering if left to blindly reproduce, but part of me would rather believe that I screwed up than that I did everything I could and it still didn't work. I'd rather have misapplied my power than not have enough power to effect lasting change.

But the good news is that I'm not in that boat! Change has been made!

As of this morning, Crazy Cat Lady has removed the food dishes from her porch. I saw her do it. I like to think this is her complying with the freaking law, and not her trying to hide evidence by shifting the feeding site to her backyard. The people at Animal Control seem to think they've finally gotten the message through her thick skull, anyway. Apparently their boss is the one investigating it himself, so it's not like I didn't blow the whistle hard enough to get attention.

I'll be checking on it, needless to say, but I think this is a victory. Not the only one, perhaps, and lord knows I don't feel good about it, but I at least feel like the situation has improved, and might continue to do so without me cracking the whip every damn day. Not that I won't, if it's needed.

Now the bad news: Someone apparently dumped a puppy in the neighborhood. I'm not good with dogs, but she looked like a healthy, 12-week-old black lab/pit bull mix, cute as the devil's baby shoes. And FULL OF ENERGY. My God. She followed me for half a mile, cannonballing into my legs every four paces.

I spent a good part of this morning hunting around the neighborhood for her people, found nothing, and then had a neighbor tell me she saw the puppy in the middle of the nearest major intersection early this morning. Fucking tragic. Goddamn irresponsible cockbreath crotch sucking monkey-furred heathens.

None of the other neighbors could be coaxed into taking her even for a couple of hours, so I brought her home, fed her, watered her, and since I can't keep a puppy in the backyard (there's a huge hole in the fence for one), I shipped her off to the animal shelter where, if she has people, they will hopefully have the sense to look for her, and where, if she doesn't, she at least has a chance of finding some.

God dammit.

She's very healthy at least, even if she could stand to put on a pound or so, and the shelter staff thought her chances of being adopted were really, really good. Most of the animals they bring in are sickly or older or skittish, hard to adopt out. Healthy, young, well-socialized animals are comparatively rare.

Better than being street pizza or starving to death, but I still feel like I just sent her off to be murdered.

Dammit all to hell.

Now I understand why people don't get involved. They don't want to be the one to send an animal to be put down. And because nobody's willing to do it, the animals wander around, suffer, and never even have a chance of being adopted before they die horribly.

Well, fuck that noise.

As I have grown up I've come to realize that the deciding factor in being an adult (and in being a leader, for that matter) is not the ability to make a right decision, but the ability to make any decision at all. Especially when no "right" decision presents itself.

So I decide, and even if I fuck up, it's better than having done nothing at all.

Here endeth the lesson.
naamah_darling: A wolf with its jaws wide open, and FUCK! written between them. (Fuck!)
I'm feeling mightily down at the mouth.

Found out the kittens from the crazy cat lady's house were indeed collected. They were all sick. One died in the holding pen. The rest were put down. The pregnant queen was rounded up on Tuesday. I hadn't seen her for a couple of days so I called to find out if they had her, if I could take her in, but she had to be euthanized this morning. She was apparently sick as well -- perhaps a kidney infection. It makes me ill to think of her being put down, and her kittens not even getting a chance. I had hoped . . . I'd hoped to help her, and the babies, I'd hoped to make some good come of all this.

Animal Control has rounded up several adult cats from that property. They will no doubt be put down as well. And there's more there. At least four.

I'm preparing evidence, so it's there if it's needed. I have pictures of her feeding them every morning. I have heartwrenching video of a three-legged cat limping through her garden. And I have her home address. Not the cat house, but the house where she actually lives. It's also within walking distance, and though I haven't seen her car there yet, other evidence points to it being the place.

The nice neighbor, Linda, also has a live trap she's going to be putting out. Better than chasing them down, though the animals will come to no better end.

The helpful guy at the shelter informed me that his boss is overseeing this case personally, trying to get this situation resolved. It's getting attention, they've been out there several times this week. It's not being ignored. It's just that this woman is devilish hard to get hold of, and she's evidently bent on weaseling any which way she can.

I'm trying not to be angry or impatient, but it's hard. The wheels of justice turn slowly, but they do turn. It's just hard knowing these animals are dying, and harder still to fear that nothing will be done to punish her, or stop her doing it again. It's hard watching them take the cats away and put them under, and watching her put food out for the ones that are left each morning because she just doesn't care about what happens to them. Not really. She just cares about having them.

I feel bad, like I should have been watching more closely, or like I could have done something more to help. I should have done something when the kittens were taken away. I don't feel like I have done the right thing, even though I know that I have. I don't feel good about it. I feel horrible. It feels like fighting evil with evil, and no amount of mental calisthenics is going to alter the fact that I honestly feel like I'm in some way responsible for this. The situation is getting cleaned up, but I still feel dirty.

Make no mistake, though. I know that this woman . . . she bears the lion's share of the blame. And, deus lo volt, she will get what is coming to her.

I'm afraid it will end in stalemate, with no progress being made but ongoing capture and death, and me having done harm I cannot undo, even if it's a lesser evil than hers. Even victory will come at a steep price, over the tiny bodies of the helpless that should have been cared for, and weren't. All I can do is stand my ground, fight for them if I can. And hope.

Good god, how can a person allow this to happen? I simply do not understand.


"But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I will be unique in all the world. . . . You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."

-- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
naamah_darling: A wolf with its jaws wide open, and FUCK! written between them. (Fuck!)
I'm feeling mightily down at the mouth.

Found out the kittens from the crazy cat lady's house were indeed collected. They were all sick. One died in the holding pen. The rest were put down. The pregnant queen was rounded up on Tuesday. I hadn't seen her for a couple of days so I called to find out if they had her, if I could take her in, but she had to be euthanized this morning. She was apparently sick as well -- perhaps a kidney infection. It makes me ill to think of her being put down, and her kittens not even getting a chance. I had hoped . . . I'd hoped to help her, and the babies, I'd hoped to make some good come of all this.

Animal Control has rounded up several adult cats from that property. They will no doubt be put down as well. And there's more there. At least four.

I'm preparing evidence, so it's there if it's needed. I have pictures of her feeding them every morning. I have heartwrenching video of a three-legged cat limping through her garden. And I have her home address. Not the cat house, but the house where she actually lives. It's also within walking distance, and though I haven't seen her car there yet, other evidence points to it being the place.

The nice neighbor, Linda, also has a live trap she's going to be putting out. Better than chasing them down, though the animals will come to no better end.

The helpful guy at the shelter informed me that his boss is overseeing this case personally, trying to get this situation resolved. It's getting attention, they've been out there several times this week. It's not being ignored. It's just that this woman is devilish hard to get hold of, and she's evidently bent on weaseling any which way she can.

I'm trying not to be angry or impatient, but it's hard. The wheels of justice turn slowly, but they do turn. It's just hard knowing these animals are dying, and harder still to fear that nothing will be done to punish her, or stop her doing it again. It's hard watching them take the cats away and put them under, and watching her put food out for the ones that are left each morning because she just doesn't care about what happens to them. Not really. She just cares about having them.

I feel bad, like I should have been watching more closely, or like I could have done something more to help. I should have done something when the kittens were taken away. I don't feel like I have done the right thing, even though I know that I have. I don't feel good about it. I feel horrible. It feels like fighting evil with evil, and no amount of mental calisthenics is going to alter the fact that I honestly feel like I'm in some way responsible for this. The situation is getting cleaned up, but I still feel dirty.

Make no mistake, though. I know that this woman . . . she bears the lion's share of the blame. And, deus lo volt, she will get what is coming to her.

I'm afraid it will end in stalemate, with no progress being made but ongoing capture and death, and me having done harm I cannot undo, even if it's a lesser evil than hers. Even victory will come at a steep price, over the tiny bodies of the helpless that should have been cared for, and weren't. All I can do is stand my ground, fight for them if I can. And hope.

Good god, how can a person allow this to happen? I simply do not understand.


"But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I will be unique in all the world. . . . You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."

-- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Warpath

Sep. 11th, 2006 06:40 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Vitriolic)
Well, I'm back with an update bearing more developments in the saga of the Crazy Cat Lady. And I do mean crazy.

On Saturday I caught her at the house, feeding the cats. At least eight swarmed on the porch while more lurked in the bushes. As I paused, wishing I'd thought to bring my camera, she came out the door: a grey-haired fiftysomething woman who looked much like I'd expected.

"Are you Naamah?" she asked, in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied. "I found a kitten--"

"YOU GET THE HELL OFFA MY PROPERTY! I'VE ALREADY CALLED THE COPS ABOUT YOU!"

Since I was standing on the sidewalk, I did not budge. "Ma'am, I tried to save your cat."

"YOU STOLE MY KITTEN!"

Taken aback, I paused. "Ma'am, he was dying."

"I'M CALLING THE COPS ON YOU! I'M CALLING THEM RIGHT NOW! YOU GET THE HELL OFFA MY PROPERTY! I'M CALLING THE COPS AND REPORTING YOU FOR STEALING MY KITTEN."

"You do that, ma'am. I'll wait here."

There was more hollering, much of it inarticulate. She didn't come and push me, like I'd hoped. She retreated into the house and slammed the door. The cats were long gone by then.

I called the cops right then and there, told them what was going on and that I by god wanted it taken care of, and was told to call Animal Control. Given that it was Saturday, I was unable to reach anyone, so I wound up calling the cops again anyway, and I had them send someone out. I told the officers the whole story, dead kitten soup to crazy cat lady nuts, and they told me that my best bet was to catch her feeding them and take pictures so that there would be proof that she is harboring them. Stupid me, should have been doing that already.

So for three days I've been taking photos of the food on her porch, and pictures of as many cats as I can. Given that most of them split when they see me, it's not easy.

I spent all weekend in a funk, feeling like I could do nothing for the cats, and apocalyptically pissed in general over the cavernous stupidity and hubris necessary to accuse someone of stealing an animal that is dying of neglect.

But today Animal Control is back and I went on the warpath. I called and I ranted about the number of cats. I raved about the state of her yard, covered with cat feces and vomit. I waved around every disease I know of that is transmissible from cats to humans -- and I know of a good many. I described the smell, and the clouds of flies. And I demanded that something be done.

Jake at Animal Control said he would "send someone out." Same answer I'd gotten before.

Still in a funk, I dropped by a few hours later to see what I could see. Lo and behold, another pink note, this one taped to her door. This warning was of the "if you don't call and work something out with us, we will fine your ass" variety.

And, in a stroke of unanticipated luck, I met the extremely nice and incredibly tidy woman, Linda, who lives two doors down from the crazy cat lady and who is also mad as hell about the whole thing.

From what she says, the crazy cat lady doesn't live there, she just owns the three houses on the corner. One is uninhabited, one is full of cats, and the third harbors a family of rednecks who deal drugs out of their garage. (In light of this tidbit of information I rather doubt she really meant to call the cops.) She claims to have over fifty cats. Her actual house is somewhere else in the development. I'm going to try to find it, since I know what her car looks like, and have it investigated, too, so she can't just crate up the animals and move them to a different house. How much of this is true is unsubstantiated, but I can say that circumstantial evidence supports all of it.

I gave Linda the number of Animal Control, sat and listened while she called them and left a message. I gave her my number. I have her card. She's going to talk to the other neighbors. And we are going to get this cleaned up.

It's a public health hazard, for god's sake. The neighbors' yards are infested with fleas, covered in cat droppings, and crawling with cats. On a still day, I can smell the house from a block away. When the wind is right, I can smell it for two. And now that I've got the ball rolling, I think that Linda will help me keep it going. She seems like a classy dame, has a piano and huge white cat named Snowball, and she sells designer perfume.

So there's a glimmer of hope. Not for the animals, sadly. They are feral as hell, and if there truly are more than a dozen I doubt they can all be saved or rehabilitated. But there is hope for stopping this before it gets worse. Yes. I will do everything I can to help the animals that can be helped, but I'm aware that the best we can do may just be to shut her down. At this point, that's a victory. I feel sick at the inevitable loss of life, but the thought of the suffering spreading like a canker, a sore, a nest of boils, is too much for me to tolerate. It's so much worse to let it go on.

The three houses in question are being bought by the university across the street, by the way, and are slated for destruction probably sometime next year. If I don't do something now, it will just get done later, perhaps with worse consequences. It's for the best -- I want that house razed. I'm just sorry that the crazy bitch isn't going to be in it when it happens.

I will, however, be happy to sit across the street and watch.

Warpath

Sep. 11th, 2006 06:40 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Vitriolic)
Well, I'm back with an update bearing more developments in the saga of the Crazy Cat Lady. And I do mean crazy.

On Saturday I caught her at the house, feeding the cats. At least eight swarmed on the porch while more lurked in the bushes. As I paused, wishing I'd thought to bring my camera, she came out the door: a grey-haired fiftysomething woman who looked much like I'd expected.

"Are you Naamah?" she asked, in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied. "I found a kitten--"

"YOU GET THE HELL OFFA MY PROPERTY! I'VE ALREADY CALLED THE COPS ABOUT YOU!"

Since I was standing on the sidewalk, I did not budge. "Ma'am, I tried to save your cat."

"YOU STOLE MY KITTEN!"

Taken aback, I paused. "Ma'am, he was dying."

"I'M CALLING THE COPS ON YOU! I'M CALLING THEM RIGHT NOW! YOU GET THE HELL OFFA MY PROPERTY! I'M CALLING THE COPS AND REPORTING YOU FOR STEALING MY KITTEN."

"You do that, ma'am. I'll wait here."

There was more hollering, much of it inarticulate. She didn't come and push me, like I'd hoped. She retreated into the house and slammed the door. The cats were long gone by then.

I called the cops right then and there, told them what was going on and that I by god wanted it taken care of, and was told to call Animal Control. Given that it was Saturday, I was unable to reach anyone, so I wound up calling the cops again anyway, and I had them send someone out. I told the officers the whole story, dead kitten soup to crazy cat lady nuts, and they told me that my best bet was to catch her feeding them and take pictures so that there would be proof that she is harboring them. Stupid me, should have been doing that already.

So for three days I've been taking photos of the food on her porch, and pictures of as many cats as I can. Given that most of them split when they see me, it's not easy.

I spent all weekend in a funk, feeling like I could do nothing for the cats, and apocalyptically pissed in general over the cavernous stupidity and hubris necessary to accuse someone of stealing an animal that is dying of neglect.

But today Animal Control is back and I went on the warpath. I called and I ranted about the number of cats. I raved about the state of her yard, covered with cat feces and vomit. I waved around every disease I know of that is transmissible from cats to humans -- and I know of a good many. I described the smell, and the clouds of flies. And I demanded that something be done.

Jake at Animal Control said he would "send someone out." Same answer I'd gotten before.

Still in a funk, I dropped by a few hours later to see what I could see. Lo and behold, another pink note, this one taped to her door. This warning was of the "if you don't call and work something out with us, we will fine your ass" variety.

And, in a stroke of unanticipated luck, I met the extremely nice and incredibly tidy woman, Linda, who lives two doors down from the crazy cat lady and who is also mad as hell about the whole thing.

From what she says, the crazy cat lady doesn't live there, she just owns the three houses on the corner. One is uninhabited, one is full of cats, and the third harbors a family of rednecks who deal drugs out of their garage. (In light of this tidbit of information I rather doubt she really meant to call the cops.) She claims to have over fifty cats. Her actual house is somewhere else in the development. I'm going to try to find it, since I know what her car looks like, and have it investigated, too, so she can't just crate up the animals and move them to a different house. How much of this is true is unsubstantiated, but I can say that circumstantial evidence supports all of it.

I gave Linda the number of Animal Control, sat and listened while she called them and left a message. I gave her my number. I have her card. She's going to talk to the other neighbors. And we are going to get this cleaned up.

It's a public health hazard, for god's sake. The neighbors' yards are infested with fleas, covered in cat droppings, and crawling with cats. On a still day, I can smell the house from a block away. When the wind is right, I can smell it for two. And now that I've got the ball rolling, I think that Linda will help me keep it going. She seems like a classy dame, has a piano and huge white cat named Snowball, and she sells designer perfume.

So there's a glimmer of hope. Not for the animals, sadly. They are feral as hell, and if there truly are more than a dozen I doubt they can all be saved or rehabilitated. But there is hope for stopping this before it gets worse. Yes. I will do everything I can to help the animals that can be helped, but I'm aware that the best we can do may just be to shut her down. At this point, that's a victory. I feel sick at the inevitable loss of life, but the thought of the suffering spreading like a canker, a sore, a nest of boils, is too much for me to tolerate. It's so much worse to let it go on.

The three houses in question are being bought by the university across the street, by the way, and are slated for destruction probably sometime next year. If I don't do something now, it will just get done later, perhaps with worse consequences. It's for the best -- I want that house razed. I'm just sorry that the crazy bitch isn't going to be in it when it happens.

I will, however, be happy to sit across the street and watch.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Friday Cat Picture, this time of Tazendra in a rare "cute" moment:

Belleh 01

Still here and still functional. It's Friday, which helps a lot.

Woke up yesterday to a beautiful virtual rose on my userinfo page; thank you for the touch of brightness, [livejournal.com profile] valkyrwench. In a stroke of irony, I was wearing BPAL's Othello at the time, which is like what if the sexiest man alive was sitting right next to you with an armful of roses. So it was entirely appropriate.

Spent a good chunk of yesterday dealing with Animal Control and the Tulsa cops. Not over the cat thing -- I'm pursuing that separately -- but about the neighbors. All of our neighbors have barking dogs. During the time we've lived here, the dogs have done nothing but get noisier, since their owners never discipline them for barking. So far as I can tell they pay not the slightest attention to the incredible racket. The woman across the street has a screaming pit bull that never shuts up, the woman down the block has a yappy black mutt that is even noisier than she is stupid -- she barks for half an hour at the neighbor's cat when it's half a goddamn block away for Christ's sake -- and the guy next door acquired two very large and noisy new dogs last week for a grand total of four in his yard alone. Four, when the legal limit is three. Four, bringing the total of noisy dogs on the street to six.

That was the last straw.

I've tried talking to the neighbors. Woman-down-the-street and next-door guy never answer their doors, and the lady across the street is so sweet on her savage little preciouses that she doesn't ever act to restrain them, so I've been totally unable to get them to shut the fuck up, and have, for months, been simply screaming out the front door like some kind of redneck with Tourette's in an effort to shut the dogs up, even if the human owners are still as oblivious as cow shit. It's gotten to the point where I am honestly surprised that the mockingbirds in our yard do not go "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU MAGGOT-COCKED SPOOGE-SUCKERS!"

I had to holler myself hoarse Wednesday morning just to get some fucking sleep, so I called Animal Control, who couldn't do anything fast enough to suit me. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a week. A call to the cops and an explanation that the barking dogs are breaking three separate city ordinances, and that this is completely unacceptable and, given my state of mind, dangerous, got some police officers to come out yesterday and address the situation. The neighbors won't open the door for me, but evidently they'll do it for a badge.

It's been quiet as the dead today -- I've heard barking just three times, and I've been up since the wee hours of the morning.

Gratifying.

The cat situation is better, if we're using "better" to mean "less cat-ful." There are no kittens at that house. It's been days, and there is no sign of them. I think the people in that house actually did something on their own, since they disappeared before Animal Control had time to pick them up. There are still a couple of cats there. One is a pregnant tortoiseshell queen who is about a week from dropping her litter. She doesn't seem as scared of me as the others, so I've been trying to make friends. If I can't catch her myself over the weekend, I'll enlist professional assistance and see if I can bring her in where she can be deparasitized and cleaned up, and have her kittens in a safe place. Otherwise it's Joey all over again.

Thank you for all your support and offers of help. I will not take money until I know where to apply it. The $200 vet bill for Joey is not enough to make me sweat, and right now even if I had a thousand dollars to throw at this problem, I couldn't do squat to help these particular cats. So I'm biding my time and hoping I get the chance to do something more meaningful to clear this situation up. It's better. It's still not as good as I would prefer.

For now, though, I have writing to accomplish and painting to do, and a writers' meeting to go to, but first: a public service message:

CastrationJane
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Friday Cat Picture, this time of Tazendra in a rare "cute" moment:

Belleh 01

Still here and still functional. It's Friday, which helps a lot.

Woke up yesterday to a beautiful virtual rose on my userinfo page; thank you for the touch of brightness, [livejournal.com profile] valkyrwench. In a stroke of irony, I was wearing BPAL's Othello at the time, which is like what if the sexiest man alive was sitting right next to you with an armful of roses. So it was entirely appropriate.

Spent a good chunk of yesterday dealing with Animal Control and the Tulsa cops. Not over the cat thing -- I'm pursuing that separately -- but about the neighbors. All of our neighbors have barking dogs. During the time we've lived here, the dogs have done nothing but get noisier, since their owners never discipline them for barking. So far as I can tell they pay not the slightest attention to the incredible racket. The woman across the street has a screaming pit bull that never shuts up, the woman down the block has a yappy black mutt that is even noisier than she is stupid -- she barks for half an hour at the neighbor's cat when it's half a goddamn block away for Christ's sake -- and the guy next door acquired two very large and noisy new dogs last week for a grand total of four in his yard alone. Four, when the legal limit is three. Four, bringing the total of noisy dogs on the street to six.

That was the last straw.

I've tried talking to the neighbors. Woman-down-the-street and next-door guy never answer their doors, and the lady across the street is so sweet on her savage little preciouses that she doesn't ever act to restrain them, so I've been totally unable to get them to shut the fuck up, and have, for months, been simply screaming out the front door like some kind of redneck with Tourette's in an effort to shut the dogs up, even if the human owners are still as oblivious as cow shit. It's gotten to the point where I am honestly surprised that the mockingbirds in our yard do not go "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU MAGGOT-COCKED SPOOGE-SUCKERS!"

I had to holler myself hoarse Wednesday morning just to get some fucking sleep, so I called Animal Control, who couldn't do anything fast enough to suit me. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a week. A call to the cops and an explanation that the barking dogs are breaking three separate city ordinances, and that this is completely unacceptable and, given my state of mind, dangerous, got some police officers to come out yesterday and address the situation. The neighbors won't open the door for me, but evidently they'll do it for a badge.

It's been quiet as the dead today -- I've heard barking just three times, and I've been up since the wee hours of the morning.

Gratifying.

The cat situation is better, if we're using "better" to mean "less cat-ful." There are no kittens at that house. It's been days, and there is no sign of them. I think the people in that house actually did something on their own, since they disappeared before Animal Control had time to pick them up. There are still a couple of cats there. One is a pregnant tortoiseshell queen who is about a week from dropping her litter. She doesn't seem as scared of me as the others, so I've been trying to make friends. If I can't catch her myself over the weekend, I'll enlist professional assistance and see if I can bring her in where she can be deparasitized and cleaned up, and have her kittens in a safe place. Otherwise it's Joey all over again.

Thank you for all your support and offers of help. I will not take money until I know where to apply it. The $200 vet bill for Joey is not enough to make me sweat, and right now even if I had a thousand dollars to throw at this problem, I couldn't do squat to help these particular cats. So I'm biding my time and hoping I get the chance to do something more meaningful to clear this situation up. It's better. It's still not as good as I would prefer.

For now, though, I have writing to accomplish and painting to do, and a writers' meeting to go to, but first: a public service message:

CastrationJane

Frustration

Sep. 6th, 2006 11:19 am
naamah_darling: A gray cat with a white chin squinting as though she smells food. (Fish)
No local organization has gotten back to me with any meaningful offers of help, and yesterday I realized that the situation was more appalling than I thought; there were at least five kittens out there. I saw a new one yesterday morning, a simply gorgeous little calico. I had to do something, I couldn't just wait around.

The organizations that do feral rescue couldn't do anything to help since they aren't my animals or on my property, and it's not exactly legal to place traps for what might legally be considered other people's pets on property that isn't yours.

The feral rescue people referred me to the SPCA. I called the SPCA, whose cruelty investigator is in the hospital. They referred me to the Humane Society, who has no cruelty investigator. The Humane Society referred me to the police, who referred me to animal control, who actually did come out to take a report.

A note has been left on their property by the city representative, a cute and very professional guy named Sutherland. I checked to be sure he left them a warning, and in addition, I left them a letter. They have 24 hours to comply with the law and contain the animals, or the cats will be carted to the shelter.

Now, it's possible, despite local laws against feeding strays and feral cats, that these people will escape without penalty. It's very hard to prove ownership of an outdoor animal on open property. Of course, it's also possible that they will nail their asses to the barn door. And this way, there is documentation that it has happened before, should it happen again.

I don't want the kittens to go to the city shelter, so I tried to round them up when I dropped by yesterday, but they're wily little bastards. Given that, it's possible that even if the cat catchers come by they will escape. If I can catch any of them over the next few days, I will.

And then, well, I simply have no idea what I'll do with them. But they sure are cute.

Now, I've seen fewer cats today so far -- as in, I saw exactly two, and that's it. I can hope this means that the situation is going to improve. I saw no kittens this morning, which I hope means they have been taken someplace safe before the city comes to haul them away.

The text of the note I left these people is below, so that you can see how tactful and restrained I was, despite the strong urge to wax piratical and swear until the paper caught fire.

Click for the long part. )

I think that's about the best and most understanding letter they could have hoped for under the circumstances, and I hope it makes them cry until they throw up. I debated leaving my phone number so that I could offer them my help, but decided that they probably will not be grateful enough for the intervention to use the information wisely. I'll just give them time to maybe try on their own, cool off a bit, and then I'll try to catch them at home so we can talk like civilized people.

You know. Over the corpses of kittens.

Yes. I'm still very angry, and I am likely to remain so until I know some good has come of this. I have no idea if I'm doing the right thing or getting the best help or going about this in the most sane and effective way, and I have no idea how in the heck I'm going to take care of the kittens if I catch them. I have no idea what I'm doing. None. Everything I try to do to help either doesn't work or requires cooperation I can't get. Not a single person locally will tell me how to get out of this for less than an arm and a leg and a chunk of my soul.

Ugh. They don't tell you that being a grownup isn't about knowing what to do or knowing what's right, but in being put in a situation where what is right is not possible and then being able to make any decision at all in the face of the hundred remaining crappy choices. I hate this, and yet there are people who do it every day.

If anything else of note happens, if I can find where the cats are taken or if I can get hold of some of them myself, I will start taking donations for their upkeep. Until then, I cannot in good conscience take anyone's money, since I'm not out more than a couple hundred dollars (final bill pending). I can afford it, no stitches.

My suggestion, if you really have to do something right this minute, is to locate an organization in your area that does low-cost spay/neuters and donate a buck or two to them, or donate an hour of time this weekend to a rescue group. There are things you can do besides fostering foundlings and cleaning cages: animals need to be shown at pet stores, phone lines are always busy, and transportation is sometimes hard to come by if an animal has been placed with a family that's not local. Materials are helpful, too: perishables as well as stuff like food bowls and blankets and heating pads. People who can just come in and help socialize the animals or be available for moral support are also usually welcome.

Call and ask. When righting a wrong, the first question should not be "Who is at fault?" but "What can I do to help?"

Frustration

Sep. 6th, 2006 11:19 am
naamah_darling: A gray cat with a white chin squinting as though she smells food. (Fish)
No local organization has gotten back to me with any meaningful offers of help, and yesterday I realized that the situation was more appalling than I thought; there were at least five kittens out there. I saw a new one yesterday morning, a simply gorgeous little calico. I had to do something, I couldn't just wait around.

The organizations that do feral rescue couldn't do anything to help since they aren't my animals or on my property, and it's not exactly legal to place traps for what might legally be considered other people's pets on property that isn't yours.

The feral rescue people referred me to the SPCA. I called the SPCA, whose cruelty investigator is in the hospital. They referred me to the Humane Society, who has no cruelty investigator. The Humane Society referred me to the police, who referred me to animal control, who actually did come out to take a report.

A note has been left on their property by the city representative, a cute and very professional guy named Sutherland. I checked to be sure he left them a warning, and in addition, I left them a letter. They have 24 hours to comply with the law and contain the animals, or the cats will be carted to the shelter.

Now, it's possible, despite local laws against feeding strays and feral cats, that these people will escape without penalty. It's very hard to prove ownership of an outdoor animal on open property. Of course, it's also possible that they will nail their asses to the barn door. And this way, there is documentation that it has happened before, should it happen again.

I don't want the kittens to go to the city shelter, so I tried to round them up when I dropped by yesterday, but they're wily little bastards. Given that, it's possible that even if the cat catchers come by they will escape. If I can catch any of them over the next few days, I will.

And then, well, I simply have no idea what I'll do with them. But they sure are cute.

Now, I've seen fewer cats today so far -- as in, I saw exactly two, and that's it. I can hope this means that the situation is going to improve. I saw no kittens this morning, which I hope means they have been taken someplace safe before the city comes to haul them away.

The text of the note I left these people is below, so that you can see how tactful and restrained I was, despite the strong urge to wax piratical and swear until the paper caught fire.

Click for the long part. )

I think that's about the best and most understanding letter they could have hoped for under the circumstances, and I hope it makes them cry until they throw up. I debated leaving my phone number so that I could offer them my help, but decided that they probably will not be grateful enough for the intervention to use the information wisely. I'll just give them time to maybe try on their own, cool off a bit, and then I'll try to catch them at home so we can talk like civilized people.

You know. Over the corpses of kittens.

Yes. I'm still very angry, and I am likely to remain so until I know some good has come of this. I have no idea if I'm doing the right thing or getting the best help or going about this in the most sane and effective way, and I have no idea how in the heck I'm going to take care of the kittens if I catch them. I have no idea what I'm doing. None. Everything I try to do to help either doesn't work or requires cooperation I can't get. Not a single person locally will tell me how to get out of this for less than an arm and a leg and a chunk of my soul.

Ugh. They don't tell you that being a grownup isn't about knowing what to do or knowing what's right, but in being put in a situation where what is right is not possible and then being able to make any decision at all in the face of the hundred remaining crappy choices. I hate this, and yet there are people who do it every day.

If anything else of note happens, if I can find where the cats are taken or if I can get hold of some of them myself, I will start taking donations for their upkeep. Until then, I cannot in good conscience take anyone's money, since I'm not out more than a couple hundred dollars (final bill pending). I can afford it, no stitches.

My suggestion, if you really have to do something right this minute, is to locate an organization in your area that does low-cost spay/neuters and donate a buck or two to them, or donate an hour of time this weekend to a rescue group. There are things you can do besides fostering foundlings and cleaning cages: animals need to be shown at pet stores, phone lines are always busy, and transportation is sometimes hard to come by if an animal has been placed with a family that's not local. Materials are helpful, too: perishables as well as stuff like food bowls and blankets and heating pads. People who can just come in and help socialize the animals or be available for moral support are also usually welcome.

Call and ask. When righting a wrong, the first question should not be "Who is at fault?" but "What can I do to help?"

Joey, Baby.

Sep. 3rd, 2006 10:03 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Helpless)
Joey didn't make it.

He improved yesterday to the point that they honestly thought he could come home with me today, but when I called to check on what he needed in the way of food before going to pick him up, I was told he had died only a few minutes before. Apparently he started fading in and out sometime last night, became cold and unresponsive, and though they tried all morning to bring him around, he never managed to rally. In the good vet's words, "There just wasn't enough to work with."

I am, in a word, heartbroken. And there's a lot of rage.

There is nothing I can do until Tuesday, so I'll probably be incognito until then. At that point, just so all of you know, my plan is to find a local organization (I have several candidates) to help me sort out this mess with the other feral cats. I'm trying to be straight up about this, so once I know who I will be working with, I will let all of you know so you can donate directly if you wish, and I will also be setting up a separate PayPal collection for the rescue effort out of which I will draw part of Joey's medical bills, the rest to be donated to the rescue group for his siblings and extended family.

This doesn't stop here. I can't do anything else for Joey (oh, god, the poor little baby) but I can end what's going on not half a mile from my house. I know worse is done every day, more appalling ills go unalleviated, but I will not allow this way within the reach of my arm. I can't do anything for the millions of strays in this country, but I can do something about these strays in particular.

I'm sorry, guys. I'm sorry about the sad story and the bad news, and I wish I could give the little guy a happy ending and tell you that it all turned out okay. It didn't. I cried pretty much all morning over it, and I'm still having random attacks of the sobs. But stay with me. There's more I have to do, and if you were on board for Joey, I'll still need you for the others. I was too late to do more than help him die comfortably, but I'm not too late to help the others, not by a long shot. They can still have a happy ending. And they by-god will, if I have to capture them and vet them myself.

Poor little mite. He deserved so much better than what he got. I held him yesterday. I told him he was loved. And for a while, he was truly cared for and valued. I was able to do that much. I was with him for that long. And I will not let him go without changing this. The only way I can make any sense of this stupid, stupid loss is to try to make the situation that caused it right. That's the only payback for my caring, and for yours.

Right now, I need to rest. I'm wrung out, and I really just want to be with my cats.

Joey, Baby.

Sep. 3rd, 2006 10:03 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Helpless)
Joey didn't make it.

He improved yesterday to the point that they honestly thought he could come home with me today, but when I called to check on what he needed in the way of food before going to pick him up, I was told he had died only a few minutes before. Apparently he started fading in and out sometime last night, became cold and unresponsive, and though they tried all morning to bring him around, he never managed to rally. In the good vet's words, "There just wasn't enough to work with."

I am, in a word, heartbroken. And there's a lot of rage.

There is nothing I can do until Tuesday, so I'll probably be incognito until then. At that point, just so all of you know, my plan is to find a local organization (I have several candidates) to help me sort out this mess with the other feral cats. I'm trying to be straight up about this, so once I know who I will be working with, I will let all of you know so you can donate directly if you wish, and I will also be setting up a separate PayPal collection for the rescue effort out of which I will draw part of Joey's medical bills, the rest to be donated to the rescue group for his siblings and extended family.

This doesn't stop here. I can't do anything else for Joey (oh, god, the poor little baby) but I can end what's going on not half a mile from my house. I know worse is done every day, more appalling ills go unalleviated, but I will not allow this way within the reach of my arm. I can't do anything for the millions of strays in this country, but I can do something about these strays in particular.

I'm sorry, guys. I'm sorry about the sad story and the bad news, and I wish I could give the little guy a happy ending and tell you that it all turned out okay. It didn't. I cried pretty much all morning over it, and I'm still having random attacks of the sobs. But stay with me. There's more I have to do, and if you were on board for Joey, I'll still need you for the others. I was too late to do more than help him die comfortably, but I'm not too late to help the others, not by a long shot. They can still have a happy ending. And they by-god will, if I have to capture them and vet them myself.

Poor little mite. He deserved so much better than what he got. I held him yesterday. I told him he was loved. And for a while, he was truly cared for and valued. I was able to do that much. I was with him for that long. And I will not let him go without changing this. The only way I can make any sense of this stupid, stupid loss is to try to make the situation that caused it right. That's the only payback for my caring, and for yours.

Right now, I need to rest. I'm wrung out, and I really just want to be with my cats.
naamah_darling: A gray cat with a white chin squinting as though she smells food. (Fish)
The good news is that Joey made it through the night. I called this morning, was assured that he was doing well and had eaten again, and was even walking around, so I decided to pay a visit.

It went about as well as something like that can go when you have a horrible barking dog in one ear. Joey looks like a different kitten. He still looks like total crap, but it's not total hammered crap. No doubt he feels almost as bad as he looks. Nevertheless, when I showed up he came straight out of the little cave they'd made in his bedding, staggering like a drunken shipfitter, and started crying. Considering he could barely make a sound yesterday, this was a very encouraging sign.

They've cleared his eyes quite a bit, so I could actually look into his little face. Oh, he's a cutie. Skin and bones, but a cutie. He has an IV needle in, but no IV at the moment, just an I/O port in case they need to administer high doses of emergency backup cute. I was still able to hold him -- he insisted, just climbed right up my shirt. I don't know if he remembered me in particular, or if he was just desperate for some companionship and warmth from any source (he HAS to be missing his mom and siblings), but after I snuggled him for a few minutes he rallied noticeably. As in, I put him down and he headed straight for his food and started bolting it for all he was worth. I hand-fed him a little, and he bit me in his enthusiasm, so I think there's probably hope that he'll make it.

I won't lie, he's very, very weak and very pitiful. He still looks a quarter dead, which represents an improvement over half, but isn't out of the woods yet.

I'm going back tomorrow to talk to the vet who wasn't available while I was there today, and I'll get pictures then. He has white toes only, and a black handlebar moustache. And very large ears.

The bad news is that I went by the cat house again this morning to see if I could get hold of the person who lives there. Joey has at least two siblings, both black and white, one of whom also has an infection in one eye. Those two, however, are spry as little devils, and catching them will be a trick. And even then, I cannot keep them in my house. With the fleas and risk of diseases, it's too much of a hazard to my current cats to even board them in a separate room, not to mention the Byzantine logistics of trapping the mother, then trying to find a home for a feral, non-housebroken queen.

Actually, I haven't even seen the mother. If I have, I can't be sure. There are a number of half-grown cats on the property, and she may be one of them. I did see another young cat that appears to be heavily pregnant, a pretty little tortoiseshell. There are at least three half-grown cats on the property as well -- the pregnant tortie, another tortie, and a mostly-black tuxedo cat. If you're counting, that means at least two unspayed females. The lack of responsibility is cute as hell, but ultimately infuriating.

I can't do anything about the situation until after Monday, when everyone comes back from break. I suppose I'll start calling around on Tuesday, seeing if anyone can come out and catch the cats, and maybe give the person responsible a stiff talking-to. Legally speaking, there's not much that can be done. The owner of the property can always claim not to be the owner of the cats. There's likely no way to prove it, and thus no way to prove violations of any applicable cruelty laws. It doesn't mean I won't try, but it does mean that I'm more concerned about making sure it doesn't happen again.

It's an ugly situation all around, for both the animals, who will suffer if I do nothing but might very well end up euthanized if I call the authorities, and for the property owner, who no doubt feels affection (however ill-expressed) for the animals and doesn't understand the harm that's being done and will likely resent any intervention, and for me, stuck in the middle of this thing, trying to clean up a mess I did not make when I have neither unlimited financial means to do so, nor unlimited space.

I've got to go tend to work at the moment, so I can afford to pay for this little mite to get better, but I wish you all a good weekend. Again, I'm very grateful for your kind thoughts, kind words, and offers of help. I'll update again tomorrow with more kitty news and hopefully pictures.
naamah_darling: A gray cat with a white chin squinting as though she smells food. (Fish)
The good news is that Joey made it through the night. I called this morning, was assured that he was doing well and had eaten again, and was even walking around, so I decided to pay a visit.

It went about as well as something like that can go when you have a horrible barking dog in one ear. Joey looks like a different kitten. He still looks like total crap, but it's not total hammered crap. No doubt he feels almost as bad as he looks. Nevertheless, when I showed up he came straight out of the little cave they'd made in his bedding, staggering like a drunken shipfitter, and started crying. Considering he could barely make a sound yesterday, this was a very encouraging sign.

They've cleared his eyes quite a bit, so I could actually look into his little face. Oh, he's a cutie. Skin and bones, but a cutie. He has an IV needle in, but no IV at the moment, just an I/O port in case they need to administer high doses of emergency backup cute. I was still able to hold him -- he insisted, just climbed right up my shirt. I don't know if he remembered me in particular, or if he was just desperate for some companionship and warmth from any source (he HAS to be missing his mom and siblings), but after I snuggled him for a few minutes he rallied noticeably. As in, I put him down and he headed straight for his food and started bolting it for all he was worth. I hand-fed him a little, and he bit me in his enthusiasm, so I think there's probably hope that he'll make it.

I won't lie, he's very, very weak and very pitiful. He still looks a quarter dead, which represents an improvement over half, but isn't out of the woods yet.

I'm going back tomorrow to talk to the vet who wasn't available while I was there today, and I'll get pictures then. He has white toes only, and a black handlebar moustache. And very large ears.

The bad news is that I went by the cat house again this morning to see if I could get hold of the person who lives there. Joey has at least two siblings, both black and white, one of whom also has an infection in one eye. Those two, however, are spry as little devils, and catching them will be a trick. And even then, I cannot keep them in my house. With the fleas and risk of diseases, it's too much of a hazard to my current cats to even board them in a separate room, not to mention the Byzantine logistics of trapping the mother, then trying to find a home for a feral, non-housebroken queen.

Actually, I haven't even seen the mother. If I have, I can't be sure. There are a number of half-grown cats on the property, and she may be one of them. I did see another young cat that appears to be heavily pregnant, a pretty little tortoiseshell. There are at least three half-grown cats on the property as well -- the pregnant tortie, another tortie, and a mostly-black tuxedo cat. If you're counting, that means at least two unspayed females. The lack of responsibility is cute as hell, but ultimately infuriating.

I can't do anything about the situation until after Monday, when everyone comes back from break. I suppose I'll start calling around on Tuesday, seeing if anyone can come out and catch the cats, and maybe give the person responsible a stiff talking-to. Legally speaking, there's not much that can be done. The owner of the property can always claim not to be the owner of the cats. There's likely no way to prove it, and thus no way to prove violations of any applicable cruelty laws. It doesn't mean I won't try, but it does mean that I'm more concerned about making sure it doesn't happen again.

It's an ugly situation all around, for both the animals, who will suffer if I do nothing but might very well end up euthanized if I call the authorities, and for the property owner, who no doubt feels affection (however ill-expressed) for the animals and doesn't understand the harm that's being done and will likely resent any intervention, and for me, stuck in the middle of this thing, trying to clean up a mess I did not make when I have neither unlimited financial means to do so, nor unlimited space.

I've got to go tend to work at the moment, so I can afford to pay for this little mite to get better, but I wish you all a good weekend. Again, I'm very grateful for your kind thoughts, kind words, and offers of help. I'll update again tomorrow with more kitty news and hopefully pictures.

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naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
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