Saturday, February 28, 2009
There's a reason why being alone is often seen as a torment, not a blessing. Whatever the species, a spark is kindled when you witness a greeting that doesn't involve a boot in the face. This nuzzling might have lasted a second, but it captures the essential dream of sentient life. Not to be alone.
Stop by the shelter sometime and share in the dream. We're short on ponies, but cats are abundant.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
He was brought to the shelter covered in wounds and filth. Staff couldn't touch him. He hissed and growled. Trust is likely the first thing to go when you live on the street.
His cage was placed in a small ward with the door open, an opportunity for cultivating exercise and people skills. Last week CAHS discovered that Atlas wasn't as prickly as he seemed. They found Ollie and Atlas curled up in his cage, fast asleep. Since then Atlas has discarded his fierce facade and now loves to be petted and fussed over. He watches Ollie with care.Were they bunk mates in the Dumpster? Is Atlas Ollie's deadbeat dad, now making amends? (Ollie has markedly improved since befriending Atlas.) Either way they're both sweet and loving creatures. They deserve more than harsh nights and a trash bin for shelter.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Being a diabetic, I feel a kinship with Isis the cat, a fellow diabetic. She's been at the shelter since November 2005. And though Isis settled her bill -- food and medicine and lodging, perhaps a touch of catnip for those wintry nights -- in the way of all cats by contributing to the shelter's ambiance, she also enjoyed a more bankable currency, thanks to CAHS contributions.
A few weeks ago Isis packed her bags and moved to Rhode Island, where she's living with a Registered Nurse; no doubt satisfying every cat's dream of having a personal nurse forever on call.
Ann, the cat adoption center staffer with Isis in her arms, will stay behind, looking out for the next Isis who comes along.
Socks the cat passed away this past Friday at the age of 19. Socks was top dog, so to speak, until the Clintons acquired Buddy. This article at Obit reveals how Socks brought change to the White House:
"Presidents, like leaders throughout history, have always had pets. In the old days, keeping animals in luxurious splendor — think of Mary, Queen of Scots and her pack of velvet-clad pugs — was a way for potentates to further elevate themselves above the people. In our modern, egalitarian democracy, by contrast, domestic animals let powerful politicians play everyman. Franklin Roosevelt may have been a wealthy patrician presiding over a depression-buffeted country, but when the president cuddled his beloved Fala, FDR seemed as if he could be your neighbor.
"For the purposes of political theater, though, either version of political-pet symbolism is easier with a dog than a cat: Dogs, after all, will sit still for both royal costuming and LBJ-style ear-swinging. Cats, as Socks’ photographic suitors learned, won’t sit for much of anything. Thus while a few presidents have kept cats around, according to the Williamsburg, Va., Presidential Pets Museum, they’d always played second-fiddle to the first family’s other animals. Until Socks came along."