Saturday, December 20, 2014

Dear Readers, She Took the Cats



In the end,  I decided I did not want to be involved in a pissing match over ownership of Callie and Bindi.  I knew that while conditions at her home were overcrowded to say the least, that Callie and Bindi would be well fed there and would be warm and out of the cold. They are feral and not particularly interested in human companionship; if they had been, I never would have let them go.

I had always worried about having unvaccinated cats in the house, especially with Ponyboy's immune system issues.  I had worried that if Callie or Bindi had become injured or ill, I would have no way to get them to the vet, outside of live-trapping them.  They had never been leuk-tested or vaccinated against leukemia, something that they could have picked up from one of the neighborhood cats and brought home to my cats.

To put it plainly, I was not sure that I was prepared to care for these two ferals for the next twenty years, or however long they would live.  

She was not willing to sign them over to the new rescue, and I was not willing to keep them  indefinitely in limbo as far as ownership went.  I made a judgement call.

I cannot help but feel that I threw those two ferals under the bus tonight, and feel free to judge me on that.  I just had to weigh the needs of my own cats, and future fosters, against the needs of these two, and in the end, I let them go.

I told  them not to take any crap from anybody.  I told them that they were tough cookies, and would be just fine  in their new home.  I told them that now they would be reunited with their brother and sister, who are living at that home.  I told them to not forget to write.

And  then I cried.




Friday, December 19, 2014

All she had to do was sign a piece of paper



I wrote a little while ago about how I was no longer affiliated with the rescue for which I had been volunteering.  Long story short, the woman running it had gone from "rescue" to "hoarder", and I did not want to be associated with that.

I have started volunteering for a new rescue, a well-run, well-funded rescue, who offered to put Callie and Bindi, the feral fosters, under their umbrella.  I would continue to foster them, and the new rescue would pay for their vetting/food/etc.  The ideal scenario!

The new rescue contacted the old rescue, as the woman running the old rescue needed to sign a release form transferring ownership of the ferals.  A formality which happens all the time between rescues, usually when one rescue becomes overcrowded.

She refused.

Nope, she said.  She wanted them back.

In the year and a half I have been fostering these cats, she never once asked how they were doing.  She never once offered to help pay for their food (I did the math; I have spent well over $500.00 in food alone for these two cats), or to take them to the vet to get their shots updated, or even to pay for their flea treatments.  Not once.


And now she wants them back.  Out of pure spite.

Oh, and then she qualified it.  Well, she said, she guess she'd let me adopt them, as long as I paid her a hundred bucks, and as long as the new rescue agreed to never, ever hold adoption events in the store where she currently holds hers, and as long as nobody ever said anything bad about her ever.  (I'm not even kidding.  She had inserted a requirement in her list of demands about not smack-talking.)

Well.

 










Legally, this is a tricky area.  I have had possession of the cats for over a year, during which I made repeated verbal requests for her to come and get them, which she ignored.  As recently as October, I had asked her to come take the cats, with no reply.  However, her name is on their most recent vet records, from when they were spayed, so technically, she could make a case for ownership.  BUT.  See again:  I have the cats.


Complicating the matter is the fact that these cats are not really adoptable.  They are feral, but honestly I'm not even sure they'd make good barn cats (the fate of some ferals), because they're not real great hunters.  But again, I am prepared to continue to care for these cats.  And I would have no problem with them going to another home, and until recently I would not have had a problem with them going back to her home.  But not now.  Not when there are far, FAR too many cats at her home because she won't stop taking them in.  Her home is currently overrun with cats who are not up to date on their vaccinations, who are not leuk-tested, and who are not taken to the vet when they are ill, because she is overwhelmed and out of control.

But little miss crazypants wants the two ferals back.

 The new rescue and I informed her that her attempts at extortion and coercion were not appreciated.  That we would hold events whenever and wherever we wanted.  We advised her that free speech was still a thing.  That if she wanted the cats back, she would have to come to my home this Saturday and crate them herself.  That if she did not show up on Saturday, she was, basically, sh*t out of luck.

We'll see if she shows.

Crazy cat people.  Holy F*CK.



Thursday, December 18, 2014

My car is ready! My car is ready!



I got a call from the body shop this afternoon - my hero car has been repaired and is ready to be picked up.

After two weeks driving around in an Accent, I cannot WAIT to get my brave Elantra back.  I may KISS that car when I see it.

It's a Christmas miracle!


 

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Oh my god is this a thing now? Please tell me that this isn't, like, a thing now ...



I was leafing through a Sears flyer this morning and came across this:


And I was all, "A onesie?  Is that model really wearing a onesie?"  But the flyer described it as a "printed jumpsuit".  Oh, okay.  That makes it okay then.  NOT.

And then I thought, well, maybe it's supposed to be pajamas.  Like that weird robe thing that was big a few years ago.  But the model is wearing shoes - why you would you wear shoes with your p.j.s? 

It was time to go online to the Sears site and do a little "jumpsuit" (their word, not mine) investigating.  Which is when I came across this:


Okay, so, she's wearing it outside, so I'm guessing they're not trying to market these as p.j.s?  But my God, that is one hideous ... article of clothing.  If she wasn't anorexic, there would definitely be some camel toe going on, there.  And why is Sears using an anorexic model?  Sears?  What is wrong with you, Sears?  And those sunglasses ... Mary Kate?  is that Mary Kate Olsen?  There is so much I do not understand in that picture.

I kept going.






Oh my God ... this has to be a joke, right?  A prank?





I just ... really?  REALLY?! 

And then I came across the piece de resistance.  I had NO idea there was a market for clothing for double-peg-legged pirates, but - VOILA!:



 Let's just ... ignore the double built-in peg legs for a moment, if we may, and look at the hands.  Look at the hands.  I guess this is a ... rear view?  I DO NOT UNDERSTAND OH PLEASE MAKE IT STOP.

Sears.  *shakes head sadly*  I don't get it.  AT ALL.


Monday, December 15, 2014

The Grind


I was out Christmas shopping yesterday (and I am now all done THANK GOODNESS), and came across an old meat grinder at an antiques store.  The ones I'd seen before at antiques stores were pretty pricy, but they were only asking five bucks for this one so hell yeah.



I remember my Mom making sausage with one of these when I was a kid.  And grinding up ham for ham salad.


I will probably never make sausage OR ham salad, but it's nice to have a reminder of my Mom.



There is something to be said for nostalgia.  And cast iron.


Friday, December 12, 2014

Pro Tip: Leave the kids at home



So, I had to go to a funeral this morning, and there were no less than five babies in attendance.

Is this ... is this a thing now?  Taking infants to funerals?

Because, predictably, each one of those babies lost their sh*t at somewhere between the fifteen-minute and one-hour mark, and not predictably, as far as I'm concerned, the parents of the each of those kids let them wail on for quite some little time before carting them out of the sanctuary.

Manners, people.  LEARN THEM.  Oh, and there's this thing?  Perhaps you've heard of it?  Called a babysitter?  What. the. actual. f*ck.

Oh, I know it's churlish, complaining about babies.  But it just struck me as RUDE.  We are there to mourn a loss, NOT to listen to your child scream.

So, yeah, a funeral.  It was at a Methodist church, so I figured, easy-peasy, a couple prayers, a couple hymns, the eulogy and we're out of there.

But!  Turns out the funeral was not held at this dude's home church, for whatever reason.  Turns out he belonged to an evangelical congregation, and they were just borrowing this particular church.  For the service.

Evangelicals, man.  The service started with no less than four Christian music videos, and they were just warming up. The wife gave the eulogy, which was ... admirable, as she held it together amazingly well.  And because they're evangelicals, things skewed more toward the "yay!  He gets to meet Jesus now!" end of the spectrum, as opposed to the "oh no he's dead" viewpoint, so that was nice.

Funerals.  We'll each be the guest of honor at some point.  Leave the kids at home for mine, is all I'm asking.






Wednesday, December 10, 2014

HEY LADY I BOUGHT YOU A PRE-




... oh, wait, I think it's for me.  Never mind.



Attempts at card creation continue, with Santa's little pains in the a** helpers assisting:


I guess cat-in-the-box was inevitable at some point - why should my guys be any different from cats worldwide?:


It's not too late to request a card, seeing as how card-making is limping along at a feeble pace.  Shoot me an email at rockycat24 AT yahoo DOT com if you want a late, cat-hair-coated card.  You know you want one.

Last weekend, Ponyboy decided he wanted to go along to help me pick out the Christmas tree:


And some of the cats just want to be under the tree.


The tree is up and the lights are on, but it's not decorated yet.  I'm not done shopping, I have yet to ship my packages, the cards are not done, and a very helpful friend reminded me on Facebook this morning that there are fifteen days until Christmas.  If everything gets done, it's gonna be a Christmas miracle.

Deck those halls!