hah

I was having a conversation with a very nice lady with whom I worked a lot last year with kitty rescues; she needed my help again, and kept apologizing that she keeps coming to me, but explained that nobody else helps her.

She then asked me what was wrong with these ladies. "Why are they so mean? Why are they so angry?" she asked.

Now, keep in mind: this woman is the very model of a Nice Suburban Christian Soccer Mom. Super sweet, as in walks the walk and not just talks the talk. Mid-fifties, perhaps. Drives a minivan, has two teenaged kids, a husband, and a full time job. So nice, when I commented that Simon keeps eating my shoes - they very next time she brought me kittens for rescue, she brought me shoes. Such a truly, genuinely nice lady.

Which is why she was so taken aback when I said, "No, Honey. You have to look at the common thread that binds all cat rescuers."

"A love for animals?" she ventured. "A willingness to try to make the world a better place?"

I laughed. "No, nothing like that. Think of the worst, most odious people you've spoken to. And remember; the reason we do rescue? A basic, fundamental inability to form and sustain meaningful human relationships."

Her shock was so gratifying.

And yet: it's totally true. 

I shared this anecdote on Facebook (edited, naturally) and somehow it's lead to (1) people assuring me that I am charming and wonderful and not odious at all, and (2) people telling me that I just need to close my eyes and imagine Mr Perfect, just make myself a visualization of everything I would want in a man, and the Universe will hear me, and deliver precisely what I've asked for.

There are two problems with this theory: the first, is that every time I close my eyes, what I visualize is you; secondly, the universe seems to hear this as a plea for emotionally unavailable narcissists who are heavily burdened with both baggage and a vaguely described marital status.

Oh well.

Happy Earth Day

Be kind to your planet; it's the only home we've got.

Good riddance

I need to stop spite reading her blog; now she's developing a pot habit to go with her functional alcoholism.

What a terrific influence on the children.

If I could go back in time and just never know this loser in the first place, I would. 

if it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck...

"I worry that I am a bad friend..." she says in her blog.

News flash: you are.

So tired

Rescues don't help. Rescues don't EVER help; that's why people call *me*.

You know how many times a rescue group has taken or placed animals for me?

Exactly NEVER. EVER. In 20 years. NOT EVEN ONCE. NOT WITH ONE SINGLE KITTEN. NOT EVER. NOT ONE TIME. NOT ONE CAT.

What help I have received: LBSNF sent a friend over to loan me a dog trap which resulted in my being stuck with Simon, and the Peter Zippi vouchers allowed me to TNR almost 75 cats last year. Note: allowed *ME*  to TNR those cats last year, with help from a friend or two.

NOT ONE TIME, EVER, has a rescue taken an animal from me or from any of the dozens of people who call me every year.

I love our rescues, and they work hard. But telling people to call rescues is not good advice, because you know they won't take found animals. And what's more likely, at the end of the day, is that these people will end up calling ME. Because I help. And I don't want to anymore.

Just as the rescues are "tired of doing the job of ACS", I am tired of doing the job for the rescues.

Critter Central

Bronwyn isn't eating - still - and she is getting impatient with the fluids again. We had a couple of really great days where it only took one poke to make it happen - last night, I had to stick her 4 times. Ugh.

We've been doing this for WEEKS. I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. She seems fine - she has been sleeping on the bed pretty regularly now and has not been spending as much time hiding - but I still hate this very much.

Simon is turning out to be a sweetheart of a dog, but he possesses way more joie de vie than my household can handle. I really wish his foster home had worked out, but he's totally adopted me now and I can't change that. :p

04022014

Today is my grandpa D's birthday.

Normally, with any of the other Lost Relatives, this would be a day of reflection and fond memories. But somehow, sometime shortly after my grandmother died and when his biological family made their appearance into his life, I lost him. He was no longer my Grandpa; he was just my Grandma's second husband.

It sucks. Yes, I got something his biological daughter's kids didn't get: I had him as my childhood Grandpa. But as an adult, my previous status as the First Grandkid was irrelevant, and somehow, possession became the objective with his blood kin. Possession of his stuff, of his real estate, of his vehicles, of his (and my Grandmother's) cars, of the antiques carefully selected by my grandmother over their 30+ years together, and of course of the man himself, who estate would leave them sitting pretty when he passed.

"Spend it, Gramps!" I urged him, "Live! Do fun stuff! Don't worry about leaving a penny behind, worry instead about enjoying what you have!"

He didn't. Not once. That family banished him to a convalescent home once, while they used his money to go on a big family cruise. Ultimately, I was the one who sprung him out of there when he tearfully told me he wanted to go home. He had his own place, and besides - I was the one stopping by there to take him to dinner or cook and take out the trash and clean Fifi's litterbox.

The day he died, I was lost. He married my Grandma before I was born, he was always Grandpa.

Sobbing, I stumbled from Grandpa's bedroom toward the garage door; I wanted to sit in my Grandma's 1969 Cougar and weep behind the wheel of her car.

The car was gone.

He gave it away. Over and over, I had offered to buy it from him, and he gave it instead to one of his daughter's kids. And didn't tell me.

In the end, they ended up with everything: the cars, the antiques, the real estate, the money. In the end they got it all, successfully scheming and manipulating and having the will changed over and over.

Whatever. Even though he was no longer my Grandpa, in the end, I still won. I won something they could never ever have: I had him as my childhood Grandpa, and no amount of money would ever take that away.