I don't think we're in Kansas anymore!

Some big thunderstorms came through this evening around suppertime. Lots of crashing and booming, which of course scared the dickens out of me. There was also some hail mixed in with the rain. You could hear it rattling now and then against the windows. As you can imagine, I didn't eat supper on schedule. Instead I jumped up into Mike and Jeannie's bed and hunkered down between them.

As the storms blew through I thought they might take our house with them. But in spite of the racket, all we ended up with was this rainbow strike on our chimney:

Say, it's only a paper moon . . .

Sailing over a cardboard sea . . .

Actually it's this year's "perigee moon" sailing over our front yard on the night of May 5th. But the sky that night was boringly clear. So M borrowed these clouds from the night before.

Be Kind to Animals Week

This is the first day of Be Kind to Animals Week. I don't wish to sound unappreciative, but that sort of thing brings out my inner skeptic. I mean, once the official week of being kind to animals is over, then what? You can go back to hitting your dog with a rolled-up newspaper? Drop your pregnant cat in a dumpster? Enter the calf roping event at your local rodeo?

I don't have to worry, since the people I live with are kind to me every day, unless I'm being boarded, which isn't often. But they aren't the ones that Be Kind to Animals Week is designed to change. As for those whose attitude toward animals needs a serious upgrade, I have some doubts that one week a year will change things very much.

M says I shouldn't be such a pessimist. He thinks that any efforts to improve the plight of mistreated and down-on-their-luck animals are bound to make a difference sooner or later. "It sure helped in your case," he reminds me. And special recognition of these efforts can only increase public awareness, boosting their chances for success. "Any publicity you can get," he likes to point out, "is good."

I guess that in the grand scheme of things, downtrodden animals make out okay when it comes to special recognition. Perhaps better than a lot of humans, since the animals get a whole week in the limelight, while mothers, fathers, active and former members of the armed forces, secretaries, bosses, sweethearts, registered dieticians, doctors, radiology nurses, Navajo Code Talkers, Hopi Code Talkers, and people who work for state governments each get just one day a year. (This list is meant to be illustrative, not exhaustive.)

Of course there's some multiple dipping going on in those human recognition days: For instance, in addition to Mothers Day (second Sunday in May) and Fathers Day (third Sunday in June), did you know there's a Parents Day (fourth Sunday in July)? Go figure.

Okay--I'm convinced enough about the possible effectiveness of Be Kind to Animals Week to help spread the word. For starters, here's a link to the website of its founding organization, the American Humane Association. It's got some good information on it.

While I'm at it, to bring this down to a personal level, I want to post this flyer to help raise funds for Cat Tail Corner, the shelter that has provided a refuge for most of J and B's feral cats. (Click on the flyer to enlarge it.)

Please get involved with needy animals and help them in any way you can.

Feral Follies Update

Much has happened on the feral follies front since my post of April 24th. I reported then that Jeannie and Bonnie planned to return the next night to the gambling joint/storm drain (Mike says those two things are good metaphors for each other) to try to catch Stumpy. They were eager to finish getting that colony fixed and relocated before there were more drownings--and more colonists! Well, they didn't trap Stumpy on the 25th, but they did catch what they think is the last of her kittens, a little black female they named "Dixie" after the Winn-Dixie grocery that's a few doors down from the gambling place.

Actually Cliff, one of the night security guards, caught her around five o'clock Thursday morning using J's spring trap, after she showed him how to set it. Cliff called J, who drove over and got Dixie and brought her back to the house. A few hours later J handed her off to Bonnie, who passed her on to Bob, who took her to the Pet Vet Cruiser for a little fix-me-up and then to Cat Tail Corner, where in all likelihood she won't drown. In the brief time that Dixie was a guest in our garage, M took her picture:

Now wind the clock forward a bit: In the wee small hours of Saturday morning, Cliff re-caught the newly spayed and released Brandy by just grabbing her and putting her into a pet carrier that he had in his car. Then when he got off work he took her home to live with him. Smiles and high-fives all around!

At some point J and B learned that the Pet Vet Cruiser would be in DeLand the following Monday and Tuesday. Usually it's not available for feral cats except at its home base every other Thursday. But Bob thought he might be able to get the doctors to make an exception, since he is one of their best customers in the whole county. So J and B went back to the storm drain on Sunday night, the 29th, and this time they caught Stumpy, the last of the feral cats in that area. (At least for the moment.) And then for crazy some reason they renamed her "Bobbie."

I don't know why they felt the need to change her name, as both Stumpy and Bobbie refer to her tail, which is very short. Stumpy/Bobbie is a tuxedo Manx, as you may remember from my earlier post. You know, the more I think about it, the better I like the sound of that combined name. It has a certain ring to it. If I ever write a song about feral cats, I believe I'll call it "The Ballad of Stumpy/Bobbie." But I digress.

Monday morning J and B took Stumpy/Bobbie to the Pet Vet docs for her rendezvous with destiny. And that evening, Bob took her to Cat Tail Corner, where she was reunited with Dixie.

Speaking of her ex-babies, it appears that Stumpy/Bobbie was the mother of most of the younger cats in that colony. This includes Cash and the unfortunate girl kitty who drowned with him in the storm drain, and also Brandy, who finally went home to live with Cliff. And here's some food for thought: The unnamed girl kitty was pregnant when she died. And Brandy was pregnant when she was caught and spayed. And so was Stumpy/Bobbie. Uh-gain!

Some of you might consider spaying a pregnant cat distasteful or downright immoral, but M insisted that we include this information to help you see what a terrible problem this homeless cat business is. He says that the real immorality comes from the dim-bulbs who never get their animals spayed or neutered in the first place and then abandon them along the roadside when they can't be bothered with them anymore.

Now that the Allied Veterans Casino Cat Roundup is over for the moment, J and B have turned their full attention back to Callie and Pumpkin, up at the other end of the strip mall. When J came home from last evening's feeding expedition, she said that they were both there chowing down. And nearby, watching the show, was a yellow tomcat with big eyes for Pumpkin.

Too much ain't enough . . .

May Day! Mayday! M'aidez!

Just checking out my new homophones. ROTFL.

(When dogs say ROTFL they really mean it.)