Animal Magnet

It seems that no matter where I go, lost and homeless animals find me. Just in the last two years, I have found several cats and dogs--or rather, they find me. It's almost as though I have a magnet, a beacon, or some other kind of homeing device that leads them to me. Maybe they know I'm an animal lover, someone who will help them--not hurt them. They always wait for me to get home too. Justs as I'm getting out of my car, they emerge from behind bushes and from under cars. Whatever it is, I'm glad they come to me and not someone who will abuse them. For this reason, I keep cat and dog treates on hand.

Oliver Jones

I like to post my rescue stories whenever I remember to. The most recent was last summer. I had just started my job at Allstate. I was taking my son to the park after work one day when suddenly I changed my mind and decided to go to the cemetery on Sycamore--I know, great place for a kid, right? I was drawn to a civil war statue that I used to pass. At night it is lit up and the only thing you can see clearly. we walked around, following the U-shaped path when we passed an orange tabby sitting on a flat tombstone. I rushed back home to get my sister to help me catch the cat. Turns out, he was friendly, so the box and blankets and food-bait we brought were not necessary. Without a collar to give us a name, I called him Oliver Jones, because that was the name from the tombstone where we found him. We took him home and fed him. Turns out, he had an owner who was looking for him and his name was gimpsy. I prefer Oliver Jones. It felt good to reunite him with his loving home.

hopefully, more rescue stories to come

No Hope for Animals

My sister said that people don't care when they run over an animal, but they would never run over a child that's in the road. Apparently, she was wrong. The news, as usual, was bad news: deaths, car crashes, and robberies. One of the victims was a six-month-old baby who was struck in her carrier while her mother pushed her across the street. The driver, who had sped through a stop sign, kept driving. It was a hit-in-run, the kind that happen to animals everyday. People don't find it uncommon, or even disturbing that people do this to animals all the time. I stopped when I hit a purple bucket; of course I'll stop for an animal or person. I couldn't help but wonder how many animals he's killed on the road. If he could hit a baby and keep driving, I assume the number of animal pancakes is probably up there.

I've come to the depressing conclusion: if people hit-and-run babies, there is no hope for animals.

What does it hurt to help?

Today, on my birthday of all days, as we were driving home from the beach, my sister and I saw a groundhog in the road. At first, I thought it was dead, but it moved. So, I pulled over and got out to make sure it was ok. It had some blood on its paw and nose, but it seemed able to move; so it was just refusing to get out of the road because of sheer stubbornness. My sister and I didn't want it to get smashed, so we shouted at it to scare it off the road. The only problem was, it wasn't afraid of us, which means it might be sick. Regardless, we kept trying.

During our useless and slightly humorous efforts to make it move, we heard a voice shouting from somewhere to be careful because it's dangerous. Basically, he was telling us to give up on it, which seems to be the common human regard for animals in danger. I don't expect people to care as much as I do. But, I at least expect them to acknowledge that animals' lives have value too and to not discourage others from trying to help. It's cruel to drive by something that is hurt with out trying to help. When I tell people this story, or how I hand-raised a baby kitten, or nursed a baby squirrel, or feed alley cats, the typical attitude is not admiration or an acknowledgment of my kindness, but something akin to revulsion or confusion. People don't think that what I do for animals is brave, kind, or even necessary. They seem to think that animals should be left to the fate of mother nature.

The ironic thing, is that animals don't share this heartless concept. There are countless stories of animals who took care of wounded or abandoned children. I don't think a gorilla ever passed a wounded child and said, leave it, it may bite. I think we need to acknowledge that an animal life is worth saving. Those who rescue them should not be mocked or criticized, but admired.

After all, what does it hurt by helping?

Shaved Pussy

The title of this blog may sound like a porn, but I'm referring to my cat, Mowis. When I started my last year of college Mowis began to pull out his fur, until he had two large naked patches on his sides. After graduation, I was home more, and his bald patches grew back.

Now, that I've started my internship, I'm gone more, and once again, he is pulling out his fur. People assume he has parasites or a rash, but it isn't that. He pulls out his fur due to the stress of me being gone. He can't do anything to relieve his stress, but take it out on himself. I've been spending more time with him hoping that he'll let it grow back again. After all, if I'd wanted a furless cat, I would have gotten a sphinx, not a tabby.

Rescued Pets are Always Best

Rescued animals make the best pets. They are the most appreciative and grateful--until you bring them home.

Xena was rescued from the shelter, and Mowis was rescued from my mom's shed and a life on the street. This is how they repayed me: ripping the arm of the couch, marking the carpet, shredding my homework, biting my ankle, waking me up at five in the morning, and tearing up the carpet.

Mowis seems to forget he was born under a shed and Xena doesn't realize how close she may have come to euthanasia. She may even have forgotten she came from a shelter where she lived in a crowded cage with three brothers. Her actions would quickly reunite her with the shelter if she had been adopted by anyone else.

Mowis and Xena are brats at times, but I think they are very grateful we adopted them. If nothing else, even if they don't, I feel good knowing I rescued them and gave them a life they could have no other way.

My new "pet"

Animal neglect is a serious crime. But so far, I've faithfully fed, cleaned, and played with Pookie--at the expense of my real pets who have licked their water dish dry and whose litter box stench reaches space.

No, Pookie is not imaginary; nor is she a pet rock (I wish I could have jumped on that money-making scheme.). She is my virtual pet in Pet Society, a game by playfish that I found on Facebook. I usually don't embrace the same things as mainstream pop culture, but the addictive quality of this game as well as the cute animal appeal lurred me in.

So, why am I ignoring my real pets for Pookie? Well, Pookie doesn't mind when I dress her in people clothes. Mowis didn't even like when I put a bow tie around his neck. She can also drink margaritas and play the guitar. Also, when she poops, I don't have to smell it.

I'll admit I'm pathetically addicted to the game. It's sort of Simsesque. I love games like this where I can earn money, design characters, and remodel a house. Not to mention the rewarding/guilty feeling of dragging my friends into my addiction.

For those of you who are thinking about reporting me to the Humane Society, I do feed my cats--just not when I'm racing on Pet Society.