Oops, Typo. Meant to say Central Cat Colony at my place. Allow me. Christmas (my 19 year old cat) passed away several years ago. Not long after that I was at the "funny farm" where I was raised. (that is what is wrong with me or at least I have something to blame it on) I was with Dad out by the shed when this emaciated little white feline came over to my feet and began rolling around on them over and over while crying. I knew what she was saying, sooo I went into the shed and found an old red milk crate, put her in it , covered it with a dirty old piece of plywood, ran in the house and mummie dearest gave me a hunk of steak the size of my foot for her. I placed it in the red milk carton (she ate the whole thang) and drove her home! Took her to the Vet, got meds, got de-wormed, and two days later my daughters boyfriend came out from passing the litter and said, "OMG, that cat just shit a human turd!" I just stood there in shock, then looked at it myself and sure enough, it was the size of that what he said, yes. Must have been the footsized steak along with much more as she ate and ate and ate like she hadn't in a month. Not to mention she has OCD from all that trauma.
Her eyes go round in circles thank God in only one direction. And she cant be picked up, (only by young children) and me for a 20 seconds. She will sleep next to me and sit on my computer desk but no picky uppie. She loves me! I deal with her. Then came LuLu. (I did not name her)
And now? There came Bob. Once again my daughter brought home another rescue from the "funny farm," even though I said NO!! When I woke up there "it" was. A very sick cat. I know the plan....call the vet. (cant take a sick cat to Humane Society or they kill it) On the way to the Vet I named him BOB, Bob Ogden as I have said in previous blog posts. And $600.00 later (the new camera I wanted) Bob is mine. The truth is, Bob is the only sane one of the bunch. (I left out the 6 lb. dog named Gracie Allen Ogden who has jealousy issues)
Problem is Bob has to live in the 2nd bedroom until he is all well so he can fight off the mental felines out here in the rest of his new apartment world. So I go sit with Bob in the morning before work, when I get home, and then in the evening for another hour. Oh, I also purchase liquid plug ins that calm cats. And they cost a lot. But then so do meds at the mental hospital. I have a mental hospital omg. And how can I give away those two little cats that have depended on me for years, so Bob, the healthy one can stay. What a dang mess. But then it could be that I have three mental human men living here I don't know what to do with. Or three mental human children. Sooo, given that being said, I am a damn lucky woman. I have a few little critters that love me. And I take care of them because that is my calling in life. Being a caretaker. (of mental cats omg) It'll all work out. Always does. So until next time, be safe, be well, be happy, and get rich so you can take good care of your crazy critters. (and yourself) And of course I am exaggerating a LITTLE.