I awoke to rumbling walls. It was one of those times when a long time wasn’t really so long at all. It was, of course, thunder, and it had the wall behind my bed shaking until it made sounds of its own. Lightning crackling nearby, time stretched out, seconds to minutes, I pulled myself together, after having dreams ripped out of a deep sleep with me attached, and I looked at the iPad to find the time: 12:15 AM. The dreams were whisked away when time came into play. I’m still not sure that was such a good idea, yet we are all equipped to deal with such things.
The fine fellow in today’s opening photo is Creamsickle. He came into the Taos Stray Hearts Humane Society Shelter as a feral cat. In that status, as feral, he would be neutered then released into one of the feral colonies around this area. That didn’t happen. The cat softened, over weeks, until we came to realize that this cat was giving up his designation and choosing socialization instead. Because of the change he was blood-tested and then moved into the cattery, where he is available for adoption. Come see the guy. He’s not only sweet, he is also very funny. Meanwhile, I have been researching a tad deeper into the controversy surrounding the shelter, where some people see it as a loving facility, where service to the animals is paramount, and others seem to see a colony of Blue Meanies. In case the allusion escaped you, the Blue Meanies were the bad guys in the Beatles’ animated feature, “Yellow Submarine”. Watch it if you haven’t. Good stuff. And yes, I have carried yesterday’s cartoons into today’s post. I do so in an effort to soften my own view of the simmering dispute that lays upon the shelter like a blanket wet with tears. Listen, it’s all about the animals. All of it. We caregivers work on the front lines in the daily care for the animals. Of course there is also management and an executive level as well. But the operation is really pretty small. Everybody is right up close with these dogs and cats, cats and dogs, whatever. The staff veterinarian included. Wafting through the challenging smells that you might expect in such a place is the silent aroma of love. If you think it’s not there, or that it lacking in places and times, just get over it. Here is where I should probably be sticking in a sweet story of how one animal in particular fell under the grace of the operation and blossomed as a result. That sort of promotional rhetoric is all fine and good in its own place, but this place is mine, this is my blog, and I ain’t goin’ there this morning.
“There were incidents and accidents
There were hints and allegations” ~ Paul Simon, You Can Call Me Al
Turns out this post is going to be on the short side. I’ve been up since 2 AM, by design, since I am supposed to show up for my EEG exam in a state of mild sleep deprivation. No coffee allowed. That’s what really hurts. I’m feeling some trepidation about all of this, along with the MRI on Saturday, but the apprehension comes from how much my life could change if these fine folks, and my neurologist, find something significant. Whatever it is it will be okay with me. It’s not that I am worrying. I’m not. This is a deep visceral feeling I have. Thirty years ago I bumped my head. Now this. What next? The main thing is that my brain is actually getting some attention for a change.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.