“And so I cry sometimes when I’m lying in bed
Just to get it all out, what’s in my head
And I, I am feeling a little peculiar
And so I wake in the morning and I step outside
And I take a deep breath and I get real high
And I scream from the top of my lungs,
What’s goin’ on?” ~ Four Non-blondes
Being in the presence of cats is an irreplaceable gift. If you don’t like cats, and you want them gone from your space, do so. You don’t know what you are missing. They are smart, and rife with perspicaciousness, almost as if they are the observers we all hope to be someday, yet we lose that chance if we place ourselves above them. A fool would do so to to his, hers, whatever, own detriment. Yes, I do it for a living. I care for cats. At the Stray Hearts animal shelter, here in Taos, NM, we have over 50 of them wily critters in the cattery alone. There are more in the intake/isolation area, but it’s the ones on public display that grab my admiration. The other day we sent a magnificent animal, named Tiger, to a new home. The shelter is home as well but we want them to go to a better home. When Tiger was placed in a kennel carrier and was on his way out the door my coworker and I cried. I rarely cry but this loss of the daily presence of a cat so fine as to be exemplary of his kind was a tough one. The tears were 33.3333% sadness and loss, and 66.6666% tears of joy. Jot that down then go see if you can do it. Tears of joy are the best. Cherish them, forever.
I’m in my sixth day of housesitting, in the house where I lived for seven years, before the bipolar disorder got the best of me and twisted it into failure. I’d love to move back here. I fucked up, so the likelihood of moving back is laughable at best, and I know this as well as I know the memory of pain from a cat bite delivered by way of a Russian blue named Tessie, yet I can now see my failure as a mistake. Everybody makes them. And then there are the relationship issue. The prospects ain’t lookin’ too good, like dude ya know better now but now ain’t then, k? Tessie’s bite punched her fangs down into the meat and nail of the tip of my right index finger, right down to the bone. The pain was far beyond any pain I have ever known. I never resented her violence. Such things happen in life and life is a miracle. Ain’t cats just the purrtiest things? Hi ho, on we go. Ouch.
So here I sit before the keyboard. I can see the mountains if I look up over the top edge of the iMac, through the picture window. And then there’s the dog. He is my dog as well as hers. Getting this danged canine to socialize with me was a great lesson in several virtues. Use ’em or ya lose ’em. That’s what I say. He was a shelter dog for no more than 48 hours. Before that he was the companion to an old lady. For many reasons he hated men, hated them with a passion, especially men in boots. Fear. PTSD. Friggin life! I get like that at times.
At this point and place in time I will wrap up this post and do something else. An epsom salts bath sounds good. I’ve got me a day off from work. I’m both dreaming and observing so far this morning. I’m gonna call my friend today, the veterinarian who skeedaddled back down to Santa Fe after he was assaulted by some folks who seemed to feel really really bad about a whole lot of stuff. That they took it out on him really and still baffles me to this day. He ended up facing a State review panel. What was accomplish by that? Ready, aim, fire. The shelter cats and dogs took the hit alongside my friend. They faced it together, in the presence my friend. I once witnessed this man kiss a euthanized cat on the top of the head after he sent it to the Other Side due to a terminal illness. Such love is a rare thing. Those who assaulted him could have loaded their intentions with love for all concerned instead of getting loaded for bear and then letting loose the dogs of war. Don’tcha think?
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.