Jackie Dale

I start this column with a story that is just unbelievable! So it is a busy morning because several cats are leaving and going to rescue. There is the usual bump in the road–– one of the candidates has diarrhea and must be bumped and another cat chosen. Now I have to find that cat’s paperwork. So I’m also rushing around scooping boxes and filling water/food bowls because I’ll be gone all day.

My month of taking it easy has been anything but relaxing. Although I did not have any TNR projects, there was no shortage of cat-related jobs. A friend called and said that she and her husband had found a lone kitten in the street, sitting next to its dead mother’s body. The kitten was crying piteously and there was no way she could just leave it there.

As we are thrust into the chaos of kitten season, I continue to get calls and texts every single day from people needing help with kittens. However, I can’t help everyone. There is only one of me. Everyone has an excuse why they can’t step up to the plate, and everyone thinks that their reasons are the most valid.

I left off my last column with an incoming cat from a winery a few miles from my home. The 10- pound male cat was incredibly beat-up and smelled REALLY bad. It was, of course, the unmistakable smell of hormone-charged urine. Obviously, the dude, now named, Cotton, needed to have outside accommodations. Even then the smell was permeating the entire area.