More Countdown (or Inescapable Mind Meanderings and Ruthless Ramblings)

Okay, so this isn't really countdown news... But I've had some globby little thoughts lately I need to air.

I have three cats in addition to my bubby-dog, Kobi. These three cats are rescue cats. Cats picked up off the street or out of a dumpster, cats found with eye infections and that cannibalized their siblings (okay, only Hannibal did that). They're healthy now. They're sorta cute. And I love them. But have you noticed this is the first you've heard of them?

When I moved to Phoenix in 1999, I noticed an incredible abundance of feral cats unlike I'd ever seen in Portland, OR or any other town we'd ever lived in growing up. Almost like locusts these cats. And, seeings as nobody else was doing anything about all these cats, I took it upon myself to try to fix the problem. In about three months, I got 38 cats and kittens neutered or spayed, and many of them adopted out. (Of course that wasn't even a tiny dent in the thousands in downtown Phoenix and the hundreds of thousands or millions in Maricopa County.) I only kept three of them, one of which eventually slipped out a door and never came back (although I did see her around the block, but she looked happier and even healthier than she did when she lived with me - thinner). But in those few months I became so exhaustingly sick of cats. I'd ended up on a couple cat rescue phone lists, and people from all over the Valley would call me at all hours when they needed help catching, fixing, adopting out cats... this happened for a few years after I wanted nothing more to do with cats. I'd been bitten and had infections. I'd spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars on vet bills and food and cat litter.

I quit my thankless cat rescuing ways. But then a neighbor came by with a box of kittens pulled from a dumpster. I can't remember now if it was six or seven kittens, but they were tiny--days old if that. Although one of the little guys was a little bigger than the rest, so I wasn't sure if he was really from the same litter or not. I cleaned them up and got the baby kitty formula from PetSmart, a couple syringes (they always worked better for me than the bottles), blankets and a plushy toy they could snuggle. I found that whenever I would leave them alone and come back, Hannibal would be suckling on some body part or other of another kitten... an ear, an eye or nose, an umbilical/button... the genitals... and the part would be at least three or four times swollen its normal size. Poor boogers. I separated them. But after a few days, only Hannibal and a little girl were left. (Day-old kittens with no mamas to nurse them have very high mortality rates. I think keeping 1/3 of them alive was pretty amazing given their condition!) I kept them for a few weeks, and finally decided I would keep him and give the girl, later named Heidi, to a neighbor. He was my third cat--a replacement cat for the one that ran away, and I wanted him in part because then I'd have "at least one normal cat." Yeah. If you saw the other two cats, Cataract and Socket, you'd understand...

So I've had these three cats for about seven years. I feel an absolute obligation to them. I feel tremendous guilt that I sort of don't want them. I hate that Hannibal ruins every new piece of fabric covered furniture I buy (the other two are fairly content with scratch posts). I hate that their hair is everywhere all the time. I hate that one or the other of them usually pukes at least three times per week, and that's with an expensive sensitive stomach cat food. I hate that I don't love them like I love Kobi. They're sweet cats, but they're... gross.

I've wondered what I'm going to do with them when I am pregnant. There's nobody else here to clean their litter box... will I have to wear gloves and a mask? What about their germy little paws everywhere? On the counters, on the table, on the furniture... My mom made the comment when she was just here, "If you keep these cats, you're going to have to have a playpen... you're not going to want your baby crawling around with all the furballs..." That was after having just swept and vacuumed the day before.

My thought(s)... Should I keep the cats? All of them or just one? How can I possibly think of getting rid of them? I love them. But I don't love them like I love Kobi. And I don't love their hair everywhere all the time, or the snags in the new sofa or the tufts out of the rugs. Maybe my heart is really very small and it only has room for a few things at a time... And boy, I sure have folks fooled--they think I'm a compassionate soul who'll make a great mom... but here I want to give away my babies. Is the only thing holding me back my guilt?

A very sad aside: I was preparing to leave the house at one point today when I heard a loud crunch/crack on the road and saw a lovely cattle dog twisting in the left lane of the three lane street in front of my house. I grabbed my phone and ran over to it, directing traffic around that lane. I couldn't figure out what number to dial--911? But it's not a human emergency. It's a poor dog who's likely going to die in the next few minutes... I have the county animal control number programmed in my phone, so I called that. I was in the queue as #19. Oh, god. None of the cars that passed slowed down, not even the cops. A lady walked by and I asked her to get my neighbor. #18. #16. The dog moaned. The dog spasmed and stretched strangely. I got closer. I talked to it. But I was afraid to touch it. I think it was a her. It was horrible, truly horrible. And then after about 10 minutes post accident, she died. My neighbor came out and dialed 911. They'd been notified, probably by one of the cops that drove by. The dog was dead. I cried. And then I went on my way. She'd been removed by the time I got back about an hour later.

Now: Hannibal is on my lap. He keeps trying to suck my wrist. A habit he's never stopped. I can hear Cataract's rhythmic breathing from the pillow bed behind me. Socket (she has one eye, and one empty socket) is probably laying on an arm of the couch from which I chase her away every few hours. And Kobi is in my bedroom, on my bed, waiting for me to come in and turn the light out. I think it's that time... my heart hurts a little, and I need to snuggle my bubby-dog.


UPDATE on cattle dog 11/14 5:21pm: I was just approached by a young gal with a poster that asked me if I'd seen a border collie... I stupidly blurted out that it had been hit by a car yesterday. She lost it. Oh-my-god. Poor dear. A couple minutes into it I thought, "shit, what if it was a different dog?" The photo on her poster was very poor, but I could make out his angular face. I asked about the coloring. I did my best to comfort her, hold her as she sobbed. I was able to tell her that he didn't suffer "too" long, but that he did die and that he was taken away. He. ...excuse me while I go hug Kobi for the 52nd time today...