(this post dedicated to Rosina McVicker, Phyllis Ayoob, Karin Monday, Wendy Geller, Susan Clary, and the people of Our Companions Animal Sanctuary, and Siglinda at The Goathouse Refuge)
I’m starting my “Malevolence-Free Monday” with a thank-you note to the angels-on-earth who devote their hearts, homes, and wallets to Animal Rescue. In the attached video, there’s a line from Annette King-Tucker’s poem (credit below): “I know of no creature unworthy of my time.” That’s the Rescuer, in a nutshell. If every heart on our planet felt this way-and I don’t mean saying it, or posting a cute meme about it, but living it and exemplifying it with action? There would be no war, no hate, no bigotry, no superiority-dances being done by the jib-jab-looking talking heads on televison. Yes, the pundits would be out of business but you know, people not dying because of their skin color, orientation/identification, or beliefs, so okay. But I digress.
I am honored to know some rescue people. They are as diverse a group (as far as political views, socio-eco status, religious views or lack thereof, etc.) as you’ll ever find. They love and respect each other. They don’t waste their time with hard-hearted thoughts about each other because of their philosophical or political leanings. Why? Because at the core of their open and loving hearts lies the truth from Ms. King-Tucker’s poem: “I know of no creature unworthy of my time.” That’s not just a belief to a Rescuer-it has become a part of their DNA. These are, on so many levels, the most evolved humans on earth. I know this to be true. I also know that they are some of the most un-sung heroes; fortunately for us and for millions of animals, they don’t do any of it for glory or thanks. But they deserve some human gratitude. Which, I’ll grant you, is nothing compared to the grateful smile of a Pit Bull who was once used as a bait dog and is now looking at you from his side of the couch, waiting for you to throw the ball again-but hopefully, Rescue people, you’ll read this and share it with other like-hearted heroes. I want you to know how much I appreciate you:
I take care of a few feral kittens who live in my neighborhood. They are healthy and happy, with the exception of one baby I’ve named Phoenix.
Phoenix is a sweet and loving feral who needs a lot of medical attention. I am virtually fundless but cannot watch this girl suffer when she still has so much spirit and life in her. She has fleas, ear mites, roundworm, and a nasty skin infection, and that’s just what I can see.
I set up a “Chip In” page to raise funds to help her live the happy life she deserves. Once she’s well, I’ll work on finding her a home. She’s full of spunk, purrs, and talks up a storm. Somebody will be very lucky to have this little girl as a best friend!
Believe me, I understand broke. If you can’t donate a buck or two, you can still help- say a prayer for little “Pheenie.”
4/28: Phoenix update-There were enough donations to the ChipIn page that I was able to get enough help for Phoenix that she now looks like this:
6/22/13: Phoenix is healthy and beautiful, but quick and smart-I haven’t yet been able to catch her and get her spayed. She did have a small litter of two kittens (only two,thank goodness) on my front porch, and took very good care of them. I am determined to get her spayed and vaccinated this summer. Wish me luck!
11/29/15: Phoenix is neutered, vaccinated, happy, and healthy! We did this for about 15 neighborhood strays, and of that group, there are 5 left, and two new kitties have been visiting for breakfast, so I imagine we’ll take care of them too so that they won’t procreate.
“There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.”
This cat. The one and only Fluffy, so named by my 6 year-old sister and my 8 year-old self, was one in a million. Just a baby when we got her; she was snowy white, skinny, and, yes, fluffy all over. She was alternately Tigger-bouncy and Pooh-snuggly. I use the Winnie-the-Pooh analogy very deliberately because for the next 16 years, I was her (Christopher) Robin and she was my Pooh. She was my Peace.
She slept on my chest at night from the start. Even when she reached her adult weight of 16 pounds, every night she purred me to sleep. I’ve yet to find a better sleep aid than breathing to the rhythm of that cat’s contented purr.
She learned to fetch a little foil ball. Her Scooby-Doo skids when she hit the wood floor –they were as comical when I was 18 as when I was 8.
She internalized our school schedule-from 3rd grade through college. My mom said that about 30 minutes before my sister and I were due home, she’d leave her window perch in the sun and start lurking at the front door. We were always greeted, not with the aloof “what’s your name again?” attitude that the uninitiated project onto cats, but to an almost puppy-like joy, with more purrs, meows, and an unapologetic “where the HELL have you been?” (yes, I speak Cat).
If I was getting yelled at, there appeared my snow-white protector, slinking around my ankles and wailing in protest. A lot of arguments would end in giggles because you just had to laugh at her bravado.
She listened to thousands of hours of my guitar-playing and singing. I was Linda Ronstadt, Stevie Nicks, Karla Bonoff, and Bonnie Raitt-she was my audience of thousands.
The Saboscrivner is a librarian who writes about food in Orlando, Florida, and beyond. I was inspired by Chew, a brilliant, bizarre, food-obsessed comic book series about characters with food-related super powers. Creators John Layman and Rob Guillory introduced their saboscrivner in Chew #3 with a description: "[A saboscrivner] can write about food so accurately, so vividly and with such precision – people get the actual sensation of taste when reading about the meals [he] writes about."
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