Writing Contest - Share Your Feral Cats Stories

[Anne]

It's time for a new writing contest here on TCS!

October 16th is National Feral Day, and in honor of that, we're having a Feral Cats themed writing contest this month.



Do you care for a colony of feral cats? Have you ever tamed a feral cat or maybe taken part in a TNR operation? Now's the time to share that in a well-written story and submit to this contest.

Write us a short story about your experience with feral cats

Rules and Guidelines:

1. Story should be 250-800 words long. Submissions under 250 words will not be accepted. Over 800 is fine.

2. Story should reflect your own personal experience. It can focus on a particular cat or event, or just share your volunteering routine.

3. Story should not have been published anywhere else on the web.

4. Up to two submissions per member.

5. Last submission date: Midnight of Friday, October 19th 2012. The thread will be closed for further submissions on that date.

Posts will be judged by a special committee made of TCS team members. What we're looking for is an interesting story and good story telling. Have cat lovers as your audience and try to move your readers. Decent grammar, punctuation and spelling are required.

From the time of submission and until the winner is announced, all participants in this contest get this badge attached to their profile:



The winner gets:

• Your story gets published as an article on TCS!
• Winner badge added to your profile for a month -
• A TCS T-Shirt  with the design of your choice from our CafePress store

To submit - simply add your story as a post in this thread.

Please do not respond to stories in this thread.

 

[kittylover23]

It all began early one spring morning. I opened the blinds and peered out my backyard window, and saw something that would change my life forever. Sitting in the middle of my backyard was a scruffy, beaten cat with bleeding wounds and matted fur. Being a cat lover all my life, this sight immediately broke my heart and I knew I had to help. I rushed out the back door with a can of cat food and tried to approach the cat. He remained apprehensive, and he hissed and growled and wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. I carefully put the food into a bowl and slid it to him, and he reluctantly moved closer to approach the bowl. He finished the entire can and retreated under the truck. He stared at me until I went inside to get another can of food which he quickly gobbled up as well. He would not let me get anywhere near him, so after he was satisfied and finished his meal I went back inside and went on with my day.

The next day, he came back...so I fed him again. He came a few inches closer to me this time, but still kept a watchful eye to make sure I would not try anything. It was obvious that he did not trust me at all. Then he came back the next day, and the one after that. It became a little routine for me, to go outside and feed him before anything else in the morning, and he was always there, waiting for me. He continued this for the next few weeks. Then one day, out of the blue, after he finished off his second can of food, he approached me. He came straight up to me and began to rub on my legs! I still get teary eyed thinking of that moment. I worked up the courage to lean down and pet him, and he obviously enjoyed the petting. Then I heard a strange noise...I backed up because it sounded like a long growl. But after a few seconds, I realized something...he was purring! He had the loudest purr I had ever heard. So I kept on petting him and petting him. Every day, I would come out and feed him and pet him, and we developed a friendship.

I named him Lucky, because I knew he was lucky to be alive...he was wounded beyond belief and had numerous abscesses, as well as suffering from FIV (feline immunodeficiency virus). After a while, it got to the point where Lucky trusted me absolutely and I could even carry him without issues. He was never aggressive and would never, ever purposely hurt me. So that was when I decided him to take him to our vet, Dr. Mike. We got him into the carrier (much to his displeasure - poor boy!) and brought him into the car. He never made a peep, but I could tell from his breathing that he was upset. The only way he would calm down is if I would sing, so I sang the first thing that came to mind. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You never know dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away. He would purr whenever I sang this to him. So when we arrived at the vet, we were taken into the room with him. They ran a blood test to test for FIV and FeLV. We were terrified that he had feline leukemia. I cried holding him in the exam room while we waited for the results. But luckily, he was negative for feline leukemia. Unfortunately, he still did test positive for FIV - but it would not be fatal like FeLV.

We had his abscesses drained and his wounds taken care of (including the scratch he had on his eye) and he was neutered. I worried about him all day when we left him for the neutering surgery, until I got the call from Dr. Mike that everything was alright. We picked Lucky up from the vet and brought him home, and he was drowsy and loopy from the anesthesia, but he was alright. He was alright and that was all that mattered! We also treated him with Revolution and got rid of his fleas. A few weeks after this, I saw a significant difference in Lucky - and I was proud! His fur no longer looked scruffy and mangled (he was silky and soft), his wounds were all healed and he stopped fighting with other cats. He was happy, and I was happy. Lucky became well...mine! He was a completely transformed feral cat, and he was now my best friend. It was unbelievable.

 

[Anne]

First submission is in and first badge awarded.

Looking forward to reading more stories!

 

[catbehaviors]

Nope, no ferals here. Did take care of a stray cat, though.

 

[boblynrain]

My husband and I live on the same street that we were both raised as children. We never had to deal with feral cats back then. We would find a few strays but never ferals.

Our experience all started with a cat we called Papa. He was obviously a stray that had been on the streets for long time. He was approachable enough to pet and he used to let me cut out the mats in his fur while he was eating. He had the most beautiful eyes you would ever see. We brought him inside a couple of times when the weather got really bad, but he always wanted to go back out the next day. Unfortunately he would not stay inside. There came the day when we saw him sitting in the middle of the road and did not move. We called him over but he was unable to see us, as his eye infection had come back and it was so cold out that he could not open his eyes. My husband came out with a blanket while I stopped traffic,(very few cars as we live on a side street). We brought  him inside and kept him downstairs away from our own cat and tried to help him. This time his URI had come back (we had given him medication in his food, for previous ones ) After a couple of days and not getting better, we took him down to THS and they took him in, tried to help him but he was old and not responding to their efforts. They said he was about 11 years old. Finally the had to put him to sleep. Sometimes I still get tears in my eyes thinking how brave and gallant he was. Oddly enough they gave him the name of Sir Gallahad at the THS. And he was.

We started seeing more cats around black ones, tabbies and black and white ones. We started seeing a pattern in the cats. We then started looking around for kittens because we could hear tiny meows in our backyard and found four, almost newborns behind the garage at the end of our yard. We took them down to the Toronto Humane Society to be looked after and put up for adoption.

After that we started our rescue mission, without even realizing, that was what we were doing. Looking for and rescuing older cats, kittens, and even strays that people were claiming. The one wonderful thing is we started seeing a cat that looked just like Papa. It was his daughter, maybe about one year old. We called her Popette. We rescued four of her kittens before we finally caught her, by then she was about four years old. She was very sick also, but fortunately we were able to get her medicated and she has been with us for two years now. She is the most playful and adoring cat you could ever ask for.

We kept two of the tabbie kittens from a feral mom we call Missy. We have caught her twice now, once on her own and the second time with six of her kittens. The Etobicoke Humane Society has been a godsend to us as they have taken at least twelve of the feral kittens we have rescued. She has gotten away on us twice now when we were trying to transfer her to get her spayed. We are still trying to catch her to this day. We are not happy that she has moved her regular birthing place and we cannot find her new litters. We only found one and that is because it wandered into our backyard at three weeks old. (Now in a home)

All in all we have rescued at least 52 cats and kittens just from our immediate area. At least 3/4 of them were females. Can you imagine how many more kittens they would have produced if we had not done this.

This one looks like Popette.

Hope this is not too many words.

 

[teresa frith]

Marie is yelling at me to hurry up with the food as she curls her tail around my legs and walks back and forth. Blackie and Jr. are also waiting semi-patiently and Mama, a big grey cat is also there. These are just some of my semi-feral colony of cats that my husband and I have been feeding and caring for over the past five or six years. There are about a dozen regulars, with an occasional "visitor" every so often to the little group. We have managed to get all but one savvy female fixed through local TNR and rescue groups, as well as paying for some of them out of our pocket. Plus, we have found homes for more than a dozen kittens, of which three are now adult cats and living inside in the life of luxury.

We probably spend about $200 a month on cat food and supplies, but it is worth it to see their happy faces and to be able to help them live a better life. We have shelters set up in the form of igloos on our deck, cat scratchers and more for our furry friends. Over the years three of our colony let us pet them, while several just hover until we put the food out. All of them have names.

Inside we have seven cats and all but two are former kittens from the outside crew or adult cats that people have dumped in our yard. Sadly, there is no shortage of cats around this area and some don't have it as good as ours. In fact, our vet has commented that our ferals are in better health than some "pet cats" she has seen.

The bottom line? People need to spay and neuter their animals and to be responsible. After all, cats are living beings, not something to throw away.

 

[Draco]

great stories so far! I have no experience with ferals and these stories are inspirational. 

KEEP THEM COMING!!!

 

[momofmany]

It all started over 20 years ago. A friend had a cat deliver a litter of 3 kittens under her front porch. She fed them for over a year, caught them and had them fixed so they wouldn’t have more kittens, but were labeled “wild” so were left outside. Due to unforeseen circumstances, she had to move and was going to leave the cats behind. “They are wild cats and no one is going to want to adopt them” she claimed. “I’ll tell the new owners to leave food out for them.” Problem was, there weren’t new owners. The house went vacant.

The mom was long gone, and I couldn’t leave those 3 “wild” cats outside to fend for them selves. It wasn’t their fault that they were born into a bad situation and they would clearly die without having anyone care for them. So I caught them and moved them into my home.

I never heard of the term “feral cat” until about 10 years later and it’s probably a good thing that I had never heard of the many misconceptions about feral cats when I started with that adventure. I worked with them using nothing but intuition. When I saw that they responded well to me by watching my interactions with other “tame” cats, I encouraged them to bond with those cats so that they in turn would bond with me. I understood the times when they just wanted to be away from people and that was OK by me. I learned that patience is the best virtue. It worked.

The boy received the nickname “chainsaw with a heart” from my vet. He would purr loudly at the vet while he tried his best to scratch his eyes out. He’d stand on my chest at night demanding love from me – to a point – and after that he would swipe and run away. One of the girls was madly in love with another cat who adored me. She slept on top of me to be close to her love who slept on my pillow. Our alpha cat loved the last girl, and because of their bond, her status in the house was high and she became what most people would call “normal”. They had their own personalities and were wonderful cats.

I think the fact that I didn’t apply a preconceived notion about who they were helped me more than anything. They were simply cats that needed a different type of attention to help them achieve a good life. The cats that I’ve taken in since that time were all born to “feral” cats, and that early experience has helped me with all of them.

I have a difficult time applying the term “feral” to any homeless cat. There aren’t many truly feral cats out there. Under socialized, yes. Feral, no. I prefer the term “feral born”. The term “feral” puts a stigma on a cat and causes some people to give up hope that they can ever live a life with humans. My “feral born” cats are happy that I never acquired a bias against them. There is hope for all of them.

 

[Anne]

Great submissions so far! And welcome to those who have only recently joined TCS! Hope to see you posting elsewhere on the site. We do have a forum dedicated to stray and feral cats -

http://www.thecatsite.com/f/9/caring-for-strays-and-ferals

 

[feralvr]

This story is dedicated to all of the feral cats that I have cared for and loved for most of my life. Yogi was one of those ferals who touched my heart in a way that will never be forgotten. I do not like the term "feral" for feral cats. Feral cats are man-made. The result of a people who do not spay or neuter their indoor domesticated pet cats and let them roam. A feral cat is one that has never had human imprinting and does not know that a human cat lover is their ally and friend. Feral cats did not choose to be "feral", they were made to be that way. In my heart and mind, I see them as underprivileged, deprived, lacking the joy, benefits and advantages of being loved by a human.

Yogi. This feral long-haired black male cat touched me in a way that I will never, ever forget. This family of feral cats lived in the abandon house right next door to mine. The house was perfect and a very safe place for them to call their home. It was late Fall when I first spotted a teeny black kitten run from the bushes and climb up a tall tree and then jump back down and tear around the yard. I was SO surprised to see what I saw. I began the process of determining how many there were and began trapping, socializing and TNRing the adults. I believe that Yogi was the father. I knew from experience that I needed to begin feeding them on a schedule and put together a winter feeding/sleeping shelter which included an outdoor heating pad and straw. I needed to start the process of trust and understanding with them right away.

It was brutally, frigidly cold one morning and the temperature topped out at 5 degrees. The sun was shining and gleaming off of the snow as I peered out the window waiting for the cats and kittens to come out from under the deck next door, through the bushes and to the shelter to eat. I had just put out some warm canned food in the warming shelter. The wind was blowing about 30 miles per hour and it looked like a blizzard from all of the blowing snow. I saw the first two kittens come running across the yard and into the shelter. I then saw Yogi walk out from the bushes. He came to the front of the shelter about three feet out from it. He sat down and was looking back at the bushes where he had just come out of. I couldn't for the life of me figure out WHY he was doing that!!!!!! Sitting there freezing to death. The wind was parting his hair and almost blowing him over. He just sat there staring at the bush. Well, out came the last of the three kittens from that bush across the yard. It was the long-haired black female baby. She crept lowly and slowly to Yogi braving the whipping winds. It was hard to watch. When she finally reached him, she stopped right in front of him. To my utter shock and disbelief, Yogi took his paw and PUSHED the little girl towards the shelter entrance. She then went in to eat!!!!! Yogi turned and headed back to the bushes. I was bawling like a baby at this point. I could not believe what I just witnessed. He cared more about making sure those kittens were fed and warm before himself and it was an act of complete selflessness. That is the greatest show of love I have ever seen in my life caring for feral cats and I am certain there are many more that go unobserved.

All three kittens were trapped, socialized and are now in loving, forever homes. Dixie and Yogi were TNRd along with another older male cat. I planned on bringing Yogi in that Spring. He deserved to have a chance at a life of love and comfort. To be safe and well cared for indoors. Unfortunately, he disappeared one day late in the month of April, never to be seen again. He was a regular and I saw him multiple times a day in the yard and he was beginning to allow me to come closer. Well, he was gone, vanished. I was completely devastated that I could not have given him that chance. I waited too long. My heart was cracked and a he took a piece of it with him. I knew he is gone. I could feel it. He was at the bridge.

To anyone who reads this story, please spread the word and see that ALL cats are spayed and neutered. Please know that feral cats do not want to be that way. They deserve and want a chance at the good life. They just don't know it. In my heart, I believe and know for a fact that any feral cat, no matter what age, can be brought around to tolerate some sort of human contact. They are capable of showing great love, compassion and deep emotion and this has been proven to me time and time again over the years of caring for these fantastically sensitive creatures. It takes love, time and truckloads and busloads of patience. Where there is love, there is hope, and where there is hope there is life.

 

[Anne]

For those who aren't sure about what we consider to be feral cats, I'd like to point you at our article Feral Cats the Invisible Felines, where we have a fairly good description of these special kitties. Thanks!

 

[ldg]

This entry may be disqualified because of its length. But I would still like to share the story. I've worked at it, and I can't seem to tell it any other way. :heart2:




It was spring, almost summer. Beautiful sunny days, warm weather. Hubby was very focused on the grass, making it thick, filling in the "bald" spots - you know, beautiful, weed-free grass in the yard. Gary came running, breathless, to say, “You’re not going to believe, this, but I think I saw a bunch of kittens out here!” “Really?” I ran back out with him, but we didn't see anything.

The next day we headed out and we definitely saw kittens. They were playing, and the sound of the door sent them scampering into the woods. We clambered up through the prickly bushes and lo and behold! A mommy cat decided to make a nest in an old groundhog burrow. We'd seen mom around. She was one of "the garbage-can raiders." But here she was, with her family. What should we do now? We knew nothing about cats.

We called the number listed for animal control; they only respond to bear problems. We called local shelters. If anyone answered, they said they don’t take wild cats or they berated us for not having “our” cat spayed and said they were full. So I turned to the Internet. I found the TheCatSite.com and the Strays and Ferals forum. I figured "feral" meant "wild," and that's what we had: cats living in the wild. I was encouraged to feed them. I wasn't sure that was such a good idea at first. I mean, if we fed them, how would they learn to live on their own? Well, of course, the answer was to feed them, adopt some of them, find the other kittens homes, and get mom spayed.

We didn't plan on all of that happening. Not at first. Getting mom spayed, yes, we were on board and understood the value of that. But we didn’t want her to pull a runner when released, and leave the still nursing kitties on their own (yes, for our own selfish, “what would we do then?” concerns). We decided to go ahead and put food out for mom and the little ones. They were so cute! But wow! were they scared of us, big scary monsters that we are. Patiently, day after day, we took food up to them. We made sure they had clean water. We sat near them while they ate. We tossed them treats, and little by little some of them came to trust us enough to pet them while they ate.

One day they all disappeared. My heart dropped like a stone. Where did they go? Would they come back? Should we already have trapped mom to have her spayed? My head and heart were in a tailspin. But they were just on a field trip. After several days, they came back! My heart skipped for joy. We resumed feeding the little bunch of rowdy fur babies (and their oh-so-attentive mum, who always waited until the kids were done before eating anything herself).

It was the day after the Fourth of July. I remember it so clearly. The family was again nowhere to be found. It was quiet here, so it wasn't the noise of festivities that drove them away. Another field trip? Later that afternoon we thought we heard a kitten crying. We checked out the burrow, but didn't see anyone. The next day, we DEFINITELY heard a kitten crying. Hubby and I looked at each other - what should we do? I'm terribly allergic to cats. Gary was still very new to not hating cats. Should we bring her inside? Well, we told ourselves, we can bring her in. If it doesn't work out, we can try to get her adopted by someone else. That's what rescue shelters do, after all, right?

So inside she came. Gary picked her up from next to her burrow-hole home, where the poor little thing cried and cried, moaning her loneliness and fear. He placed her in a crate. Well – if she thought she was scared before, this little baby was terrified now! She SLAMMED and SLAMMED into the crate so hard we were worried she'd seriously hurt herself. Gary ran the crate and its panicking package inside. The poor little kitty cowered in the back. Gary creatively took a cereal box, cut off a side, filled it with dirt and placed it in there. We were thinking she'd want to use it to go to the bathroom, but no, she went and sat on the dirt. Of course! That's what she was used to – dirt!

We called a vet immediately. Of course it was a Saturday; of course it was late in the day, and of course they were booked solid (and didn't know us back then). We were told to bring the kitten in Sunday morning: a doctor would be in from 10:00-11:00am.

Throughout the evening, Gary kept taking the little baby girl out of the crate and holding her. She would bury in, hiding her head in the crook of his arm. We kept her in the crate that first night, afraid she’d get lost in our home if we didn’t confine her. We were scared of parasites, and we wanted her to go to the bathroom before we let her explore the bed and bedroom. Of course, the poor thing was so scared, no one got any sleep. We placed her crate up on a bedside table, and kept opening up the door to let her out into the crook of Gary's arm.

In the wee hours of the morning, she finally broke down and used the box of dirt to go to the bathroom – just an enormous pee! We praised her to high heaven and took her out of the crate again. And then it happened, that amazing, magical moment when she first began to purr. What beautiful music, that acknowledgement of trust and contentment!

We saw the vet, who said we had a very healthy, external parasite-free 10-week old boy on our hands. He administered dewormer and sent us on our way. We drove straight to the pet store and came home fully equipped with an excess of cat accoutrement. We left no-name in the crate while we got the litter box set up. We took a little bit of "used" dirt from the make-shift litter box, placed it in the new one, and opened the crate door. The newest member of our family bolted like a shot straight into his new box. He was one relieved little guy! He took to his new bed right way, and slept off some of his fear.

We toyed with a number of names. But Lazlo named himself, running full tilt and smashing his head into Gary's (who was down on all fours) in what we now call the "headbutt heard around the world" when we tried this name out for size. Lazlo, true to form, is a kooky, crazy kittycat.

Lazlo, our Number One son, led the way into a world of feral kitty love, rescue, and perhaps as importantly, feral cat & TNR advocacy. His family returned two days later from what was just another excursion. But this baby boy was already a part of our family, his pawprints stamped firmly on our hearts. So instead of releasing him, we brought in his siblings one-by-one, or found them furever homes. One was SO mean, we deemed him "unadoptable." (Tuxedo joined us inside full time about a year later). One made her way back to us. It was a harsh learning experience that taught us the importance of screening adopters, home visits, and adoption contracts.

Our growing family (we kept the most seriously health challenged and special needs kitties) was often joined by foster sisters and brothers. We engaged almost all of the local vets in our TNR, rescue and adoption efforts. Colony management was up to us, but they were always willing to treat the ferals as needed, and we owe them our many thanks for helping us find so many loving homes.

Ten years later, Lazlo is a cancer survivor. As our Number One Son, he is the inspiration for a website dedicated to feral cat advocacy and rescue resources. Lazlo is also responsible for literally hundreds of feral kittens now happily living in furever homes. They are joined by their parents, living out their lives on their terms, now trapped-neutered-and-returned.

 

[AbbysMom]

Great stories, everyone!

 

[jiskefet]

A cat called Dustbin

( A Dutch feral rescue story)

When the neighbourhood cats took over our garden from our resident cats, we decided to adopt a young tom to claim back their territory. At the rescue, I immediately fell in love with a frightened feral kitten, a 6-month ginger tom.  He and his mother and brother had been caught on the outskirts of our town, in the polder. People had alarmed the rescue because the feral family had made a habit of raiding the dustbins and worrying the residents cats. They caught quite a number of ferals, neutered them all, and kept the kittens and young adults for rehoming. Most of them, if ever rehomed, would become farm cats. I had no experience whatsoever with feral cats, but I didn't care, I loved him from the moment I set eyes on him. He was coming home with me. We kept him in a dog cage in the living room, so he could get used to us. Because he would stand on his hind legs to reach a bowl of food, any food, and wolfed it down before I could even put it down, we called him Jiskefet, which is Frisian for dustbin. But that was the one and only moment he would forget his fear of us, when we had a bowl of food in our hands.

We expected we would need a lot of patience with this skittish little guy, but things turned out very differently. Within a couple of days of his arrival he developed cat flue. He was desperately ill, with high fever and his eyes running with yellow discharge. It was quite a challenge to give him his medication and wash out his eyes and put salve in them, but after a few days he seemed to understand we were trying to help him and he relaxed and seemed to be grateful we were treating him.  It was a miracle. Within weeks, our feral chap turned into my most loyal admirer, he worshipped the ground I walked on and followed me everywhere. At night, he would sleep on my bed and cuddle up to me as close as possible. If I was ill, he woudn't leave my side. I jokingly called him my guardian angel. He truly was the light in my life.

Jiskefet loved the outdoors. He frequented the park on the other side of our street, and would stay away for hours. He was a proficient hunter and would bring us lots of presents: mice, rats, moles, even wild rabbits. But I don't believe he ever ate any of this, himself, or else he was insatiable, for he always came home for his dinner. For well over 2 years, we were the happiest cat slaves in the world. Then, late one Sunday night, the inevitable happened. The doorbell rang and a lady told us she had found him on the curb, killed by a car. Even though our street was very quiet, he had managed to cross just as a car was passing. He had broken his neck, but he was so beautiful as he lay there, so serene,and not a mark on him. The only proof of the accident was his flopping head when I picked him up to carry him home.

We put him in the living room and the other cats came in and walked over to him. It really looked like they were paying  their respects to him, saying their final goodbyes.  We buried him in the garden that same night.  The tears streamed down my face as we dug the grave and gently lowered him into the hole. But just as the first earth landed on his limp body, a curious thing happened. It was like a voice spoke inside my head. I knew, I simply knew, we had to be at a certain rescue, one we had never been to before, by 11 am the next morning.  

When we got there, this abandoned cat sat in the window sill as if he was waiting for our arrival. He followed us around while we were viewing every single cat in the rescue, but we couldn't find the cat that touched my soul. My husband said: I think this cat has chosen us, and when I put down the carrier, he just walked in and gave me a head butt, as if to say: close it. Then I knew he was meant for us, and we were meant for him. Jiskefet had chosen him.

To this day, I am convinced this was Jiskefet's farewell present. It was Jiskefet who told both me and Ricky to be ready for each other. Like a true guardian angel he had found me a cat who needed my love and comfort as much as I needed his....

[color= rgb(24, 24, 24)]My first glimpse of Jiskefet[/color]

View media item 134844
Jiskefet is ill

View media item 134845

 

[Anne]

I am orange kitty.

I had a home..well, what you might call a home.  My owner's live there.  I have been on my own finding food and shelter for many years.  I had fleas and tics all over me.  My owner's didn't care.  They didn't care that I was left alone in the sub-zero temperatures.  I lost part of my ear because of you.

I found a place that feeds me, provides me with medicine and makes sure I am safe from the elements.  My owners, you lost a wonderful cat.  You didn't think I was worth your time or money.
 

I have a new "family".  I am safe, fed and loved. 

I am orange kitty...hear me roar.

That's lovely. I really like how you used the cat's point of view. However, I'm afraid it doesn't meet the contest criteria, which require a minimum of 250 words

Some great submissions, all in all, I know the committee members are going to have a tough time choosing!

 

[zohdee]

That's lovely. I really like how you used the cat's point of view. However, I'm afraid it doesn't meet the contest criteria, which require a minimum of 250 words

Some great submissions, all in all, I know the committee members are going to have a tough time choosing!

Can I add to it?

 

[ldg]

That's lovely. I really like how you used the cat's point of view. However, I'm afraid it doesn't meet the contest criteria, which require a minimum of 250 words

Some great submissions, all in all, I know the committee members are going to have a tough time choosing!

And just making sure - mine doesn't qualify because it's in excess of 800 words? I wasn't sure if the 800 was a maximum, or a guideline.

 

[Anne]

Can I add to it?

By all means! If you can't edit that post, just post a new submission and I'll delete the first one.

 

[Anne]

And just making sure - mine doesn't qualify because it's in excess of 800 words? I wasn't sure if the 800 was a maximum, or a guideline.

Good question. It was meant as a guideline, basically, to show what we consider a minimal story. I haven't really put much thought into what might be too long, but yours is fine as in Jikerfest. I guess as long as the editor can accept it as one post, it's fine

 

[jiskefet]

Anne, could you please add my pictures to my story, I can no longer edit it.....

Maybe, in future, you could be more specific about the rules. Give an absolute minimum and maximum, and state whether or not pictures are allowed. I now realize I exceeded the number by adding the subtitle, so maybe you had better remove it.

I had to omit things to stay within the allotted number of words. If I had known we could exceed it, I probably would have written it differently.

As far as my story is concerned, I hope you will take into consideration that I am not a native speaker. I liver in the Netherlands and my native tongue is Dutch. So if I made any mistakes in grammar or idiom, I hope they will meet with some leniency.