- Joined
- Dec 16, 2014
- Messages
- 398
- Purraise
- 670
As some may remember, I've been planning a rescue/cattery hybrid, where the rescue is in part funded by the cattery, (every dime from every kitten, who will go home altered, will go to the rescue) and the cattery receives goodwill and publicity from the rescue, as well as the quality of cats I plan on aiming for, armed with some genetic knowledge and an artist's eye. People would feel better buying my purebred because the money helped shelter babies. Plus, I'm offering a "Better in pairs" deal where buyers of purebred babies can either have a second for half off, of a rescue baby (or adult) for free, as long as they pass my scrutiny to buy in the first place.
But I've bitten off more than I can chew. I took too many because there are so many and you just want to save them all. I hate it. I've lived through things you wouldn't believe at the hands of the kind of evil some of you are incapable of believing exists. And yet, I don't rage for me, and my astronomically horrible luck in life. It's when I think of them that I grit my teeth, white knuckles tight, wishing it was as simple as it was back then — kill the bastard, or run away, and it'll get better.
Every time I look at a photo of a dog or cat who's living their final day at death row in an impoverished high kill shelter, blissfully unaware of what's gonna happen tomorrow, posted by the rescue folks I know from back home, I look into their eyes, deeply, for a few seconds, and for each, all I can say is "I'm sorry I couldn't save you too." This was what tortured me at night, even as a child. The monster under the bed could suck eggs, there were real, beating hearts, forced to stop, in the same way we do to only the most heinous murderers of our own kind, when these cats' and dogs' own crime was simply being. From a young age, I swore I'd do something. My whole life, my parents said it had to be this way, they had to die. Ever since —I couldn't have been older than 7— a local news channel followed a doomed a black tom from removal from his enclosure to his trash bag on the pile. As I watched, my parents paying little notice vowing to myseld, "If I do one thing, if I make a single change, if my life has a single piece of meaning, I want it to prove that there not only can be, but is another way of stopping this democide and genocide of creatures that evolved alongside us, more our brothers in spirit than our fellow apes. In the pyramids of Egypt, cats were mummified and given great care, like one of us. Over five millennia ago, we made graveyards for dogs, as we so our own. How have the ages taken us so far in reverse?
We we take them home, when we give them food and water and shelter, we make a promise — it may not be spoken in our language of lies and convenient omissions, but it's understood in theirs: "You're safe here. We've kept one another alive longer than you or I understand. Let's make each other's lives worth living." When they have babies under our roofs or on our lawns or on our decks, or anywhere else, and a set of five fingers picks up the helpless, blind, ball of fur, pets Mama and give her some food, we make that same promise, to them, to her, about them. I don't wanna get into the vegan argument here, but purpose, purpose is the core of reason and the mother of advamcememt, and theirs was comraderie. It may have been on the hunt, or in keeping a holding safe, or a city free of disease, or a tomb free of pests, but we worked together. Now, when they no longer need to ward off the bears catch the rats, hunt our food, guard our dead kings, in this modern era, we don't need their labor anymore. So what do we have left? The comraderie. Even through the teamwork and symbiosis, a share of a meal a dog helped kill, a belly full of every rat a cat could catch, we needed each other to survive, and now, we are letting them die in droves, simply because we can't be half bothered to stop it.
So, how can you help?
Anyway, I just had to blow off some steam here (and you should see the scathing paragraph I wrote about Alabama, what I'm effectively saving these cats from — it was a doozy!) My goals remain the same, but now I know the responsibility and the challenge I'm facing. I've been a fool to try and rescue groups of 10 or more at once, and breed, all in a one bedroom apartment. My body is already not in fair health. Gonna have to figure that out too. I've blown out my back and been bedridden for a week just rising from scooping litter boxes. I have more up for adoption right now than I can handle or afford, ages 5 months through 8 years. My mother was my "grabber", who gathered cats for me back down south. This time, she sent a dozen. I couldn't say no. They needed us. But no one will help a rescue that isn't government registered, and, call me crazy, but I see the government as the people doing the killing. They're the enemy. I don't want a contract with them, not for this. Petfinder won't help me. Vets give no discounts. PetSmart told me where to shove it. In the past, friends and friends of friends and family have adopted them, but now, they're all catted up. Even Facebook isn't being helpful. I got kicked out of a group just for explaining, as briefly as I could, that I bit off more than I can chew.
My adoptable babies are in good shape. No fleas or worms. They're a healthy weight. Some sneezes now and then but we've just had a small cold going around. No one has gunky eyes, third eyelids, or any major symptoms. It's just becoming too expensive and I can't give them all the attention they want. My joint malady is always at its worst in winter. I need to suspend the rescue until I have a starter house (planned for a year from now) and most likely sacral surgery. I don't deserve help. I know I screwed up, tried too much too early with too little space and preparation. But they need the help I don't deserve. Cat hoarders are the scum of the earth and I hate myself for feeling like I'm even close to being one. Is there anyone on the eastern side of the USA that can give these guys homes, or put them with someone you trust? I am out for the night and my mother in law wants one, so I can post photos of all of them after that. My driver is headed from Michigan to Texarkana Monday. If anyone along that route can even take on one as a foster in that area, or, better yet, adopt one, I believe you all are trustworthy. He will go through other routes, and there will be more opportunities. If you're willing to give one of these ladies (there's only one little male btw) a home, you'll be doing them a massive favor. Alternatively, if you know a way for me to get these guys' names and faces out there. I need to get the funding mechanism together first, and the space, and the equipment. They don't get enough attention right now because I'm in the process of designing a new type of stud harness for Alaska that should leave all bodily functions unobstructed save for the occasional oopsie poopsie we get with all Maine Coons, except the one I don't want him doing yet.
Sorry I'm catching up with you on these circumstances. I have recent photos of everyone if you wanna check them in some new thread. This is the last resort before I go full redneck method and sell them out of a car in a Meijer/Walmart/Target/Whole Foods. (even then, I'd require a character reference, a vet reference, and a conversation to figure out what kind of human being they are.
But I've bitten off more than I can chew. I took too many because there are so many and you just want to save them all. I hate it. I've lived through things you wouldn't believe at the hands of the kind of evil some of you are incapable of believing exists. And yet, I don't rage for me, and my astronomically horrible luck in life. It's when I think of them that I grit my teeth, white knuckles tight, wishing it was as simple as it was back then — kill the bastard, or run away, and it'll get better.
Every time I look at a photo of a dog or cat who's living their final day at death row in an impoverished high kill shelter, blissfully unaware of what's gonna happen tomorrow, posted by the rescue folks I know from back home, I look into their eyes, deeply, for a few seconds, and for each, all I can say is "I'm sorry I couldn't save you too." This was what tortured me at night, even as a child. The monster under the bed could suck eggs, there were real, beating hearts, forced to stop, in the same way we do to only the most heinous murderers of our own kind, when these cats' and dogs' own crime was simply being. From a young age, I swore I'd do something. My whole life, my parents said it had to be this way, they had to die. Ever since —I couldn't have been older than 7— a local news channel followed a doomed a black tom from removal from his enclosure to his trash bag on the pile. As I watched, my parents paying little notice vowing to myseld, "If I do one thing, if I make a single change, if my life has a single piece of meaning, I want it to prove that there not only can be, but is another way of stopping this democide and genocide of creatures that evolved alongside us, more our brothers in spirit than our fellow apes. In the pyramids of Egypt, cats were mummified and given great care, like one of us. Over five millennia ago, we made graveyards for dogs, as we so our own. How have the ages taken us so far in reverse?
We we take them home, when we give them food and water and shelter, we make a promise — it may not be spoken in our language of lies and convenient omissions, but it's understood in theirs: "You're safe here. We've kept one another alive longer than you or I understand. Let's make each other's lives worth living." When they have babies under our roofs or on our lawns or on our decks, or anywhere else, and a set of five fingers picks up the helpless, blind, ball of fur, pets Mama and give her some food, we make that same promise, to them, to her, about them. I don't wanna get into the vegan argument here, but purpose, purpose is the core of reason and the mother of advamcememt, and theirs was comraderie. It may have been on the hunt, or in keeping a holding safe, or a city free of disease, or a tomb free of pests, but we worked together. Now, when they no longer need to ward off the bears catch the rats, hunt our food, guard our dead kings, in this modern era, we don't need their labor anymore. So what do we have left? The comraderie. Even through the teamwork and symbiosis, a share of a meal a dog helped kill, a belly full of every rat a cat could catch, we needed each other to survive, and now, we are letting them die in droves, simply because we can't be half bothered to stop it.
So, how can you help?
Anyway, I just had to blow off some steam here (and you should see the scathing paragraph I wrote about Alabama, what I'm effectively saving these cats from — it was a doozy!) My goals remain the same, but now I know the responsibility and the challenge I'm facing. I've been a fool to try and rescue groups of 10 or more at once, and breed, all in a one bedroom apartment. My body is already not in fair health. Gonna have to figure that out too. I've blown out my back and been bedridden for a week just rising from scooping litter boxes. I have more up for adoption right now than I can handle or afford, ages 5 months through 8 years. My mother was my "grabber", who gathered cats for me back down south. This time, she sent a dozen. I couldn't say no. They needed us. But no one will help a rescue that isn't government registered, and, call me crazy, but I see the government as the people doing the killing. They're the enemy. I don't want a contract with them, not for this. Petfinder won't help me. Vets give no discounts. PetSmart told me where to shove it. In the past, friends and friends of friends and family have adopted them, but now, they're all catted up. Even Facebook isn't being helpful. I got kicked out of a group just for explaining, as briefly as I could, that I bit off more than I can chew.
My adoptable babies are in good shape. No fleas or worms. They're a healthy weight. Some sneezes now and then but we've just had a small cold going around. No one has gunky eyes, third eyelids, or any major symptoms. It's just becoming too expensive and I can't give them all the attention they want. My joint malady is always at its worst in winter. I need to suspend the rescue until I have a starter house (planned for a year from now) and most likely sacral surgery. I don't deserve help. I know I screwed up, tried too much too early with too little space and preparation. But they need the help I don't deserve. Cat hoarders are the scum of the earth and I hate myself for feeling like I'm even close to being one. Is there anyone on the eastern side of the USA that can give these guys homes, or put them with someone you trust? I am out for the night and my mother in law wants one, so I can post photos of all of them after that. My driver is headed from Michigan to Texarkana Monday. If anyone along that route can even take on one as a foster in that area, or, better yet, adopt one, I believe you all are trustworthy. He will go through other routes, and there will be more opportunities. If you're willing to give one of these ladies (there's only one little male btw) a home, you'll be doing them a massive favor. Alternatively, if you know a way for me to get these guys' names and faces out there. I need to get the funding mechanism together first, and the space, and the equipment. They don't get enough attention right now because I'm in the process of designing a new type of stud harness for Alaska that should leave all bodily functions unobstructed save for the occasional oopsie poopsie we get with all Maine Coons, except the one I don't want him doing yet.
Sorry I'm catching up with you on these circumstances. I have recent photos of everyone if you wanna check them in some new thread. This is the last resort before I go full redneck method and sell them out of a car in a Meijer/Walmart/Target/Whole Foods. (even then, I'd require a character reference, a vet reference, and a conversation to figure out what kind of human being they are.
