Cherry Saturday, December 1, 2018

It’s the first of December and it’s getting cold, especially for the pets in shelters.  No matter how much cherishing shelter workers give them (and let’s give thanks for shelter workers, that job must break hearts daily), these abandoned animals need forever homes.  Until that day arrives, they also need food and blankets and toys, which is why December is Operation Santa Paws month.  Give what you can to your local shelter, and while you’re giving, check out the clientele.  The best gift you ever gave yourself may be right there, waiting for you.

16 thoughts on “Cherry Saturday, December 1, 2018

  1. We’ve adopted two dogs through the SPCA. The first one, Olo, was so good that he still breaks my heart when I think of him. For example, if we let him outside, he didn’t like to bark to come in, so he’d paw the door one time. The, if we didn’t respond, he’d let out a single, short bark. Olo wasn’t jealous when we had our son. In fact, even when he was sick, he kept Max in his sight, watching him in the sandbox to make sure he was okay. Golden retriever/yellow lab, got cancer when he was only four years old.

    Now we have Roxy. I didn’t expect to love a Rottweiler mix, but she was so gentle. Her default greeting is licking (well, after she barks up a storm). Here’s a blog from when we first adopted her: http://melissayuaninnes.com/daring-greatly-we-are-now-a-party-of-five-with-more-feet/
    And there are more dog pics, including one of Olo, in Max’s birthday letter: http://melissayuaninnes.com/happy-birthday-max/
    Our kids love to snuggle and read with Roxy, although they never want to walk her. She’s a huge part of our family.

    All this to say, yay for dog rescuing and donating!

    10+
  2. It’s climate-change weird here. Windy when it usually isn’t. But relatively warm for the onset of Summer.

    The worst is all the pets given as gifts. Then people find that they can’t care for them. That’s what happened to my new pupper. He was a birthday gift and then the family realised that they couldn’t care for him as he grew. In taking him, we rescued him from tiny space, constantly chained, only eating dry dog food, and not being played with enough.

    He’s a huge ball of power right now. And I’m glad we rescued him. He’s rescued us right back.

    10+
  3. I’m on my way to the local shelter I like (not my town, but a nearby one), to deliver assorted stuff, including cat-sized quilts (this shelter is cats only) from my Scrap Basket Clean-out (and others I already had) and some old sheets a friend was getting rid of, and some stuff for their tag sale next week. Win/win — I get rid of clutter, and they (I hope) get some money and definitely some cat bedding.

    11+
  4. I’m so glad you posted this. Shelter adoptions have been one of my pet rant topics for so long. All of my pets have been adopted from shelters — humane society, SPCA, and others. The experience of the big-hearted people who often staff them, and the sad recognition that it won’t be able to help all of those wonderful creatures they’re caring for — I hope more and more people will spread the word and the love like you are doing.

    6+
  5. My cats, Candy Cane and her sister Snowflake, and now Polka Dot, were shelter cats. Candy Cane and Snowflake came as a pair, Snowflake having cerebellar hypoplasia — she was a wobbler — and Candy Cane mothering her from, apparently, about the time their eyes opened. Snowflake had other health problems and ultimately didn’t make it, so Polka Dot now keeps her company. Polka Dot was adopted as a kitten and returned to the shelter — couldn’t cope with a very small child, they said. She was very anxious to work out well on her second try and in seventy-two hours she was sleeping at the foot of my bed entwined with Candy Cane, grooming each other. Not a hiss from either of them from the first moment. They’re about two weeks apart in age.

    8+
  6. All my cats are rescues too. Angus came from a local shelter (along with pal Samhain, now gone)–he’d gone in as a 7 week old kitten and when I met him, he was 7 months old. When I got my beloved Magic and her brother Mystic as kittens, I had gone in to get one kitten and came home with two…along with their sickly, terrified (probably abused) mother, who was so unadoptable, the shelter folks threw her in as a “bonus.” They were a wonderful family, and Minerva was devoted to her children until the end of her days, so I never regretted getting them all.

    The recent additions were rescues too. Koshka and his sister Ember came from a 25-cat hoarding situation, and Harry Dresden was being fostered by an amazing new grassroots organization called Super Heroes in Ripped Blue Jeans. It was started pretty much single-handedly by a young woman who originally ran it out of her apartment with the help of a cadre of volunteers. They try and help all the cats and dogs that the local shelters don’t have room for–a much larger task than I think this poor woman anticipated. They finally got an official space (although many of their animals are housed with fosters, like Harry was) and applied to be an official charity. Every extra penny I used to donate to the larger animal organization now goes to them.

    6+
  7. My first cat after we were married was Moshe an eight week old terror clinging to our kitchen door screaming “Let me in. Let me in. I’m hungry. There are coyotes out here”. Non-stop for 30 minutes before I let him into our duplex (pets were prohibited and I figured he belonged to a neighbor).

    He was a mess: dirty, fleas, ear mites and an opaque eye where he had been scratched. When my husband came home (I got home from work earlier), he said “We can’t keep him. He is someone’s cat”. And I said “You think someone is taking care of THIS?” And since he is so hard-hearted, he said “You can NOT going to call him Cat or Kitty. You better come up with a name for him”. Moshe spent every night of his life sleeping on my husband’s pillow He would climb up his leg and hang from his belt loops to watch as my husband did the dishes in the evening. One evening I came into the dining room and said “What is that cat doing on the dining room table” a totally forbidden activity. After a very cold look, my husband said “he is NOT on the table. He is on my paper”. Moshe turned out to be the smartest, sweetest, most vindictive cat we ever owned. Of all of our cats, Moshe is the one I have the most stories about. He did tricks, he never bit, the neighborhood kids loved him, he would eat food that you insisted he needed to, then he would throw up on something you valued. He was totally obnoxious when crossed. We loved him dearly.

    Our next cat was a rescue to keep Moshe company in an effort to keep him quiet so the landlord would not notice we had a cat. Moshe was unimpressed . We are now on our 10th cat, all rescues in one form or another. We still remember Moshe.

    8+
    1. My friend got a shelter cat because they had mice (she loves cats, she’d have used any excuse), it would go in the garden when the landlord came and she’d pretend it was a neighbours. That cat ate better then she did

      6+
  8. All of my cats have been rescues of one sort or another. Sheba jumped in the window of the house we had just rented, and became my cat. A couple of years later, I was a student teacher, and there was a family of cats living under the school. It was decided to grab up the kittens and home them, rather than leaving them feral. A student brought in a box (formerly used for paper) and asked if I could tell whether the kitten inside was a boy or girl. Of course – and I reached in, grabbed him up by the scruff of the neck, flipped him over and confirmed. Meanwhile, he chewed the crap out of my finger. I took him home, and after the 10 days rabies quarantine, Vincent (named for the Beast character in Beauty and the Beast) was mine.

    Since then I’ve always had at least one, but usually more, mostly from the local no-kill cat shelter. I figure if I adopt from there, I’m freeing up space for another cat to be rescued. Right now we have Maggie, my old girl of 12, Wendy picked up from a neighbor who rescued her from a construction site, Teddy who was adopted to keep Wendy company, and now Stanley, the stray who we have been working with for the last year and a half. Stanley comes in the house each evening for dinner, companionship and a warm place to sleep.

    5+
  9. Our cats were rescued from the food chain. Friends of ours had a big orange tabby who got a small grey kitty pregnant. She had a litter of 4. Our 2 came from that litter. We learned a few weeks later, the remaining 4, mom, dad, and siblings, all went missing. The people lived in a very rural area. Coyotes are suspected in the family’s absence as they never returned. Our boy, Zep, passed 2 years ago (best cat ever!) at 14.5 of a septic abdomin from a ruptured abscess. His sister, Sophie, is quite happy as an only child and I suspect, is planning on living for another 5 years. We won’t get another cat until she passes as she has this death cry she shrieks whenever she she’s another cats. I’m actually hoping to foster kitties until we experience a foster fail. This could enable us to have kitties in our life and travel for months.

    2+
  10. I’m sure I’ve bragged about my dogs here more than once. All rescues, although Moose was rescued from a neighbor rather than a shelter. Two of my dogs I got sight unseen from a rescue in Tennesee that ships dogs north.

    Pip is sitting in my lap as I write and Oreo is trying to convince me that there is room for one more. They like it better when I sit in the big chair with room for both of them.

    I sometimes give money to shelters, but mostly I foster dogs that are waiting for a home. More love for me. I’m selfish that way. Perhaps I can make dog blankets with the leftover fleece from Christmas presents.

    3+

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