Cat Emergency

On the weekend, I applied to the Ontario Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (OSPCA ) to become a volunteer at our local shelter. I often visit the cats, bringing clean blankets and new toys, and patting as many as possible. On this visit, the patting took much longer than expected.

The shelter is experiencing a cat emergency. The enclosures are full, and there are 300 more cats in the back. Three hundred! Where are they coming from? There are a few kittens, but most are adults, and all were friendly and eager for attention.

I bought Meeko there four years ago when she was just a tiny kitten. They had named her 'Trouble', but she's been no trouble at all (although she did terrorize my other cat Chowder when she was alive). Meeko enjoys the company of people, yet she isn't keen on other cats. If she was, I'd be scooping up a few more from the shelter.

If you live in or near York Region, north of Toronto, please consider adopting one of these guys. They not only need a loving home and family, they deserve it.

Canadian Loonies and Toonies

Yesterday, July 1st, was Canada Day, celebrated with parades, fireworks, the whole shebang. Canada is only 141 years old -- still a baby compared to our cousins across the pond. Anyway, I thought I'd share a few money facts about this great country:

The beaver is our national animal, and is featured on the back of our nickel. The animal's importance to this country stems from the value of its pelt when Canada was first explored.

The loon is featured on the Loonie, our dollar coin that's been in circulation for about 20 years. There is nothing quite as lonely as the sound of this water bird when you're sitting by a lake up north. Apparently, the loon mates for life. I like a bird that can make a commitment.

On our two dollar coin, the Toonie, there's a picture of a polar bear. I just hope these magnificent animals can survive global warming and all the other crap people have thrown at the Earth.

And yes, "Loonie" and "Toonie" are the official names of the coins. Only in Canada, eh?

Sick People = Sick Dogs

I'd like to think that people are, on the whole, a decent lot, but one only needs to read a newspaper to discover just how screwed up some folks are. In a Toronto off-leash park this past weekend, six dogs were poisoned with anti-freeze. Two are not expected to survive, and the others will most likely suffer lasting kidney damage. Police believe the poisonings may have been perpetrated by someone protesting the city's recent decision to continue allowing a large area of the park to be used specifically for off-leash dogs. They don't hold out much hope of finding the culprit.

On the news last night, one of the owners, while hugging her dying Golden Retriever, was interviewed. It was absolutely crushing to look into the eyes of that beautiful dog -- such sadness and fear.

I can't imagine what kind of sick person would do such a thing. It's bad enough dogs ingested the poison, but that same sweet-tasting anti-freeze is attractive to young children and wildlife. I hope they catch the bastard.

UPDATE: Two of the dogs have died, and many dead raccoons have been found in the park.

Fate of the Animals

The History Channel's documentary, "Life After People", gives viewers an idea of what might happen to our world if humans suddenly disappeared -- forever. I find this sort of thing fascinating, so much so that I based my fantasy books Key to Aten and Return to Aten on just such a premise. Of course, in my books, some humans did survive -- the reading would have been terribly dull without a few people sprinkled about.

Back to the documentary:

If you get a chance, do watch it. It's a bit frightening to discover how nature would cover up all traces of our existence, and interesting to know the fate of the animals.

What People Want

It's interesting and helpful to know what brings people to my blog, so occasionally I check the search terms readers use. By far, the most common inquiry is "how to get rid of stray cats". That search will take them here and here (Note: the second link is far more useful). I had no idea there were that many unwanted cats in the world. The worst search string is "how to poison feral/stray cats". It's so upsetting to know that people are actually considering this option. I do not, under any circumstances, condone poisoning an animal.

Disheartening as it is to discover that people are looking for ways to kill an animal, I'm happy to report that many folks are looking for ways to help sick pets, feed bunnies living in their backyards, or ideas on how to keep their pets entertained.

A few other memorable searches:

"What to do when dog eats thong"
I have no idea. In fact, I can't recall ever using the word 'thong' in my blog.

"Wearing fur for bugs"
???

"Alcoholic names for pets"
This is searched quite often, so don't be surprised if you meet a Chocolate Martini or Bloody Mary next time you visit the dog park.


I hope that no matter what brings readers here, they will return to share some of their own stories and comments.

Update July 8, 2008: Yesterday, someone discovered my site with the search "is rabbit safe to eat from the backyard". I wouldn't recommend it. I don't think the rabbit would either.

This is What Happens When You Let Your Mind Wander

I'd always been curious as to why zebras hadn't been domesticated. Other than the jail house duds, they look pretty much like horses, so wouldn't it be handy to saddle one up before making the long trek across the African plains?

After a bit of research, I've discovered that zebras are near-impossible to tame, and their body shapes are different from horses, making them difficult to fit a saddle. I kind of like the fact that zebras have successfully maintained their freedom.


On the other hand, why did anyone even consider domesticating a Madagascar hissing cockroach? They can grow to three inches long, are wingless, live up to three years, and make great pets for young children. I just can't imagine bringing a cockroach into my home.


As pets or tools (and let's face it, we do use them), animals play important roles in our lives. And yet, many people continue to abuse them. Do you think they'll revolt one day, take over the world before we completely screw it up?

Enjoying the Outdoors

I've been somewhat lax in updating my blog. My only excuse is that I'm spending more time outside -- gardening, cutting the grass and generally reveling in the warmth after a very crappy winter. We've bounced straight into the hot weather. Today it's 30 degrees celsius (86 fahrenheit); way too hot for me, so I'm back indoors. I'll post something new in the next day or two. Until then, enjoy the sunshine if you have it.

Animal Myths

In my last post about composting, Raggs wondered if it was true that a worm would survive being cut in half (apparently not). That got me thinking about other animal myths.


Frightened ostriches bury their heads in the sand

Not true. This myth may have started because, from a distance, it's difficult to see their tiny heads as they peck at the dirt.


Touching toads will give you warts

Although the toads may have bumps, touching them will not cause a breakout of warts. This reminds me of two things:

1) When my mom was a little girl, she was told if she buried a cut potato in her yard, her wart would disappear. Amazingly, this advice turned out to be false.

2) If you get the opportunity, watch the hilarious Australian "documentary" Cane Toads: An Unnatural History. It details, in comedic fashion, what can happen when an unnatural animal is introduced into a new environment.


Bats are blind

Strike "blind as a bat" from your vocabulary -- not only do bats have exceptional hearing, they can also see.


Black cats bring bad luck

I have no idea how this superstition began, but I do know that my local pet adoption centre won't sell any black cats in the weeks preceding Halloween. I don't even like to think of the reasons why they have to take this precaution.


By the way, that's a picture of my cat, Meeko.

Compost Condo

I like my compost bin. I'm amazed by the magic that turns garden clippings and vegetable scraps into rich compost. But a few years ago, things didn't go according to plan.

It was early summer, and each time I removed the lid of the bin, the mound of compost moved ever so slightly. It was like a tiny earthquake that immediately settled. By mid-summer, I heard them, and soon after, saw them. A mouse and her babies had set up house in my bin. I couldn't blame them -- the compost provided food (replenished almost daily), warmth, safety, and a great view of the garden (pictured). Knowing the mice were there, I was afraid to tun the compost with a fork or shovel, fearing I'd injure one of them. I left the door at the bottom of the bin open about an inch, but they seemed to use it only for quick day trips, never taking the hint that I'd served them an eviction notice.

I decided to bodily remove the mice on Labour Day weekend because when I opened the lid, five well-fed mice jumped madly on top of the pile of compost. Perhaps the heap had become too hot, or their tunnels had collapsed and they were unable to escape. Whatever the problem, they appeared to be going nuts.

I grabbed my daughter's flimsy, dollar store butterfly net, and a bucket with a lid. Drawing a deep breath, I scooped the critters out of the bin, one at a time. I was successful in getting four of them into the bucket, but the fifth jumped out and ran into my neighbour's backyard (I hope they don't read this blog). With a parade of kids following me, I carried the bucket into the forest across the street, and deposited the mice deep in a grove of trees. I didn't have much hope for their continued survival -- after all, they'd never had to forage for a meal in the short lives.

Last year, a mole set up home in the compost bin. I spotted his funny, little nose poking out from a tunnel near the bottom of the bin. I don't think he stayed long because I never saw him again. I do have a lot of worms in my bin. When it rains, they all congregate under the rim of the lid, and I'm always afraid that I'll squish them if I put the lid back on. I don't like touching worms, so using a twig, I gingerly place them back into the bin. Although now that I think about it, they may be trying to escape, and I've just thrown them back into their compost jail.

Ah, wildlife. Yes, I have rabbits and birds visiting my yard regularly, but it's really the compost bin where all the action takes place.

Lions and Tigers and Bears ... Okay, just one tiger

In 2001, my daughter and I were driving home through our neighbourhood when we spotted this orange, white and black ball of fluff on the sidewalk. I couldn't believe our luck -- a Siberian tiger cub, and we weren't even at the zoo! Most importantly, we got to pet him (and you can tell by my smile that I'm absolutely thrilled):


(Excuse the photo glare and that perm!)

The man walking the cub told us he'd brought it home from the wildlife sanctuary where he volunteered because there was no one there to care for it that weekend. The tiger will have grown up by now, and I don't imagine he'd let me rub his stomach. Shame.

Hot Dogs

Summertime -- warm weather, misguided folks and steamy cars. This is a repeat of my very first post on this blog, I hope you don't mind, but I think it's important to remind people about the danger.



Dear owner: Please leave me at home. It gets really, really hot in the car. I don’t like it. Love, your loyal pet.

Does this look familiar? I hope not. If you’ve been the recipient of such a note, then you’re guilty of inflicting a cruelty no animal should be forced to suffer—being left in a parked car on a warm day.

Yes, I’m willing to admit that I am the local pet protector who secretly slides these notes under your windshield wiper. As you may have noticed, I always make sure that the writing faces the inside of the vehicle. That way, it can be easily read when you finally do return to your pet.

I am the person who advised the cashier at Chapters that you had left your headlights on. It was the tiniest of lies. I’d hoped that, after hearing the announcement, you would rush out, read my note, feel the appropriate amount of shame and vow never to leave your dog in the car again. Just to let you know, I waited 15 minutes before you returned. What were you thinking?

Many errant pet owners may claim they’re only making a quick dash into the grocery store. But you know how it is; a list of three items can soon turn into a cart full of food. The line-ups can seem excruciatingly long to the animal you’ve left in the stifling heat.

Just recently, I happened upon a policeman standing helplessly beside a parked car. A dog, its tongue dangling over its lower jaw, paced along the back seat. Interested bystanders lingered in front of the stores. The cop mumbled into his radio. Was he getting permission to break the window and rescue the animal? I sat in my own car (windows cranked open) and waited.

The sound of smashing glass was not to be. Instead, a harried woman, with two young children tugging on her arm, approached the car. At that moment, I envisioned her back at home, rounding up the kids, searching for her purse and shopping list before heading, breathless, out the door. The kids may have begged to bring Fido along with them. Overworked and tired, she gave in.

The cop spoke to her, the crowd dispersed, and I started my car and pulled away. I had mixed feelings about that particular episode. I could empathize with the woman but the fact remained—the dog could have died.

Even with the windows partially open, the temperature inside a car can reach 49 degrees Celsius (120 Fahrenheit) within minutes. I often hear warnings on the radio and television advising pet owners about the dangers. And, still, people continue to invite their beloved canine friends along for the ride.

Last summer, unprepared, I would scribble my notes on any available scrap of paper—a bank receipt or a Starbucks serviette. This year, when the warm weather began to poke its way through the winter’s chill, I knew it was time to pull my pet protector cloak from the closet. Anticipating a rash of owners not heeding the media warnings, I’ve printed off 20 copies of the note (it’s true, this is becoming a bit of an obsession). I’ll stash the notes in my glove compartment and, hopefully, there will be some remaining when the weather eventually begins to cool.

No one’s ever caught me playing the crusader to these four-legged victims. I’m very careful. With the ease of a seasoned stalker, I stroll toward my target and, in a fluid motion, whisk the piece of paper into place. Seldom do the animals, usually dogs, make any kind of fuss. The odd time, I see the owners discover my note. It’s interesting to observe their suspicious and, sometimes, angry glances around the parking lot.

I’m not brave enough for a confrontation with the dog’s owner; I know how defensive I would get if someone questioned my ability to care for my pet. Most people love and treat their pets as an important member of the family. It’s understandable that, in a moment of weakness, owners give in to the pleading in their dog’s eyes as they pick up the car keys. This is one time that owners must say no. The animal will be much happier and safer in the home.

I will continue to protect the furry citizens in my town. I encourage everyone to be on the lookout for those black noses pressed through a sliver of open window, trying to catch a whisper of fresh air. Print your own notes (I always try to be as polite as possible). Make a difference. Save a life.

My essay, Pet Protector to the Rescue, first appeared in the Globe and Mail in July 2003.

Furry and Feathered Moms

Mothers in the animal kingdom are so under-appreciated -- they probably never get a Mother's Day card. So let's salute the hardworking furry and feathered moms of the world.