Jazz
Jazz is the beautiful, well-behaved tabbycat I had taken in because I didn't want her to give birth on the street. On September 15, 1999, 5:15 am, she gave birth to five gorgeous tabby mix kits who eventually revealed their wonderous saphire eyes. I did everything I possibly could for them, and I've been repayed with constant pestilance, emptied garbage cans, unused litterboxes, expensive vet bills, destroyed belongings and many a sleepless nights spent cleaning something I just got finished cleaning the day before. I was being driven insane, but I have learned the lesson they were meant to teach me. As much as it tore me up inside to surrender them, because my landlord makes the rules, I had no choice. Thank you, Bide-A-Wee for taking in these priceless animals when noone else would. I highly recommend this organization to anyone who needs their services.
Bide-A-Wee (East Side Manhattan)
(212) 532-4455
Calash
Another portion of this site is dedicated to, of course, another kitten. Yes, I was idiotic enough to sneak a 3 day old all black kitten into my apartment. Boy, I never learn! I had found this mighty-lunged baby boy about a month ago on a stoop in my old neighborhood, just screaming his lungs out in a chilly, wet driveway. His eyes weren't even open yet, and if seeing him hadn't broken my heart enough to risk me being kicked out, he would have died soon after. His mother was nowhere to be seen, and according to neighbors who I badgered, he had been crying all day. I took the poor creature in. I got no sleep because he needed to be fed with formula (KMR) every 3 hours, but I loved him so much I didn't mind. A good friend of mine helped me out with his expenses and my lover helped me out with the kit's..err..hygene, so that I wouldn't collapse from exhaustion. Of course, with how loud this baby was, it didn't take long for my landlady to find out. So again, I had to surrender him, and just when he had opened his beautiful blue eyes. The North Shore Animal League was the only place crazy enough to take in a kitten who still wasn't weened, and I can do nothing put praise these people. (yes, they really give a damn.)
The North Shore Animal League of Long Island
(516) 883-7575
Lucky Lady
Yet another animal has stolen my heart enough for me to place her mention here. One stormy night, my lover passed a rather large black puppy on the way home from work. She was tied to the outside of a petshop; cold, frightened and starving. The petshop would have been a clever place to be left, if it had been open. It didn't take my lover much thought to take the poor animal in. The 10 month old Golden Retriever-Rotweiler mix pup wasn't there an hour before she took over. The Beagle who's lived there 2 years didn't stand a chance. He got no food, water or attention. The furnature was filthy, the floor was soaked and worst of all, she wasn't housebroken. She was named "Lucky Lady" for her fortune, and ironically, because she simply wouldn't behave, she was given away the next day. Lady's a beautiful, energetic, healthy animal whom I wish only the best of luck and love to her always.
Pigeon's-Pride
Another dedication goes out to a friend and family member I barely knew. Pigeon's-Pride and I crossed paths one day while on my way back from grocery shopping in my parent's neighborhood. (The grocery store near me blows monkey ass...but anyway...) The first thing that caught my attention was a trail of blood from the middle of the street leading into an empty lot. Then, I heard the desperate patter of wings against concrete. There he was, broken and bleeding in a dirty puddle of rainwater in the center of the lot, flapping his wings frantically, trying to fly to safety. The moment my eyes met his, I dropped my bags and ran over to scoop him up. He was in terrible shape. Apparently, one of the many slack-jawed inbred retards with the godfather theme as their horn roaming around free in that neighborhood had smacked into him with a jeep and didn't even slow down. Almost every bone in his one wing was crushed, he was partially eviscerated, there was blood pouring out of his beak and from the way he moved his torso, some ribs were shattered as well. I was only a block away from my parent's house, so I bolted as quickly as I could with Pigeon's-Pride clingling onto life, struggling weakly in my arms. Trying to shove his innerds back into his stomach, I tried to think of an animal clinic near there, but I was in panic mode. I couldn't move fast enough. I felt like a hampster on a treadmill. I'll never forget the look he gave me before he died in my arms. It was as if he said, "I don't know who you are or why you give a shit about me, but...thank you."
Pigeon's-Pride has been seriously hooked up. He's got his own little corner of the universe, right in my parent's backyard. Right by a white rosebush. I'm currently saving up for a neat-looking gravestone. I like to bring him flowers of all types. And my parents don't mind, it gives me another reason to stop by! Rest in Peace, my friend. May you always fly free with the wind.
P.S. I knew he was hit by a jeep because I had spoken to a neighbor who had witnessed the whole thing. Lazy fucking cunt couldn't even get up off her ass and call for some help.
Max & Gail
The most recent victim of needless cruelty was a good friend of mine. His name was Max and he was a baby sparrow. My lover and I found him injured and kept him in a large cage overnight in hopes that he'd recouperate. He never did. His death was slow and agonizing, and almost as painful to watch. There was nothing we could do. The animal shelters nearby were clueless, too busy or closed, and the ASPCA was no help. Max finally laid down and gave up in my lover's shaking hands, last night, June 26th at around 6:30 pm Eastern Standard. I buried him in the backyard next to another sparrow, Gail. She had been fortunate: she was killed almost instantly by the same heartless murderer. Who was it, you ask? And why haven't I beaten this scuzzbucket down within an inch of their life? Because surprisingly, the killer wasn't human. She's my lover's cat.
When hunting, cats usually kill and eat their prey immediatly, and that's only if they aren't getting fed well enough. This fucking cat gets stuffed beyond stuffed, and she takes a sick pleasure in prolonging the suffering of her victims. I ask myself why, since this is not a natural instict for a cat, but a human. She destroyed Max's right wing, then walked away for a while, just to come back and play some more. Killing for amusement is a human concept. The only thing I can figure is that cats have been hanging around us humans for far too long. Does anyone else's cat do this? I have no idea how to discipline the cat. I'm angry enough to swat her on the butt a few times and lock her in a room for a week, if she ever comes back from outside...but declawing is too cruel. Isn't it? If I find one more dead or dying bird lying around this place, I'll pay for the precedure myself.
R.I.P. Gail and Max. May your next lives be a hell of a lot more fruitful and a hell of a lot less tragic.
Tabia & Dean
It's been about a month and a half since, and I already have another sparrow and a charcoal-grey field mouse to write about. The bird I'm naming Dean and the mouse I'm calling Tabia. I have no idea why. They too are buried in my lover's backyard next to Max, Gail and the very first sparrow we ever found in that cat's destructive clutches. What the hell am I supposed to do? (No, I haven't hit her, I just ignored her for three weeks or so which drove her even more insane.) Ahh well, what can I say? If I can find out what to do with an overly-homocidal cat besides declawing her from this, or maybe teach others this mythical method...I guess there would finally be some meaning behind these guys' deaths. I know I'd want at least some meaning to mine. R.I.P. Tabia, Dean and the first victim who will remain unnamed. I wish you well in whatever your spirit decides to do.
*If you read no other dedication, please read this one.*
My next dedication is probably the most important one I'll ever make in my life. Every animal lover has at least one animal to thank for their compassion. They may be (or might have been) a cat, a dog, a parrot or even an iguana. Or it might have been a bat or a baby bear or something. The point is, that animal was there to teach you about love. The kind of love you could never experience through loving another human being, large or small.
Mine just happens to be a cat.
His name was Bachelor and he was a beautiful short-haired Tabby. He was born in July of 1992 and is survived by his brother, Tiger. Bachie just happened to be the most adorable and loving animal I've ever known. He'd been my rock for the majority of my older childhood and has been my best friend through thick and thin, no matter what happened. Unfortunatly, when I left the roost, as it was, I couldn't bring him along. However, I would make deals with my landlady then that he could mayhaps spend a night or two every few weeks, which he did. Years later, when I moved into my last apartment, my landlord made it clear that he wanted none of that. And so, there at my parent's house he stayed, where I'd visit a little less than maybe I should have. Well, the point of this whole thing is that just recently, Bachie passed away from liver cancer. He has about 10 months of health before taking a horrible turn, which is a lot more than the vet thought he'd have. I've tried to be there for him as much as I can, bringing him treats and making sure he was comfortable. I helped my parents give him his medicine, I fed him, I spoiled him and told him how much he meant to me, knowing he understood every word. Once that turn for the worse came, it was all over before we knew it. One morning he was under the coffee table crying and screaming. By the time we got him into the cab, he was unconscious. During the trip, no one knows if he was aware of himself, but he was on his side, making running motions, like he was actually having a dream or a vision that he was running off somewhere...or maybe towards something. It freaked us all out something fierce. By the time we got him to the animal hospital, they barely got him on the table before he passed on.
I miss him dearly, and whenever I walk into my old room at my parent's house, I can almost still sense him. Every time I see a bottlecap, I think of our games of fetch. Every time I see a cat with one of those surgical cones on his head, I think of the time Bachie was "cat from mars". Wherever you are, whoever you are now, my sweet kitty, my littermate, my pain in the balls who loved to sleep on my head so I could experience the joys of waking up with hairballs too...you will never be forgotten and always be missed. I will smile upon the memories we had together and wait until your next life where you're free of your pain and we can meet and be happy once more.
R.I.P., my friend.
911
So much death. The whole day seemed like some sort of sadistic dream. First the Twin Towers, then the Pentagon. It wasn't bad enough that my father wasn't too far away and that he'd be stuck in the city all night because of this bullshit, but my lover and I had to go through something much, much worse than he did. No, this isn't dedicated to all those shmucks I never knew who got their asses blown to bits today. This isn't even dedicated to my father who's probably sleeping in a garbage-filled alley right now because there isn't a free hotel room within the entire tri-state area. Kittens. There were three of them. They didn't have names. Born extremely premature, they lay listless on the filthy sidewalk. Abandoned by their mother on the very day of their birth. My lover took them home, and he, his mother and I cared for them as best we could. They wouldn't eat. They didn't walk and barely meowed. They were even too weak to lift their own heads. The first male, an all grey one with black stripes passed on in his sleep. The second, solid grey and by far the noisiest, had "milk in the lungs". We tried for hours, massaging the milk out, making her belch and hiccup. She gave it her best shot, but died soon after. We burried them both next to each other and let the other one rest. He was by far the strongest; all black with a tiny white patch on his chest. We playfully called him, "Stinkweed", because of his resilliance. He ate well, he walked and slept for a hell of a long time. All of a sudden, at about 2:30 am, my lover went to feed him and found, to his horror, that the baby had stopped breathing. Near hysterics, We tried CPR for about 4 solid minutes. Nothing. All we could do was put him back in his crib and walk away. It just didn't seem right. It wasn't enough that Death got all those souls today...why did he need three more? "Stinkweed" was doing so well. He really seemed like he would make it. The nosedive came from nowhere and I still can't figure it out. I feel like any moment I'm going to wake up and say, "Damn, that was one fucked up dream". I'm going to bed now because I need my sleep. In the morning, we're all going to burry him next to his littermates.
It's just not fair, I tell you. It's just not fair.
Violet
Yesterday afternoon, I was going for a stroll on my rollerblades and saw the cutest little kitten in the world. She was as big as my outstretched hand, all black with the cutest little golden-yellow eyes. I've seen her and at least one other kitten and knew they'd been living in this garbage-filled alley for a while and this was the first good look I had of her. I knew right off the bat she was sick. One of her eyes was crusted shut, she kept her posture low and she made silent mews. I went back home, got a can of catfood and used it to lure her out where I could grab her. It took me three tries, but I rolled her home in my shirt and begged my lover's mom not to kill me. I got a big plastic tank with clean rags ready for her and immediately took her into the bathroom to clean her up. I got as much of that crust off as I could and then came the bath. Everything was okay up until the point where I rinsed the cat shampoo off her. Blood gushed off this animal endlessly and into the bathtub which freaked me out so bad, I didn't know what to do. I took a good look in her fur for any cuts or bruises, and all I saw, crawling all over her tiny body were fleas the size of thumbtacks. (I'm figiting and itching myself all over just thinking about it) I didn't mean to, but I panicked. Badly. I dried her off quickly, wrapped her up in more clean towels and took her outside along with the phonebook and the phone. I called everyone, from my own vet to the vets in the area, the ASPCA who transfered me to the CACC (evil) and FINALLY got through to something with a pulse who told me that someone would be calling back.
I watch Animal Precinct. I thought that someone would be nice enough to pick her up and take her in a van or cattaxi or something, clean her up and put her up for adoption. Instead, I got some snot who told me that they weren't a clinic, and that if there's anything wrong with the animal, they would put it to sleep, even if it just had fleas. HOW ASSININE IS THAT!!?!?!?! Didn't I tell you the CACC was EVIL??
Anyway, to make a long story short, We couldn't keep Violet. I was under a lot of pressure from my lover's mom to get her out of the house. I had to do something. I ended up convincing her to drive over to an animal shelter and give her up. I found out that they do indeed give flea baths, treat for earmites and Ringworm and that most likely, if there isn't any internal problems, she would be cleaned up that night and be put up for adoption the next day. When we got home, we hunted around for any remaining fleas, boiled all the things the kitten touched and took showers with scalding hot water. The form the shelter gave me noted that if I wanted to know what happens to the kitten, I should write a letter, which is exactly what I'll do, and I'll be back to tell you guys about it. For now, I'm keeping my fingers crossed and my hair and clothing under constant scrutiny, and I'll hope everything works out okay.
