Ollie The Cat

Ollie

I only know him through them, but I know them and I know the cold feeling of fear gripping you in that place below your heart when something unimaginable happens and you wonder how you're going to be able to save the life of someone you love so very, very much.

They're young, and beautiful and like so many of us, they are struggling to get along in this world. I can tell you she serves a fabulous cup of coffee. I can tell you they're great fun to Zumba with. I can tell you they are caring, compassionate and socially responsible people, just starting out in the world as we all once were, trying to make a go.

Ollie is their cat.  He was mauled by a dog this weekend past. He has injuries to his internal organs.

Thanks be to God (or the Universal Power, or Fate, or sheer dumb luck, or whatever floats your boat), there is a veterinary clinic in The City where charges are based on a sliding scale. So Ollie can get the treatment he needs. And what he needs is surgery.

They, his human moms, are planning to put handmade items on Etsy to help pay for Ollie's surgery. They are knitting away even as I type. (I'll share that page as soon as I have it.) But Ollie needs surgery now. Having volunteered a bit with various animal rescue groups and people who are much cleverer than I, I've learned about this tool called "chip in." Donated a few times myself.

I suggested to Ollie's moms that they set up a chip in. And here it is.

Ollie's scheduled for surgery this morning. Here's his chip in. You know the drill. Even a buck helps. And if you don't have a few bucks to toss toward's Ollie's cause, well, it's a tough economy out there right now, and I get it. Forwarding via twitter, facebook, email, your social media of choice helps hugely, too.

Here's Ollie's Chipin link:  Ollie's Surgery

Ollie

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 stlcatlady is a poet, blogger, and freelance writer of short stories, news articles, and other such oddments, many of which center around her favorite subjects: felines , philosophy, and folklore. You may contact her by sending email to stlcatlady1 at gmail dot com. Thanks for reading!

Blended, Not Stirred

Sasha

We have really no idea how old Sasha is. He was an adult when he came to us, frozen and more than half starved, four years ago this winter. However old he was then, he's older now, and is getting a little creaky. I no more have favorites among the cats than I have favorites among the offspring,  but Sasha is the one who spoons with me in bed at night, his head on my pillow. We're close.

A couple of months back, I decided to eliminate dry kibbles from the diet of the Fab Four (the house cats, pampered potentates that they are). As much as everyone was enjoying the nightly canned food treats, I thought this switch would be met by riotous rejoicing in kitty-dom.

For the most part, it was. The benefits to the Fab Four were obvious and immediate as well: more energy, better coat condition.

I had, though, failed to consider that dry kibbles are a little like crack, or at least like potato chips. The point is, they're addictive. Apparently,  according to exhaustive internet research, dry kibbles contain "animal digests" as an additive. This is to make the kibbles tastier to the discerning kitty palate.

Addictive. Like sugar is to us. Or salt. Or...crack.

Well, two of the Fab Four left the Dark Side right away, embracing clean living and canned cat food with a right good will. Not so Rikki the toothless and Sasha the one time starving cat.

You'd think a near starvation experience would make you willing to eat almost anything. Not so, it seems, not so. Rikki and Sasha went on hunger strike. I was going to post video of them, marching around the house, carrying signs with catchy slogans, paws linked singing "We Shall Overcome" in solemn and serious meowing. I knew you would have enjoyed it.  Alas, I have no such footage to share. You'll have to take my word for it.