As I left my flat tonight to join a friend (Beatrice's mom, in fact) I found a note on my door. It wasn't unexpected as I had spoken with management and the office staff told me there'd be notes upon everyone's doors announcing the new fitness center.
But there was another message included with the fitness announcement. I'll quote in its entirety:
"Finally, please refrain from feeding any stray cats that are on the property. We are working to reduce the stray cat population and would appreciate your assistance with the issue."
First, I had permission to take care of this colony-- permission from the management company, not just from the apartment complex. But the complex has been sinking a lot of money into upgrades lately...
Second, "working to reduce the stray cat population" does not sound good. The only way to effectively reduce the population, as you, dear readers, know, is TNR, and that takes time, and does not require not feeding, and has already been done, as you know. In fact, in the two years since the TNR project, the population has remained steady and stable. No, in this context, "working tor reduce the population" has got to mean something much less ethical-- trap and kill.
I will be asking for specifics on Monday-- the office is closed on weekends, of course. However, if I'm not just borrowing trouble, but am, in fact, correct with my above assessment, I will need your help.
Thus far, I have kept the apartment complex's name out of this blog, out of my commentary on the situation. However, if they are planning on killing these cats, I will be asking for your help in a letter/email/phone call campaign. A few minutes of your time to deluge first the apartment complex and then the management company in voicing displeasure would be helpful.
So watch this space on Monday afternoon/evening (I'm in AZ, so a few hours behind East Coast time), and get ready to mobilize the troops to save these kitties again.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Mystery in the Colony
Technically the cat who woke me up this morning, in the still dark hour of 6:30am, isn’t feral—it was Jack, my fuzzy companion of six years. When he gets hungry and decides it’s time for breakfast he tears up paper, generally from books. Given that I’m a doctoral candidate in literature, there’s a lot of it about. I have various methods for dealing with this, starting with distracting him—sometimes he’ll then jump up on the bed and curl up with me and we can sleep ‘til the alarm goes off. This time, however, while I tried to get him to stop destroying things, without having to leave the warm cocoon of my bed, I heard yowling and howling.
Clearly this noise was not coming from my cats, but it was quite loud. It’s not frigidly cold here—after all I live in a dessert—but it’s cold enough that my windows were shut. All the same, I quite clearly heard angry cat voices. So I hopped out of my oh-so-comfy bed and went out on my balcony to see what I could see. Unfortunately, while I could still hear the howling, I couldn’t see a thing.
So, despite the early hour, the darkened morning, and my desire to return to sleep, I pulled on shoes and a sweatshirt and jogged outside and down three flights of stairs. I wanted to know what was going on, if anyone was hurt, and that sort of thing. No cats (angry or otherwise) were visible in my building’s courtyard, so I moved into the next.
I only saw one of what had to have been two culprits. A large, orange tabby stood in the space between the two halves of the next-door building. Upon seeing me he turned and trotted off towards the parking lot.
Wait, a large orange tabby? Who was this?
There are only four orange cats who have been part of this here blog. First was Bozo, also known as Waffles, who, as you’ll probably recall, had to be put to sleep a while ago, following an injury to his mouth that became infected, keeping him from eating, all atop his FIV/FLeuk status. Second was Gandolf, also known as Skinny Kitty. It turned out that he, too, was not feral, and was rapidly losing weight due to diabetes. My one-time-neighbor took care of him, giving him daily insulin shots. She and her family recently moved a few blocks away into a house, and she took Gandolf with him. Third is Walsingham, a young feral who is fairly large but not quite filled out, and has a whole bunch of white on his legs and belly. And finally, Sam, who became Whiskey, who was a kitten that I took in for a few days and rapidly adopted out to a neighbor. He’s been around a lot lately (with a collar on—he’s become indoor/outdoor. I’m not entirely okay with that, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, Sam/Whiskey is still pretty small, but has a tail that’s so long and fluffy that it makes him twice his size.
This was not any of those orange cats.
So who is it? Well, there are three options, as far as I can tell.
First, he might be an indoor/outdoor who belongs to someone in the apartment complex. There are a lot of indoor/outdoor kitties around, which is strange to me, given that the complex houses a feral colony, but who am I to comment?
Second, he may have recently joined the colony and I just hadn’t noticed him. This seems unlikely, however—why would I have never seen him before? And why would the colony have accepted a grown cat?
Third, he may have been trying to join the colony (which is to say get to their food) and was being kept out. From what I understand about feral colonies, this seems likely—cats being territorial.
Anyway, the answer is unclear and will require more investigation. More information as I (if I) find it
Clearly this noise was not coming from my cats, but it was quite loud. It’s not frigidly cold here—after all I live in a dessert—but it’s cold enough that my windows were shut. All the same, I quite clearly heard angry cat voices. So I hopped out of my oh-so-comfy bed and went out on my balcony to see what I could see. Unfortunately, while I could still hear the howling, I couldn’t see a thing.
So, despite the early hour, the darkened morning, and my desire to return to sleep, I pulled on shoes and a sweatshirt and jogged outside and down three flights of stairs. I wanted to know what was going on, if anyone was hurt, and that sort of thing. No cats (angry or otherwise) were visible in my building’s courtyard, so I moved into the next.
I only saw one of what had to have been two culprits. A large, orange tabby stood in the space between the two halves of the next-door building. Upon seeing me he turned and trotted off towards the parking lot.
Wait, a large orange tabby? Who was this?
There are only four orange cats who have been part of this here blog. First was Bozo, also known as Waffles, who, as you’ll probably recall, had to be put to sleep a while ago, following an injury to his mouth that became infected, keeping him from eating, all atop his FIV/FLeuk status. Second was Gandolf, also known as Skinny Kitty. It turned out that he, too, was not feral, and was rapidly losing weight due to diabetes. My one-time-neighbor took care of him, giving him daily insulin shots. She and her family recently moved a few blocks away into a house, and she took Gandolf with him. Third is Walsingham, a young feral who is fairly large but not quite filled out, and has a whole bunch of white on his legs and belly. And finally, Sam, who became Whiskey, who was a kitten that I took in for a few days and rapidly adopted out to a neighbor. He’s been around a lot lately (with a collar on—he’s become indoor/outdoor. I’m not entirely okay with that, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, Sam/Whiskey is still pretty small, but has a tail that’s so long and fluffy that it makes him twice his size.
This was not any of those orange cats.
So who is it? Well, there are three options, as far as I can tell.
First, he might be an indoor/outdoor who belongs to someone in the apartment complex. There are a lot of indoor/outdoor kitties around, which is strange to me, given that the complex houses a feral colony, but who am I to comment?
Second, he may have recently joined the colony and I just hadn’t noticed him. This seems unlikely, however—why would I have never seen him before? And why would the colony have accepted a grown cat?
Third, he may have been trying to join the colony (which is to say get to their food) and was being kept out. From what I understand about feral colonies, this seems likely—cats being territorial.
Anyway, the answer is unclear and will require more investigation. More information as I (if I) find it
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Help for some Fuzzy Babies?
I know this blog doesn't exactly get high readership, and I don't want to turn it into pleas for kitty assistance, but ... this makes me sad and I want to help.
You can read the whole situation here, but basically, a momma to four kitties (of various ages and temperaments, 2 dsh and 2 maine coons) has to go into assisted living and can only take one kitty with her. The cats are in Phoenix (same as my feral colony), and need loving homes. I've maxed out homes for cats, as you know, with the kittens over the past few years, so I'm hoping against hope that posting here will boost the signal and help get these fuzzies adopted. (She's not
looking to necessarily place them into the same home, although I'm sure that would be great, so if anyone can open his/her heart and home to one of these guys, you can contact her via the link above.):(
