Katrina and the news stories and the posting on internet bulletin boards. The pictures of the emaciated dogs, the stories of the left behind cats, the people looking for their pets. Are they in this shelter or that? Did the cat even get to a shelter or did the authorities just release it on its own when the owner was told s/he couldn’t ride the bus to safety with their kitty?
I didn’t think it was bothering me that much. I cried, I was sad, but I didn’t think it was bothering me that much.
Until I woke up in the early, early morning, with fading visions of looking for my cats among lots of carriers, lots of cats loose and lots of dogs. I remember thinking “where’s Little Bit? Little Bit will never come to me and what about Joey, will he?” I was devastated in my dream. My life was lost, my cats were gone. Would I ever find them? I was in tears, I was shaking, I was lost…..
When I woke up, I lay there in bed thinking about what we’d do if we had to evacuate. How would we get all of them? What would we take them in? We could probably crowd six of the smaller cats in each of the big crates. And possibly two in the smaller ones. Handsome would have to be alone, as would Oliver. And how would we catch them all? Where would we transport them? We used to have the shell on the Ranger, but those lowlifes took care of that earlier this year. Oh, yes, we could use Brian’s big truck, the dump bed. And he could put something over the top of it, tarp it off, that would work. But how would we catch the ferals?
A net, we need a net. And Brian would have to wear a heavy shirt and heavy gloves to keep him safe from sharp claws and teeth….
Just remembering those early morning thoughts brings me to tears…...
I can’t even imagine living it.
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