Kitten Season - Jackson

The boyfriend has family in from out of town, so I’ve rearranged my schedule a bit. No matter – it’s the start of kitten season, so the shelter’s full of felines and adopters both.

The kittens used to be mostly housed in locked cages in large separate rooms. That made finding them and handling them easier, although it was sad to see those tiny faces and hear their squeaky voices from behind bars. The thing is, though, the kittens go fast. They’re fuzzy and cute and much in demand, plus most of them are pretty content rolling around a small space with a sibling or two and then curling up in a litterbox for a nap.

Now they’re staying in regular condos, four or five to a room, in different hallways. This gives them more running around room, and boy do they use it. From a more sedate condo across the hall, I watch a group of two month olds just tearing up and down their climbing structure. They must be from two litters (or else mom-cat really got around), a couple little black and whites and three other larger variations of tabbies.

One of the tabbies tumbles down with a squeak, and another takes this as a cue to jump on him and roll together in a head to tail ball, both making the least threatening growling noises you can imagine. The smallest one is mesmerized by the TV, which is showing the usual video of birds and squirrels. The kitten crouches, as if stalking a televised pigeon at least twice her size.

They’re adorable all right. But I prefer the adult cats. Ever seen the Puppy Bowl? It was on cable during the Superbowl. Simplicity itself, just a football field decorated room with puppies playing and an insipid song repeating, "puppies… puuppies…" I thought it was very cute, and hats off to whoever came up with the idea. But after 5 minutes? Jeez, back to the game.

That’s kind of my attitude toward the kittens. When I show them – another challenge, escorting three adults in and preventing five tiny beasts from exiting the same door – I have a few stock phrases to repeat, that they’re little and cute, will need extra care the first few months, and so on. But it’s hard to say a whole lot more about any individual kitten.

I don’t particularly like being around babies either, for the same reason. (Sorry. Maybe I’m a Cylon. Don’t tell the BF’s family.) But I prefer children once they can talk and use their imaginations and don’t need diapers. And cats once they have established their own unique personalities

All that said, however – Jackson? He’s awfully sweet.

KITTENS! http://www.sfspca.org/adoption/index.shtml

Will U B My Fwiend? - Chanel

Yeah, happy summer. I head into the scorching oven we call the Mission, feeling overdressed just because I'm wearing shoes, and wonder how the rest of the country puts up with this for weeks at a time. Everyone I pass is holding an iced coffee drink or colorful smoothie of some sort. Usually I'm disdainful of these sugar laden child drink snacks for adults, but today they look tempting.

But I can cool off at Maddie's. There's a fair amount of activity there – ominous pounding from the medical facility being constructed, boxes being dragged and loud laughter from a big downstairs room being set up for some sort of dog award ceremony.

Not many cat shoppers though. And that's ok with the nervous types, the majority of our cats, if trying for the more outgoing kitties. Little Hillary is one of the latter. Frisky, hyper, dancing around rubbing, meowing, purring, batting at things… and she's young and pretty to boot, a thin tabby and white mix. She'll get adopted fast.

She's in one of the condos with a TV, presumably to help keep her outgoing nature occupied. Only instead of the usual bird video, they've got it tuned to PBS – and there's Barney. I've not seen the Barney show before, though I'm familiar with the concept and there's no mistaking this large purple dinosaur. Also, the volume is off and closed captioning is on, so I'm treated to song lyrics scrolling across the screen along with the vivid colors, frequent camera jumps and rollicking dancing.

Let's just say I'm glad this wasn't available for viewing in my, er,partying days. OMG – in just ten minutes they cover a visit to the doctor (your friend), grandparents (who love you because that's what they do), and the playground (where you must share with your friends because you love them). Then with a trippy fluttering away of gigantic pink hearts, the full cast sings and dances about friendship.

Whoa. No wonder so many young people have a gnat-sized attention span and crave constant reassurance. Hey, who am I to judge; my favorite pre-school show was Batman (bam! pow! kicking evil's butt in the pursuit of righteousness!) followed by the original Star Trek, and look where that's gotten baby boomers.

Ok, I really need to go to a different condo. On to hallway 2, where I visit Coco and Chanel. (Don't look at me, I'm a Volunteer, not name developer.) Talk about best friends forever. These two are so sweetly bonded they make Barney's pals look like casual bar buddies. Coco is the outgoing one, an attention seeking missile of a calico, cute and clumsy by turn. Chanel is the quiet beauty, a smaller torbi. She's sweet and likes attention too, but I worry that she's so retiring, spending most of her time in the same half hidden spot.

They have each other, and that's a big plus. But they really need some dedicated human friends too.

Get Smart - Maxell

It’s a quiet sunny day at Maddie’s. The first potential customers I see are a pair of women breezing through the hallways quickly, exclaiming "look at this one," "how cute," as if they’re shopping at the mall.

So I settle in with Josh, a favorite with the volunteers. He’s a big, striking looking nine year old tabby, sadly returned because his owner since his kittenhood got sick. It has taken him awhile to get adjusted, and he's only after several weeks losing the habit of hissing at anyone approaching him. Moments afterward, he’s just fine, loving and warm. And very bright. He makes a lot of eye contact, which I like.

Later on, I show a couple kitties, but not to any serious takers. However, I overhear a staffer saying that someone’s interested in Josh. I peak in and see that the visit’s going well, lots of love in the room. I confirm it with the other volunteer – the lucky woman is going to bring Josh to join her even older cat at home. And that’s happy news for us all.

I meet a new guy, Maxwell. He’s a short hair, all black, middle aged and lanky. Another bright cat. He directs me in to see him by gazing pointedly at me from his doorway. Then he rubs, arching his back and purring, while I pet him, pausing for soulful looks. He shows me how he likes to be stroked, with lots of head and cheek rubbing. He’s one of those cats that will constantly be rubbing the side of his mouth on corners of furniture, I can tell.

He’s a smart kitty, careful and deliberate in his movements, sniffing around investigating me and the toy I’ve brought (fittingly, he’s a "Private Investigator" according to the new labeling). We play a bit, but he’s really more into being petted; he gets it that his human visitor time is limited.

"Keep up the eye contact, smart boy," I whisper upon leaving, hoping he’ll lure in someone permanent soon.

Decisions - Checkers

It’s very quiet my first couple hours at Maddie’s today, just a couple volunteers and the cats. Which is nice, we can spend extra time socializing them and make sure everyone gets a visit.

There are four friendly and playful kitties housed together in the big condo at the end of hallway 5. Holly, a feisty little tabby, is just 11 months old and all about playing with whatever she can get her paws around. The other three are 4 year old males, all anxious for attention. Gabriel, another tabby, and Checkers *, a soft medium hair black and white sweetie, get along with the others fine, bumping heads and purring as they vie for a spot on my lap. [* no relationship to Nixon's dog]

But Marco, a thin short hair black and white fellow, is having more trouble with the roommates. He slides onto my extended legs, but then turns and hisses at the others when they get too close to his head.

Poor guy. I’m trying to pet them all, but two hands and four heads is a challenge, and Marco retreats. C’mon buddy, I tell him. If Barack and Hillary can spend time together in a room, then so can you.

I keep petting and playing with the others. Ruminating on the aforementioned meeting. Really, for all the wacky people quoted in the news about being angry at one or the other, I think I’m with the vast majority of Democrats who are very pleased with the presumptive nominee, but would have also been fine if it had gone her way instead. The decision isn’t so tough with good candidates.

A bunch of customers come in all at once toward the end of my shift. I assist an older woman and her daughter. She’s looking for a companion for her playful cat who’s recently lost his companion. The daughter also has three cats, and is along to help.

I’m happy to point them toward the group condo from earlier. All four kitties show well, rubbing around for pets and batting at toys. The daughter does much of the talking, but I try to aim my questions toward the mom, the one who will be actually getting the cat. (I’ve been the daughter in this sort of situation before, I understand the dynamic, that you want your parent who has some limitations to be ok. But it’s the mom’s choice.)

She needs to think about. She thinks either Checkers or Holly make a fine companion. Either one would be a great addition, I agree with her. Another tough decision, but as with the esteemed senators from Illinois and New York, one with a good outcome either way.

Fear of Flying - Curious

This weekend is my 25th college reunion. I pondered going. But the same remoteness that made the school attractive back then just makes it hard to get to now. You can’t even fly direct from here, it’s another hour’s bus ride on top of two flights, and airlines seem to be dropping services and flights with alarming regularity.

I wish I was there, but I’m also glad to be here at my usual volunteer gig. Getting older means getting more content to stay put, and finding it harder to adjust to strangers and noise and disrupted routines. Becoming catlike, in fact.

Speaking of not being into noise and stress, I visit two of my favorite girls, Curious and Tiger. They’re a bonded pair who are very nervous and shy. It took a week before I even saw them both venture away from their safe spot, where they spend most of their time curled/smushed together in the same covered cozy.

Tiger is aptly named, a beautiful brown tabby. Curious might be more appropriately called Frightened here at the shelter. But once she starts to relax, what a sweetie. She’s a little gray tabby, angora soft, gentle in her movements, fond enough of people to give little hand licks. They both need time to get used to strangers, but will make wonderful additions to a quiet household.

A pair of young people come into our corridor. They start to enter one of the condos, which they’re not supposed to without a volunteer, so I go out and offer to show them in. They just wanted to pet the cat, they explain, no big deal. Maddie’s has a number of rules to protect the cats’ health and well being, including disinfecting hands between visits, only supervised visits, no using hands as toys, and so on. Most people would be sensible on their own, but some wouldn’t, hence the rules for everyone.

The young man is put off by such restrictions, as well as by the higher cost of adopting a kitten, and the fact that all the adoptable cats here are spayed or neutered, which I guess impinges on his notion of feline freedoms. "People should be neutered," he observes indignantly, "overpopulation is the real problem."

To all of which, I’m thinking – Dude. I was already feeling kinda old today, and now you’re turning me into The Man, enforcer of rules and symbol of societal woes. I say nothing, however, and maintain the expression of a matronly Walmart employee until he’s wound down and I’m confident he won’t sneak into other condos without a volunteer.

I can barely remember being so young and self-righteous. But I was. And there are a group of folks who would remember me that way if at all dancing to oldies in Iowa tonight, in case I need proof.