Adapting to Change - Otis

First of all, about the San Francisco Chronicle. My family took both Washington, DC papers when I was growing up. I’ve read the Chronicle regularly for decades, albeit supplemented by NPR for more serious news. But I commute on BART. I read the paper. I loved Herb Caen, even slogging through those all-the-people-I-know-in-Paris columns.

And newspapers, a reliable, factually accurate free press – hey, cornerstone of our democracy, you know? But, yes, things change, the medium has evolved. I’d say the Chron does not need a new printing press so much as a trimming of upper management and a greater focus on online delivery. Hate the union busting, but acknowledge the lessor need for truck drivers. And digging deeper, a bunch of those things Obama keeps harping on – like reining in exorbitant health care costs, getting banks loaning again – they’re part of the picture too. Despite the freakshow of sfgate commenters, there are a lot of people pulling for the paper.

Anyway, at least it’s a good day at the shelter. Two big sweet black and white kitties housed across from each other in hallway 5 get adopted within minutes of each other – Vinnie headed home with a doting pair of guys in a red mini cooper, and Moochi joining a trio of hip young roommates.

I hang out with pretty little Otis for awhile. He’s an adorable five year old orange tabby, with a sweet expression and soulful eyes. He’s very shy, and as usual it takes a few minutes of gentle talk before he’ll even venture out of his hiding spot. Today he’s braver (or maybe just hungry), and he slithers out for some kibble. Then he ventures onto my lap, purring softly and flexing his claws. It’s slow going, but the little dude is getting used to his situation here.

A staffer mentions that Chiquita has been transferred over from Animal Care and Control and is a little freaked out. I go to sit with her. She’s a year old all black girl with several extra toes. She’s cute, but the big feet give her a funny, splayed looking walk. She gives a couple little squeaks from her hiding spot, then quickly comes out and starts rubbing vigorously around, giving hyper head butts and making quick circles around the room.

Unfortunately, she is still a bit nervous, and she growls as other people walk down the hallway toward us. "It’s ok sweetie," I murmur over and over. And after awhile she relaxes, wants to play. She’ll be fine, she’s young and cute and hopefully will be adopted and into a secure new place soon.

My older friend Summer, the orange tabby with the funny back leg, is still here. She’s a poster child for making the best of her circumstances. She demands attention from people walking by, and hobbles around just fine, thank you, letting me know when to pet her and when she’s ready for a snack. Got to adapt to our situations, us and the cats.