But Wait - There's More! - Simon

They’re having another cat sale at Maddie’s. Maybe hoping to move more adult cats during kitten season? I’m not sure the general public quite appreciates these price fluctuations. It’s like with modern airfares – you’re psyched when you get a good deal, but it kind of ups the anxiety level in general to know the rates may still rise or fall.

There’s also a new flyer posted with info about myths concerning black cats. The powers that be here generally don’t gear towards middle aged eye sight, so I can barely read it, but presumably the word is black cats make fine pets. Agreed!

I visit Simon and Nicki, both mostly black, who have the flyer posted on their door. They’re both timid and have been housed together with the hopes of being good company, but so far they appear to have divided the room in half and taken sides to prevent interacting. More like two thirds, one third, actually, with Simon taking up more space. He’s a sweetie, young, thin and leggy, a mixture of friendly and shy. He rubs vigorously, purring and even drooling a bit, but his eyes stay dilated, just on the edge of fearful even as he laps up my company.

An older woman in a motorized wheelchair wants to meet Gigi, who’s across the hall. Good test of the facility’s access. (It’s designed to accommodate wheelchairs with wide doors and low handles and everything, but reality can be different from design.) Not a problem – she maneuvers in and the cats back away at the sight and sound of the chair, allowing me to reach around and shut the door.

She tells me, in a pronounced Russian accent, about her calico cat that died at 16. She likes the calicos and orange tabbies, and we check out several. The cats split about evenly between being fascinated and frightened by the moving chair. I don’t think she’s actually planning to adopt (she notes that even the sale cost is too expensive), but she's relishing the physical contact. One cat tries, but nobody escapes into the hallway.

It’s not till my last ten minutes that I help a serious customer, a woman around my age who’s brought along another cat person friend. They’ve already met Mack and Mabel, and ask to see Trigger and Fluff, a pair of five year old brothers who are newly arrived. One’s a tabby, the other a lynx point, but it’s pretty clear they’re related. They rub and purr, make eye contact, almost dance around between us. They’re great cats, they have that intangible something that makes me wonder how they could possibly have ended up here in the first place.

The woman still has a roommate to consult, but she’s smitten. We all are. She says these are the ones, and hurries out to the front counter, not wanting to see any others. "Don’t be cute for other people," she tells them as she leaves.

I glance back in at Simon before I take off. He’s sitting up, alert, paws crossed under his chin, kind of emphasizing the little white spot on his nose. He can go ahead and be cute and be on sale.

It Had to be a Dog Called Booger - Mabel & Mack

People who knew of my devotion to my late cat Muppy have asked if I would have wanted her cloned. Like the dog in question, sure, it was hard to let her go. http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/08/06/MNM7125HBD.DTL

But when you spend time at the shelter, the answer is a resounding NO. There are so many unique and wonderful pets needing homes already.

I understand wanting to renew a cherished relationship. (And I loved that the departed Booger’s clone-sponsor named the puppies Booger Lee, Booger Ra, etc. in honor of the docs… um, thanks.) But I think everyone, people and animals, are more than their basic DNA. Environment and growth and relationships, serendipitous coincidences and chance encounters have a huge impact on how someone turns out. Sometimes it’s just luck, and I wonder if that really can – or should – be recreated.

I’m missing lucky 8-8-08 at Maddie’s; work interfering with life again. But there are a few customers looking around the day before. A couple with 2 cats at home are searching for the right personality match for a third. They’ve narrowed it to three. I’m always interested in how people make these choices. Often people choose between very similar cats. But in this case, the candidates vary widely: a 3 month old kitten, big super friendly long hair Mercedes, and tiny skittish tabby girl Libra. They head off to consult with a cat behaviorist.

I visit Mabel and Mack, a bonded pair of seven year olds, siblings, all gray, soft and sweet. (Just an aside – it’s been several years since my mother died, but sometimes I still have a little flash, an impulse of thinking I should call and tell her about this. She especially liked soft gray kitties, and would have adored these two.)

Anyway, visually, I can barely tell them apart without their handy blue and pink collars. But they’re quite different in person, despite being siblings raised together since birth. Mack is bolder, rubbing and rolling around hopping on and off my lap. Mabel is cautious, wary at first. She moves slowly, but winning her gentle affection is more gratifying.

And I value that uniqueness.

Find a friend... http://www.sfspca.org/adoption/adoption_cat.html

Low Care Diet - Storm

I suppose I should mention the 44 pound cat. (I’m not even going to bother with a url; you’re here, so you’ve heard about him.) But really, what does it say about our irresponsible society that someone didn’t read the fine print and had a house in foreclosure, and then abandoned her cat? Having first let him balloon to such excess weight (and named him Powder)? Save us from ourselves, President Obama!

A small upside is it makes the rest of us with overweight cats look better. Some animals (including people) certainly pack on the pounds easier than others, yes, but everybody needs limits. My boy came home a chunky 17 pounds, and he’s not lost weight. But I feed him reasonable amounts of adult weight loss kibble, and play with him at least twice a day, trotting up and down the hall with toys for him to chase.

You could almost see the gears turning in his little walnut sized brain though, and after a couple passes he’s going "enough of this already" and flops on his side, willing only to bat at what he can reach from his back. And I tell myself he’s at least a happy boy, very comfortable in his relatively new home; at Maddie’s he cowered and barely ate.

The shelter is busy again, with a low cat shopper to volunteer ratio, and I spend the bulk of my time there showing cats. First a young couple with all the paperwork want to check out a variety of cats and kittens. The guy is fairly cat savvy, but the young woman seems a bit tentative around the friskier kitties, and asked dog-type questions (ex. how often do they need a bath). Those two wander around during my whole shift, indecisive or just undertaking a very thorough search.

A tall and cheerful single woman asks to see Hendry, a striking 10 year old lynx mix with a partly shaved back and stubby curled tail. She’s met him before and he greets us with what I swear is the loudest meow I’ve ever heard. They’re delighted with each other, and so perfect together that Meg Ryan would play her in their romance movie. She says she can’t adopt today but she’ll be back.

Next a pair of youngish guys are looking for a companion for a shy cat at home. They’re both cute in a Central Valley baseball fan kind of way, and I take them to be straight buddies, but maybe my gaydar’s off; later they joke about a cat having a trannie name. Anyway, we check out several and they choose LeBron, a lovely sweet gray girl who would be good company for just about anyone.

At last I can spend some quiet time with some quiet kitties. We have several who are very scared, not even well adjusted enough to fully enjoy human companionship.

Storm is one of these – she’s small and gray, only a year old and very pretty, but too scared yet to even rise from her safe spot and come out for pets. I reach back to stroke her gently, keeping my voice soft. Then I try playing, and she offers some cautious bats at the toy but she’s really not into it. She’s not eating much either – she’s quite thin. It’s a different kind of problem than Powder the 44 pounder, but somebody’s not treated her right either. C’mon, people!

Playground Rules - Prince

My volunteer day is extra busy, because I start out meeting a friend and her two young nephews at a nearby playground. She alone is in charge of the boys all day (I know all the mommy-bloggers would think what’s the big deal, but it is a big deal if you’re not used to kids). She’s fine but I’m there to help. They’re both energetic, and the younger one is big for his age of two – he looks capable but needs near constant watching.

This action packed 90 minutes gives me new appreciation for the people who bring kids to visit the animals at Maddie’s. The boys are go go go, just barely kept amused by all the activities and other kids at the park, and continually on the lookout for something new and exciting. Little friendships and alliances form and fade. My friend worries that the boys will hurt themselves or other, smaller children, and I try to convince her that these occasional spats and tumbles are the nature of children.

At the relative calm of Maddie’s, I check and see that both sets of kittens I showed last week are gone, as is Big Boy. But several of the longer term cats are still here, unfortunately. Fewer people around than last week. Vacation time, mid summer. The first people I help, an older, sort of hipster tanned California couple, tell me they’re just checking things out, that they can’t adopt yet because they’re going on vacation. In fact, they are hesitant to even visit the cat they’re drawn to, afraid of getting too attached.

They return after a bit and visit sweet Shanti anyway. She’s a soft, shy dill calico who has been here since June. They don’t stay long, but they take down her name and info; danger of falling in love is imminent.

So I go to visit my friend Marco, who once again has new roommates. They’re all three attention hogs, "personal assistants," the sorts of cats who want to be with people constantly. Curly is a perky and playful brown tabby with an odd backwards curling tail. And Prince, he’s charming – a thin, long limbed orange tabby with huge green eyes. He’s slithers up, initially a bit afraid, but leans next to me, gazing up adoringly.

None of these guys wants the others to get the most attention. There’s a kind of similar dynamic to the playground, actually, with a few hisses and paw swipes to establish territory and dominance. Now I’m the one who worries, will they hurt each other? But I tell myself they’ll be fine, they’re just working things out.

Prince won’t sit on my lap on his own, but when I pull him there, he crouches slowly, then curls his paws up and starts up a barely audible purr. Marco accepts my other hand petting his head, and Curly happily bats a toy. Order established, for now.

May I Help You? - Big Boy

Last night my workplace held its annual fundraiser. Very successful event: well attended, with short speeches and high bidding on the auction items, and only a mild sense of dissonance as a gathering of people supporting legal aid schmoozed over wine and laid down cash for high end restaurant meals and boutique or other expensive sorts of things.

These events are hard work for the staff though. Lots of preparation, and then the pressure of being the customer service people as 200 plus attendees arrive and register. Minor glitch when the guest elected official showed up and wasn’t recognized (to be fair, he was a last minute substitution and his handler steered him to the wrong end of the alphabet of name tags). But he was cool about it. I like a politician with at least a dose of humility.

And I think everyone should give service work a try at some point in their lives – gives you a sympathetic understanding to people just doing their jobs.

So today, with a bit of a post event headache, I hope for a quiet shelter day. No such luck for me, but happily for the cats there are a bunch of serious adopters. My customer service role here is easy and familiar at least. And humbling to boot – whatever accomplishments I may claim elsewhere, at Maddie’s I’m a cheerful woman in a dorky apron ready to show the cats.

Among several people checking out the kittens are a couple who are around my age. They’re specifically looking for a black and white kitten, having recently lost an 18 year old, and we bond talking about those special cheerful kitties. As we talk, one of them picks up and holds a darling little Siamese mix, who proceeds to curl up and sleep right there in her cupped hand. Very cute, but they still want a black and white.

I suggest that they can always come back again if they don’t find the right kitten today, since we’ll have lots of them all summer. She explains that they’re school principals on vacation so they want to have the free time to spend with the new cat. Both women are in jeans and t-shirts, and I’m amused thinking that they must feel refreshingly anonymous here, away from school and all its demands on their roles.

Of course all this all kind of pales when you think about the cats here. Former pets, most of them, emperors of a household turned please-adopt-me beggars on display in little glass doored rooms. It’s the ultimate of humbling experiences for many of these dignified creatures.

Which brings me to Big Boy. His name says it all – he’s a large regal tabby with a big voice and a bigger attitude. A so called Band Leader, feisty and demanding, he’s like a CEO somehow landed in a homeless shelter, and he’s telling everyone who passes it’s a mistake and he needs to get out.

I show him to a couple friends who probably won’t adopt but feel compelled to meet him. He shows great, rubbing amongst us equally, with purrs, head butts, even paws up on shoulders as we sit attending to his meows. I’m not worried about him, someone will take him home soon. And he can put this sad episode behind him and go back to his proper place adored by all and ruling the roost.

How 'bout a Group Hug? - Donna

My territory is suddenly infused with campers. Herds of them romp on the closest hiking trail, and the summer camp is in full swing at Maddie’s. Not exactly my scene; I’ve never been big on gatherings of children, not even as a child. Then as now, I’m more comfortable relating to one or two at a time. I sure would have enjoyed the cat aspect of this camp as a kid, just not having to be outgoing and part of a loud group.

I do enjoy outgoing kitties. (Ok, I pretty much like all cats. But I mean as opposed to preferring less demonstrative people.) Donna and Kellie, for instance, are a delightful bonded pair, both strikingly pretty three year old torbis. Donna’s a short hair and Kellie long, and they’re both classed as Leader of the Band, the most sociable and brave of cats.

Donna shoots right out the door when I open it, in fact, and we have a comic little interlude of me trying to herd her back, then finally lifting and tossing her back in order to fend off Kellie’s escape. Oops. Fortunately no campers are there to witness this. Donna’s wonderful, purring and rubbing, meowing into my face, putting her paws up on my shoulder then kind of guiding my hand forward to lick it. Kellie circles, us also rubbing happily.

In the hallway, a staffer leads a family to Kiley’s condo, and we all three watch. Kiley’s another outgoing girl, a sweet young friendly tabby. (It’s beyond me to understand how anyone could have given any of these cats up.) The parents look young to even be married much less have a kid of six or so. But the three of them stand smiling as the staffer boxes Kiley, and loads them down with supplies – instructions, food, litter, litterbox, etc. They leave talking excitedly, the little girl proudly carrying Kiley in her cardboard carrying case.

"That could be you soon, girls," I tell them, and they cock their precious heads, flatteringly responsive. It’s tougher for a pair to get adopted. We’ve had some other, shyer pairs here for several weeks now. B ut these girls are such rambunctious winners, I see a bright future for them. Lots of people like group activities and romping fun.

Happy Holiday - Gabriel

The shelter is teeming with both customers and volunteers on the day before Independence Day. Lots of people starting the long weekend early, plus Maddie’s has temporarily discounted costs to get the kittens and longer term cats moving. (I’m a little skeptical about this, I mean half price kitten sale, is that what we want to motivate people to adopt? But, hey, if you’re thinking of adopting anyway, now’s a good time to save some bucks.)

And may I just say, on behalf of pets in homes and shelters everywhere, the 4th of July is a sucky holiday. How does it bum me out, let me count the ways… explosions, loud booms, things on fire, crowds, air pollution, grilling of processed animal flesh, mindless consumerism and thoughtless flag waving... For the animals, even the bravest are troubled by the climactic noises of the evening, and it falling on a Friday won’t help. Yeah, half the state’s on fire, but let’s all run out and buy M-80s.

Here, today, is more what I would seek if designing a holiday. Smiling people wandering the corridors, discussing the merits of various cats. Quiet moments with the kitties, making those matches. Purrs and licks.

I show Appolonia, a pretty shy and slender little tabby, to a nice mellow couple. They’re gentle and quiet, and cautious in their approach to her. This little girl started out very scared and is just blossoming a bit after several weeks (and let’s hope the fireworks don’t throw her for a loop). Now she weaves around between us, rubbing and our nudging hands, and the guy in particular seems taken with her. The man and woman communicate easily, just murmuring a few phrases back and forth, and make decisions in the comfortable way of people in a good long term relationship. Happily, they want to adopt her, and hurry off to start the paperwork, as the shelter is closing early.

I continue to the end of the hallway, where charming Gabriel is casting a spell on me. What a sweet pretty boy, a big striped tabby, outgoing and playful. He’s housed with Mandolina and Marco, both affectionate young black and white cats. Poor Marco has seen a series of roommates come and go, but the good news is he’s getting along with the roomies fine now. Good thing, because Gabriel is a washer.

You can probably divide even the world of cat people into those who do and don’t like being licked by a friendly sandpaper tongue. I like it fine, and apparently so does Marco. So here we sit – Marco curled possessively on my lap, licking his own paw, Mandolina on a stool behind me, purring loudly as she nuzzles my hair, and sweet Gabriel, eyes blinking contentment as he goes back and forth from licking my arm to a thorough grooming of Marco’s face and neck.

This is my holiday.