Rescue

Some dogs just have that "Save me" look. And sometimes you just have to say, "Okay. I will."

When I first saw Roxy, she was a pitiful little thing inside a big, lonely kennel. I couldn't figure out why she hadn't been adopted, since she was small and the small breeds are the first to go.

I found out she had a heart murmur and no adopters or rescues were willing to do the tests required before she could undergo anesthesia. I told my mom, and she took care of that mess. She drove over 2 hours to pick the dog up, took her to her own vet, paid for the heart panel, and drove her back to get the spay surgery, then took her home again. Now, she lives happily with my grandma, keeping her company and looking at her with those "Save me" eyes.

Bastian (now Bear) is another case where the new owners weren't willing to deal with a little medical issue. During his neuter, a huge lump was found on his neck (his new dad calls it his Adam's apple). He, too, was labeled rescue only because we didn't want to see him returned again.

Once again, Mom took him to her own vet. He's now happy and healthy living with them; they realized he was just too good to give up. He even has his own little corner, what I call Bear's Corner (like Pooh's Corner) where he goes when he's scared, which is fairly often. He's a big wimp. But once he loves you, he loves you completely.

So this is my new project. She's the best one yet. Even back when she had her puppies and everyone was warning that she was super protective, she just had that face that said, "Save me."

Now the question stands: Will we try to keep her for ourselves? Or will this be another sad/happy goodbye?

UPDATE (4/4/16): Roxy died about a year ago. She had an enlarged heart and likely had a heart attack. My parents still have Bear. We adopted and still have Honey.

Duma

Duma is that big cat that was in protective custody for a long time. The county finally got custody of him and he was placed on the adoption floor last week. The next day, because he's so awesome, someone wanted to adopt him. When he was told how much it would cost to feed Duma, though, he decided to adopt a different cat.

The decision was made to make Duma "Rescue Only" because of his special dietary needs and he was placed back in CQ. I hated it for him because he'd just gotten out, and was obviously awesome enough to be adopted, he just needed to find the right family.

Thankfully, one of the ladies at the front desk decided he would make a good behind-the-front-desk kitty, so he has been back there with them for a few days. He's doing so much better and is obviously enjoying stretching his legs. He's become so friendly and he'll come right up to you for attention.

I'm quite fond of him and will try to get a photo soon.

Thumbelina

It's been a heartbreaking week for cat lovers at the animal shelter. I went to work on Saturday and found out that my favorite cat, Ratchet, had been euthanized because he got sick and the treatment room was full, as it always is. I guess I didn't think to put my name on his profile to keep him safe because we haven't been fostering since we adopted Zsasz and it's horribly inconvenient.

Which, I suspect, is how we got in our current situation.

On Thursday, when the vets came around I was cleaning Thumbelina's cage. She'd been there almost a month, which was weird because she's a beautiful, sweet Maine Coon mix, almost 6 months old. I asked the vets why she hadn't been spayed as a Highly Adoptable animal, and they said that they aren't doing HA kittens anymore because they get sick so easily after surgery. I started talking to Thumbelina and told her that maybe I would talk to my husband and she could come stay with us and play with our kitty while she waits to be spayed.

As luck would have it, she got sick Friday. So it's good that I didn't take her because she probably would have gotten Zsasz sick. Bad news is, I got a text from the foster coordinator because the vet tech remembered me talking about/to Thumbelina. So this is what's in our bedroom now:

The photo really doesn't do her justice, but she's also not feeling well. Zsasz has been kicked out of the bedroom and she spends most of her time in that crate. First night we had her, she was like this all the time:

(video)

I must have woken up a dozen times that night. Each sniff and snortle would have me suddenly awake, heart racing. I even tried sleeping on the futon, but Zsasz was being an ass.

Since the first night, she's gotten significantly better and I think she gets more sleep. This morning I woke up to the most amazing sound: cat food being crunched. Since we got her, the only food she would eat was force fed to her. Her eating on her own is amazing. So happy about that.

It may be due in part to my husband clearing out her nose, which was an ordeal. Some of the spray ran down into her mouth and had her foaming for a good few minutes. Poor girl.

A family visited with her before she got sick and decided to put a deposit on her Friday. Her meds will be done on Sunday, so she can be checked out on Monday. If she passes, I expect she'll be put on Wednesday's surgery list. That would give her and Zsasz a couple days to play together before he loses his foster sister so soon.

Bad kitties

My job is mildly hazardous. I work with caustic chemicals and sometimes psychotic animals on a daily basis. I'm a very cautious person, though, so I tend to have less incidences than my coworkers.

Yesterday, though, was particularly nasty. Bad nasty, not feces nasty. Though, there was that, too.

Cats give me more trouble than dogs. They're less predictable and have easier access to you through the kennels. A dog can't bite you through its cage, while a cat can easily grab your shirt or anything within a foot of the bars.

My first encounter with a bad cat yesterday was Sassy Susie.

She did the fresh, short scratch. I let it go, assuming that it was a play grab and not an aggressive attack. It happens a lot, especially with younger cats and kittens. I was cleaning a different cage, so I wasn't looking at her. When I was cleaning the kennel below her, though, she attacked my head through the bars, and as I stood up she had that crazy cat face: ears back, mouth open and hissing. She was pulled from the public room. She had given other staff members problems before, and this was her final strike.

the faded crossing line is from where my arm rests on the laptop

Later on, in the same room, there was a kitten who played very rough. He was nice, but his easy play was worse than Zsasz's rough play, which is pretty bad. I was worried about him scratching a customer, so I was in the process of taking him to get his nails cut. As soon as the door opened, though, he spazzed out and scratched me. It bled for a good while. Hopefully he'll be taken by a rescue because he's too much for the adoption floor.

Zsasz, however, is the source of most of my scratches. For example:

The red line is one from a few days ago. My arms and legs are covered in small scratches.

The white arrow is pointing to a scar, my first one I got at work. That was Horvath, who I wrote about in May. In that first photo above, you can see another old scar, from a kitten that I believe is back in the sick room. That was an accident; it was just really excited to get out of the kennel. Like, leapt-from-the-cage-right-at-my-face excited.

I've been stealthily cutting Zsasz's nails while he's sleeping in my lap. If he scratches me, I try to make a mental note of which paw to target when he zonks out. It's not perfect, but it works. He won't sit still long enough to get all of his nails done at once.

We also had an ear infection scare with him, but it turns out he just has dirty ears. We (I) have to clean them about once a week. As if I don't have enough ears to clean.

Maximum capacity reached

Begin sending critters over the rainbow in 3... 2... 1...

The shelter is full. Dog and cat rooms, public and private. They will have to start making space tomorrow. Rescues have been given free choice if they can get animals out immediately. It's dire. This is the first time the entire building has been full since I've started working.

So we brought home this little guy:

A space is a space is a space.

We wanted to take a dog, but our apartment is not ready and I doubt I am psychologically ready. Fattening up a kitten is simply an easier job.

I love him already.

He is feeble. I don't really know what he looks like, actually, because he's been laying down and covered the entire time we've had him. He was cold when we got him, so we've been doing our best to keep him warm. He's estimated to be 6 weeks old, but he is stunted. Hopefully he will live. If he makes it 72 hours, I'll change his name to "Sinatra."

Gruesome work

There are some unsavory aspects to my job. The things that go on behind the scenes, like in the euthanasia room, I keep to myself. However, sometimes weird things happen in public places that just... are so ... strange.

If you don't want to know, stop reading now. You probably don't want to know. Just a warning.

This morning, around 8 am, my coworker, who was working cats, came and got me. She asked if I had seen anyone from receiving and I said no, so she asked if I would come look at something and tell her what I thought. "I really just need someone else to look at this, too."

We walked into the cat room and she went up to a cat cubby, pushed the button and opened the door. Inside, at the back, was an unhappy looking, fuzzy black cat. At the front, near the door, was a tiny head. A tiny kitten fetus head, so shiny it looked like plastic. It was no bigger than my pinky nail. It was quite possibly the most bizarre thing I've ever seen.

I wonder how many times I'll say that.

"..."

"...it looks like she had a miscarriage. That's a fetus head."

"Okay, I just wanted someone else to verify it."

"Gross."

Later, when we talked about it--because, really, what else is there to talk about?--she said that it wasn't as bad as the time she found a drowned kitten. I immediately thought she had found a kitten that had fallen into its water and drowned (the water dishes are kind of large, especially for the smallest kittens). No, a feral mother had given birth inside the feral box, then taken the time to carry the kitten out and drop it in the water dish. The rest of the litter were found dead inside the box.

Keep in mind, these aren't even the worst stories. These are just things that happen, because we deal with animals. It's so much worse when humans are involved. But I can't share those stories here.



On a completely different level of gross (just plain gross, not gruesome or gory), a dog vomited up corn on the cob. She's been in the building for one week, and no one (to my knowledge) has given her (or any of the dogs) corn on the cob.

... Corn. On the cob.

My job is straight crazy.

Work stories

Yesterday, the power went out at work. I was cleaning the stray cat kennels, and my only clue was that the air cut off. It's eerily quiet in that room when the air isn't on because it's always on. The cats are almost always hiding and silently watching.

The temperature was rapidly rising throughout the building. The North Carolina summer is quickly making itself known and temperatures are now in the high 80s during the day and low 60s at night. Which reminds me, we need a car with a/c!

I didn't mind the power being out, despite the unsettling flickering lights that seemed to be agitating the dogs as well as the people roaming about. I didn't mind, that is, until it was time for me to go to lunch. I got my lunch all ready; it was a macaroni bowl. I mixed the sauce and the noodles, then popped it into the microwave to cook for six minutes. The building was on half power, and it seemed like the microwave was working. Until I hit "start", and it went back to nothing.

There were no other microwaves, so other sources of heat. So I checked across the street, but they also had no power. Power was out all the way down to the street, where police were directing traffic because the lights were out.

My husband came and picked me up. He happened to be on his lunch break, too, and Habitat had power and a microwave. It was nice having lunch together, but the travel time cut into my break so much that I didn't get to finish. I also found out, once I got back, that the power came back almost as soon as I left. Dadblastitall.

Sunday, I cut my hand on a can lid. Someone stole the good can opener, so the lid would only come off halfway. I slipped and cut it, then had a time getting it to stop bleeding long enough to bandage it. It was in an awkward spot, of course, so a regular bandage was not sufficient. I got a piece of surgical tape and slapped it on my hand, so it looked dramatic but got the job done. It's fine now, and since the angle was less than 90 degrees, it's barely noticeable.

Last week, I got scratched by an angry kitty. That one bled profusely, as well. Not crazy spraying everywhere, but enough to be inconvenient. A week later, there's just a scar, and I suspect it'll be gone next week.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I made the cat feel threatened while I was cleaning his cage. Better he attack me than a customer. He gave me a whack and then took off. I ran away, as I will do whenever a cat gets loose, and let someone else take care of it. I will not be in the same room as an unleashed, unstable cat.

I have way more trouble with the cats than I ever do with the dogs. Dogs are larger, but their teeth and claws are not as sharp and they respect authority. Every now and then I get a young dog that doesn't respond well to corrections, but those just need a little intimidation. There's a massive Great Dane at the front desk right now, and that thing is way better behaved than the Pit that's there sometimes.

My little one has turned just rotten. She has terrible matters and jumps up when she ought not to. She's been pulling on the leash. Sunday, we came home to find that she had gotten into the bathroom and bedroom trash cans and littered the trash across the floor from the bathroom to the front door. She also ate 3 protein bars. Only thing we know to do about that is not give her access anymore. Now when she's home alone, the bedroom and bathroom are closed off. Bad dog!

Zing!

It's been freaking nuts, as usual. The apartment is full of unfolded laundry and dirty dishes, as usual. Every surface and a lot of the floor is covered in stuff.

It's business as usual around here.

Friday I got my final rabies shot. This way, if I get bitten by a suspected or confirmed rabid animal, I'll only have to get half the shots. Hooray.

I had a mild allergic reaction to this one. Previously they were just sore, and nothing like Tetanus. This one, though, swelled up in a circle a couple inches across. Itched and hurt for 3 days. Not pleasant, but all done now! Still itches a little, though.

Saturday was especially nuts. I took the dog out at 6 a.m. before going to work to find that our car had been broken into. Joke's on them, kind of, because there was nothing of value in our car. They took my husband's iPod, which was a 3rd gen and ten years old. Literally worthless; recyclable only. Has 20-second battery life. Moron. Also took maybe $2 in quarters.

That'll cost us $164 to fix. I hope karma kicks them in the nuts.

At work, a bunch of animals were surrendered. I can remember six crazy 7-month old puppies who may have ringworm (and so might I, because I handled them*), two massive "German Shepherds" and two elderly beagles. I also heard that one lady surrendered 8 cats.

*Fun fact: Ringworm is the most common infection that staff get from animals!

Tubby, one of the "German Shepherds", is my new favorite. He's some kind of shepherd, but I'm not sure it's German. He's nothing but fur and is 103 lbs. He's very sweet, loves attention, listens to commands and loves belly rubs. He's great.

What annoys me is when people surrender animals and obviously just don't care about them. The guy who surrendered him is, I suspect, the owner's son or son-in-law. He didn't know anything about the dogs and just had an attitude that annoys me. The owner is elderly and has had surgery and can no longer care for the huge 8-year-old dogs. It's sad. I'd take Tubby in a heartbeat. His buddy, Tundra, maybe just because I feel sorry for her. I think she misses her buddy more than her owner. He, I think, misses his owner more.

A family also brought in two kittens, Charlie (girl) and Jack (boy). They were so young they still had umbilical cords attached. They said they waited for mom to come back, but she never did, and they suspect hawks ate the rest of the litter.

They're in foster now, but there was a little scare when receiving told us they had maggots on them. That's usually a bad sign. We thought it was just dirt because they weren't moving and didn't look like what I think of when I hear "maggots".

In fact, doing a little Googling*, I see that they were eggs, not yet maggots. Regardless, we cleaned them up and they're doing just fine.

*Don't Google "maggots" or "fly eggs".

That night we had kabobs with friends, which were delicious and I had lunch for two days after. Remy enjoyed the backyard, as usual.

Remy was spayed on Monday. She did not enjoy the kennel. She was zonked out for a couple hours with her tongue hanging out. I took her out to potty and she stumbled a bit but didn't seem to notice. We'll have to keep an eye on her for the next two weeks, but it doesn't look like she'll have to wear the Cone of Shame.

Hope, et al

Another week gone by. Another week's-worth of stuff. I'll start with the most recent stuff and work my way back in the next couple days, if I have time.

Yesterday, two batches of puppies came into the shelter, essentially without mommies. My coworker ended up taking one batch home and I took the other. I don't know what the story is with his and I don't remember seeing them.

The litter of puppies I got originally had seven puppies. By the time they got to the shelter, there were five. One died soon after. From what I understood, these people had the mother and her puppies. She had a wound that metastasized and they wouldn't let the puppies nurse. I don't think they ate since they were born. They were only a few days old- their eyes are still closed, they're definitely nursing and you can still see their belly buttons. Mom was brought in with the pups but was put down soon after because of her condition. That left the puppies on their own.

I guess because I had taken the kittens last week, I was asked pretty early on if I'd be willing to take them. It was the foster coordinator's day off and they couldn't reach her, so they were having trouble finding a foster. I said sure, if it was okay with my husband. I figured he wouldn't turn them down, even though we said we were going to take a week off, let our apartment recover and get cleaned. Maybe have a break from the stress.

I was told to not expect too much from the puppies; they'd already lost one and didn't really expect two of the four left to make it. They wanted to make sure that if one or more died I wouldn't hold myself responsible. A vet tech found me later and told me essentially the same thing: They're in bad shape, just do what you can. Feed them, clean them and keep them warm. That's all you can do. Don't worry about the blood.

We lost our first one early on. I don't even have a picture of him. I didn't start taking pictures until things started settling down and we got into a routine. I was told to check on them every hour, feed every two. Healthy puppies usually only cry when they're hungry, so you'll know when to feed them, but these also cried when they pottied and sometimes just because. They're not well. Mom had hookworms, so they got dewormer, too. I guess they still aren't in the clear yet, but I think the three left are doing fairly well. Two are fighters. The third is about a third bigger than the others but quite lazy. She's quiet and will take the bottle, but not with nearly as much vigor as the other two and she drinks less than a quarter of what they do. She was just born big, she's no hog. Her belly is nowhere near as big as the others because she won't drink enough.

Losing the baby boy was rough. My husband was still up at that point. The puppy just cried and cried and cried and wouldn't drink. We kind of knew we were losing him but didn't want to say it out loud. I should have known when he was quiet that something was wrong, but I didn't notice until one of his sisters started pooping and I was clearing everyone out to clean up. He was on the bottom, still warm but not moving. I went to wipe him off and his little leg wasn't moving; rigor mortis was already setting in.

Even though we knew it was probably going to happen, it didn't make it any easier. We both sat and cried for a little while; I held him in my lap, just making sure that he was really gone. It's been a while since I've lost a little one. It was hard, wrapping him up and putting him away. Just writing this has brought on the waterworks again and I guess I'm not okay with it. We both knew we couldn't help it, but that doesn't make it okay.

Those people should go to jail. I hate them.

The three left are Hope, Champ, and Cosette (I'll have to get around to changing their names, they were originally Hope, Grateful, Miracle and Blessing). Hope, the big one who is light brown and , is the one who wasn't eating and I was worried that she was going to die, too. She would cry but not drink, so I would hold her in my lap and she would sleep there.

 She's doing better now, and I do have hope that she'll be okay.

I honestly have trouble telling the other two, a little boy and girl, apart. I thought for a few hours that I had one but I had the other. One has a wider stripe on its head, but I can't remember who is who. If we get them back, I'm sure I'll get it eventually.

They each have their own feeding needs. Champ needs to be held firmly to take the bottle and does best when eased down on his side. Champ and Cosette are both fussy when taking the bottle. They want it, but reject it and then go frantically looking for it. Hope will take it, but only for a tiny bit. She needs to be set up on her butt, sitting vertically. She can be propped up or held. She got my ear earlier this morning and it felt strange for like 10 minutes.

My husband took them back to the shelter at 8:30 this morning and I finally went to bed. Because they had been starved, they wanted to eat every half hour instead of every two hours. I got some 15 minute naps in there, maybe 3 or 4. I laid on the futon with them while my husband was in bed. Lucky things seem like they can eat in their sleep.

They're supposed to go somewhere else, because we won't have time to care for them past Friday. They got in a mommy who either is done nursing or lost her puppies, so they want to see if she'll accept the pups. If she will, they want us to take them all. We have a problem saying no.

UPDATE: The mother refused to nurse the puppies, but they went into foster and all three survived. The mother dog was adopted, too.

Blog exclusive

A bunch of animals from a hoarder case finally became available for adoption today. One of them was Blue, a cute little black and white Dutch mix rabbit with blue eyes. He needed a picture, so I went to get one. The only ones they had of him showed how filthy he was when he came in and the state that his nails were in. Not good.

When I went in, my supervisor was in there with someone else, and Blue was excited. I think he likes my supervisor. He was hopping around and rubbing his face on everything. Marking. I should have known better at that point.

Over the course of a few hops, a piece of poop pops out of the cage and right into my shirt pocket. It's dry, so it's not a big deal, but still. He flung poop into my pocket.

When everyone left, I took my camera out and put it against the bars, waiting for him to back up and be still long enough for me to snap a photo. It never happened. I was worried about him chewing on my camera and flinging more poop at me.

Next thing I know, something gets slung across my face. I look and don't see anything he could have kicked up, like wet food. I look at my camera, and it's pee. He sprayed, right in my face. The cage he's in is eye-level (for me) and he decided to spray out of the cage. What an asshole.

He pooped in my pocket then peed on my face. And my camera. And my hand. What a jerk.

More cats and avoiding rabies

Working with the cats every day, I definitely have my favorites. I'm actually going to tell a story about one that isn't my favorite, but still good.

Anna Banana, a cute little long-haired kitten, is seriously the cutest thing in the building at the moment. She has a deposit and should be getting spayed any day now so she can go home.

Last week I went to clean out her kennel and saw that she had two poops in her cubby. I closed it off, cleaned it and put her in there so I could clean out the rest of the kennel. Not 5 minutes later, I looked over at the cubby window and saw that there were droplets of liquid on it.

Little Anna Banana had pooped in her cubby and peed in the corner, then somehow managed to spread it all over every surface, 360 degrees of pee. I was shocked and disgusted, and had to clean her cubby all over again.

She's gotten better about using her litterbox since then and yesterday sat nice and patiently at the window while waiting for her kennel to be cleaned. And whoever cleaned her up after than debacle said that she loves getting baths. How about that.

My favorite cat at the moment is another 5 month old kitten, the only other one we have right now. She's a little calico and she's just the sweetest thing. I want to take her home. Her name is Tinker, but I call her Tink.

Tinker

My other favorite is Johnson. He's sick right now and in isolation, but of all the cats I've had to pick up at work, he was the easiest. And he was by no means the smallest. It may have been because he was sick and lethargic, but he gave no resistance and was just as sweet as could be. I go visit him whenever I can. He still has a few days of treatment yet. His photo is terrible.

I also met the owners of one of the cats in quarantine. At a big group dinner, one couple was talking about how their cat had been taken because she scratched someone trying to give her a rabies shot at the rabies clinic.

Sure enough, I saw her yesterday and the KA who cleaned her kennel said she was not very nice. One of her owners said she was a "heinous bitch" to strangers, but actually "very cool" once she got to know you. I overheard people talking about her the day she went in, and she has quite the reputation for being crazy.

Since she was getting her rabies vaccination, she is now on rabies bite hold. Which leads me to my next topic.

I got my first of three pre-exposure rabies vaccinations Friday morning. And, as a freebie, I got one for tetanus, too. It actually might not be free, but the nurse assumed the county would pay for it and gave it to me, and I had no reason to think otherwise. A coworker told me later that they offered it to her but said she had to pay for it. I better not have to, because I wasn't informed that it might cost me money.

Tetanus didn't hurt going in, but it was sore until yesterday afternoon. Rabies burned a little but felt fine by Saturday evening. I got them in different shoulders, so both arms were not happy Friday and Saturday. Two more to go!

Holy moly

It's been 10 days since my last entry. We've been crazy busy, adjusting to my new schedule, my husband changing jobs, trying to get rid of our foster dog, taking advantage of our insurance while we have it.

I'm going to break this into a few posts over the next couple days just so I don't end up with one post that takes an hour to read.

I reckon I'll start with work-related things. Last weekend marked the beginning of Daylight Savings Time, and our household did not participate. We forgot to set the clocks back, so it wasn't until I was sitting down to eat my oatmeal that I realized I was already half an hour late for work.

I opted to eat my oatmeal in the car and arrived 45 minutes late. It also meant that the car hadn't defrosted and I had a very small, slightly too high window of vision for the first 5 minutes in the car. No one really seemed to notice, and I wasn't the only person who made that mistake. I only felt like a big fool, not the biggest fool.

I made myself a headband out of a silk tie from Goodwill using an old bra strap, a needle and thread, a stapler and scissors. It keeps the hair out of my nose and decreases my number of sneezes dramatically. I still sneeze pretty badly on my first day back after not working for a couple days, but I hope that will get better. I think there are also seasonal allergies messing with me now, so I've been sneezing all morning. Maybe I should shut the door.

The other day, I asked a coworker if she had ever known of a feral cat to give birth while in stray hold. She said she hadn't. Not one week later, I saw my first litter of feral kittens.

I'd heard what sounded like just-born kitten mewling, but I though maybe one of the kittens just had a really wimpy meow. They were in my second-to-last kennel of the day because I started on the other side of the room. It figures. The whole batch was euthanized and the justification for it was unsatisfactory, so I won't recount it here. Suffice it to say that they have their protocol and they follow it.

In the upcoming season, I can expect an average of three births every week. Fantastic.

I think I have a real knack for predicting animal births. Last time I had a premonition was with Cream Puff, and she had beautiful babies within days.

This is getting long. Up next: More cats and avoiding rabies.

I smell like cat poop and litter

Wednesday was an interesting day for me. I made my first trip into the euthanasia room, which other KAs who have been there months have avoided and not yet entered. Morbid curiosity got the best of me, however, and I made a foray into the room unescorted, just to take a look around.

I'm not going to go into what I saw. It was nothing horrifying or, I suspect, out of the ordinary, but it was a small wake-up call. Dealing with the feral/stray cats, I know who goes where and, most often, what happens to them. It's just unsettling to be surprised by the aftermath of the decisions that people make.

I will, however, share a different anecdote. When cleaning out the public cat rooms, there are supposed to be dividers that you can close between their cubby and the main kennel. The idea is to get the cat into its cubby, close it off and clean the main kennel. Due to warping and debris, some of the sliders don't slide and some are just plain missing.

For those cats, unless they give no indication of coming out of their cubby, you need cat boxes. Cat boxes are rectangular wire boxes with a handle and most have two opening, one on top and one at the end. You can't reuse the box because of germs, so it can be a nuisance. I can only carry four at one time without assistance.

I needed more boxes, so I went out to the sally port to get more. When I opened the door, I was immediately transfixed. There was a truck parked in the sally port with a guy standing next to it with a large trash can. The trash can was full of water and cats. The guy had a cat grabber* and was taking the cats out of the water and putting them into the back of the truck.

I stood there watching him for what seemed like forever, then got my cat boxes and proceeded to go back inside. On my way back through the door, I stopped to watch again. I couldn't help it--it was the strangest thing I think I've ever seen with my own eyes.

He sees me watching him slack-jawed, and says in a delightfully country accent, "I bet you're wonderin' what I'm doin!" I nodded dumbly. "I take these cats to schools all around! It's for science!"

While he's waving the cat grabber around, he excitedly tells me that he takes them to be dissected in high schools and colleges, including NC State, which has a darn good program. A lot of our vets studied there.

I'm glad he explained, because if it had not been for his charming explanation, I might have thought he was making cat-skin lamps or something.

* I didn't realize it was really called a "cat grabber." It makes me so happy when things have logical names. Makes Googling so much easier and fruitful.

I'm still enjoying my job. I'm not quite as tired as I was that first week, but now I'm waking up too early. On days I work, I wake up at least 30 minutes before the alarm goes off. On my days off, like today, I wake up around 7. I refuse to get out of bed, though, because what the heck is there to do at 7 a.m.? It's ridiculous. Nothing good can come from getting up at 7 a.m. and not going to work.

My husband may soon be joining me at the shelter. He got offered a part-time receptionist job and is supposed to go in for training on the 15th. Pay is the same and will replace his Home Depot job. He was in the middle of some mess with them, but I'll let him go on about that if he wishes. He'll be working much shorter days but making about the same amount of money. Everyone wins!

"I've never seen someone so happy and singing to be cleaning up cat poop."

Work day

Get up at 5:30 a.m. before the alarm goes off.

Leave at 6:45, get to work at 7. Have meeting, do work.

Get hungry around 10:45. Eat lunch between 11 and 2.

Finish assigned work. Find something to do for a few hours.

Leave at 6. Get Bojangles because Alex is at work and can't feed you.

Take Chuck out at 6:30. Nap until it's time to pick Alex up from work.

Pick Alex up and talk at him for an hour straight. Fall asleep on the futon.

Go to bed at 11 p.m.

Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

A whole lotta love

My job is going well so far. I'm sore in all sorts of places. Pretty much everywhere, actually, right down to my fingers and face. I think I make a lot of stupid faces at work. *shrug* The hours are long, but it's busy so the 5 hours or so before lunch pass quickly. The second half also goes pretty quickly, but it depends on how early work gets done and loitering begins. I'm hoping I can go full time soon... one more work day per week and I can quit writing.

Speaking of, I gotta get to it.

Cats are filthy, dirty animals

Just like all other animals.

Today I spent 9 hours, I shit you not, cleaning cat kennels. I can't guarantee that every second of those 9 hours was spent breathing in kitty litter and cat crap, but a vast majority was. It was exhausting.

I told my supervisor I'd like to go on full time, if/when a position becomes available.

Despite being exhausted and filthy and in all sorts of pain I haven't felt in years, I think I like it. My new position is as a kennel attendant at the animal shelter. I work part-time, 30 hours per week, 3 days a week. That's 10 hour shifts, plus 1 hour for lunch. 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. I woke up before my alarm at 5:30 a.m.; I did not fall asleep before 1:30 a.m. And I get to do it all again tomorrow.

I am an animal sanitation technician. I just made that up--I clean up crap. I leave things much cleaner and more hygienic than I found them. I actually enjoy it on some level because I'm mildly obsessive about cleanliness. It suits me. Once I get my sleep schedule properly calibrated and some orthopedic shoes, I think I'll be set. Also, I'm going to get some bad-ass scrubs. The strangest print that Goodwill can provide me. Holler.