It’s been three weeks of adventure on the home front, with Big Mike continuing to settle in, haltingly and sometimes hilariously. Witness this exchange he had with Lina, my tiny female, to whom he has taken a clumsy shine. He sits next to her on her favorite perch. Note her expression of discomfort.
Then after he started pestering her, sniffing around so to speak, she turned around and smacked him, demanding that he cease and desist. He retaliated like a hurt frat boy.
Then Mike retreated, leaving Lina to wonder what the hell just happened.
He is also learning how to take naps, realizing he doesn’t have to be on high alert all the time. That warms my heart like the sun on his fur.
Along with some wonderful turns of events lately (the rescue nonprofit is several steps closer to becoming reality) I’ve had my share of challenges, too. Ginger did fine during her week with Carrie, and is holding her own against the mouth cancer, but both Diego and Gertrude Stein – the regulars behind the Post Office – disappeared a week or so before I left for New York. I anxiously asked the wonderful gals who fed the ferals in my absence to please let me know when they returned, as I was certain they would. I should not have been so certain.
Gertie did show up at the other feeding area toward the end of my week away; I was elated to get the news. But Diego (he of the beautiful Russian Blue coat and coloring) has not yet turned up. Diego had become tame enough lately that he allowed me to pet him, and rub under his chin. I had designs on taking him in, socializing him and finding him a home.
On Tuesday, my daughter’s birthday, I went to the feeding spot as always, hoping to see my beautiful grey boy. He wasn’t there, and frustrated with the long absence, I explored further, pushing aside cypress branches and moving deeper into the wooded area. There I found two cadavers – animals that were partially eaten. I held my breath and felt sick. Tempted to turn and run, I made myself stay, knowing that if it did indeed turn out to be Diego, I could at least stop looking for him and grieve him properly. Taking a closer look, I realized both were young raccoons. Not babies but maybe juveniles.
What kind of animal could do this? I know that rogue male coons can kill young ones, but as far as I know, they don’t eat them. A coyote so close to homes and businesses? A mountain lion? And if these little guys were unlucky enough to be dinner, what might have happened to Diego? I couldn’t think about it. But suddenly it made sense why, if he’s still alive, he wouldn’t want to come around here anymore – not with two little corpses serving as a signpost of danger.
My friend Connie was here visiting, and when I told her what happened, dissolved in tears and said, “I’m not cut out for this work,” she hugged me and assured me I was. But I don’t know. A seasoned rescue person would take such things more in stride, but the image of those two innocents haunts me still. I know it comes with the territory, but sometimes that territory is brutal and has big fangs.
St. Francis, please usher these two young creatures into the next realm with tenderness. And bring Diego back around, please. I have plans for the boy.
Oh, Jane! I don’t always comment, but I always read your posts because every single day (and sometimes during the night when a cat sits on my face) I remember with such gratitude that you saved these little kitties who are so much a part of our family. (In fact, after your last post we started reading The One and Only Ivan–we’re almost done). I would think that anyone who could take this “more in stride” is not necessarily more seasoned, just more distanced. In so many areas of life it is our passion that keeps us going. And your ability to empathize with these little creatures is exactly the reason you are cut out for this work.
(And btw–those pics of Big Mike and Lina are hilarious)