Shamanic Bat Journey (by Cas)

image from ucsantacruz.ucnrs.org

                One of the big attractions to living in the southwest is definitely the spirit of the place. That spirit energy draws all kinds of beings to Tucson. The mixing, melding, merging and mingling of many viewpoints, cultures and lifestyles is the bounty of the Naked Pueblo. I love being able to go to the opera one night and an All-Souls puppet making workshop the next. Being able to attend a Noam Chomsky lecture at the U and being able participate in a Despacho Ceremony for the winds of the four directions of Tucson. Tucson is a rich combination that appeals to the high intellect and to the profoundly spiritual. What better way to experience both than a shamanic journey with 45,000 Mexican Free-Tailed Bats? 

                On the one hand you have one of the biggest colonies of Tadarida brasiliensis, who, according to Wikipedia, “are about 9 cm (3.5 in) in length, and they weigh about 12.3 g (0.43 oz). Their tails make up almost half their lengths. Their ears are wide and set apart to help them find prey with echolocation.” What kind of prey? On a nightly basis they eat pounds of moths, beetles, mosquitoes, flies, wasps, and ants. Pounds of them!! Not to mention spreading pollen. Tons of desert cacti and succulents depend on them. If you enjoy rum or tequila, thank the Mexican Free-Tailed Bat for pollinating the sugar cane and the agave!!  Now, let’s add to that the fact that Shamanically Bats represent rebirth, intuition, dreaming and vision. Bat spirits are capable of imparting to you great gifts including; the ability to see through illusion, create true community, transformation and prophecy!! All this AND they are MAMMALS THAT FLY!!! Bring on the Bat Journey!!

                We gathered together about an hour before sunset at the walking bridge on the Rillito River near River and Campbell to meet up with Alyson Greene, who envisioned, created, offered and guided this journey. (Here’s a link to her account of our evening…http://shamanacircle.wordpress.com/2012/08/25/sacred-nature-adventures-beauty-bats-and-blue-lotus-tea/ ) A group of a dozen of us then walked down into the wash north of the bridge and settled ourselves comfortably on the sand. We formed a circle, shared sage and essential oils to open ourselves to the spirit of the bats. We took a short consciousness journey together to connect with our guides and receive some clarity about our adventure. After we checked in with each other we then made ourselves extremely comfortable, most of us lying down on our backs on blankets spread over the sand to begin journeying with our eyes open, Alyson’s drumming and wave after wave of thousands of bats waking up and heading out to hunt and pollinate for the night.

                Whenever I have journeyed, the beginning of the experience is always a battle with my cognizant self that starts questioning, “How do you know this is real?” If I engage that thought with possible replies like;  “How do we know if anything is real?”, “What is “real”?”, “Maybe I did too many drugs twenty years ago and this is all residually enhanced.” or  “How do you prove experiential knowledge?”… (you get the idea)…then I inevitably miss relevant portions of the journey. I have learned, gratefully, to simply reply to my own negative thoughts with, “This is my reality…here…now” and quiet that distraction as quickly as possible. This mental exchange occurred as the bats activity began to intensify and spirit gifted me with another musing, “If animals could speak to us, would we understand anything they had to say?” and so I listened.  Watched and listened.

                Prior to the journey experience itself, I brushed up on my scientific bat knowledge a little. I was mostly interested in learning about echolocation and how different bats ears are from ours.  The one piece of information that really stuck with me was that our ears are actually pretty similar; some humans can even use a form of echolocation, but that the sound that bats emit as their echolocation beacon is not detectable to human ears. Wait what? Not detectable? Nearly the first thing I think of in regards to bats is that distinctly bat sound, you know the sort of clicking almost electrically kinetic chirp clicking noise that is BATS. Turns out that their actual echolocation noise is at such a high frequency that humans and even most dogs can not hear it.  But we hear bats, right? So what are we hearing? I listened, I watched and I listened. They are talking! Like any other communal mammal they were communicating with each other.  The more intensely I focused, the more visual the connections between the bats became. Mostly they were webbed together by intricate lacings of pale green glowing lines which were easiest to see directly above us and harder to maintain visually if I followed the bats movement into the sunset.  Every once in a while one of these lines would grow thinner and thinner almost as if it was being stretched and then it would quickly glow a bright pink and the two bats at either end of the pink line would move closer together, remedying something between their connection.

                As I mused on the nature of what these various connections might mean, I was graced with visits of spirits very dear to me. Some of whom, I have only ever known as spirits and others of whom I have known in various states of existence.  In a communal way, they had very clear messages for me. Some simply by their presence reminding me of all of the astounding transformations of which we are truly capable.  Others spoke directly to me about very specific fears I am currently facing and very specific paths to overcoming those fears.  Some named individuals who are willing and ready to work with me and some illustrated resources that I already have in abundance and have been neglecting to recognize on my own. Seems a lot like creating community, breaking down illusions and aiding in transformation…did the bats do this? AND THEN A BAT LANDED ON MY BELLY!!! The bat seemed to weigh nothing, adjusted its wings, twitched its little head and was gone again. Yeah, that happened. I glanced at how really close to us a lot of the bats were coming, several more came extremely close to me, but the one who had landed on my belly really defined the entire experience for me. I was entranced and deeply charmed and saturated with gratitude.

                The experience continued, Alyson drummed on, others were still journeying, but I was content. I watched with complete admiration and joy, relaxed and at peace. I appreciated how mammalian these bats remained in flight, flying a bit kinetically like I imagine I would when I dream of flying. I turned my head more often and watched how the thick black cloud of bats faded and diminished and were ultimately absorbed in the glowing red light of the sunset. Individual bats moving together becoming one mass and then becoming part of the horizon of it all. Every once in a while we are given a little glimpse of the big picture and this time I had bats to thank for it, as if I wasn’t already infinitely indebted to them for their assistance in tequila creation!!

Benevist Tribe

“With whom do you believe your lot is cast?”

 ~ Adrienne Cecile Rich, May 16, 1929 – March 27, 2012

                  When I was an undergraduate, I wrote my senior thesis on Adrienne Rich. Back in those days very few people had computers and very few of those had internet. So, I went to the library and read books for my research. With little expectation of reply, and on the advisement of the head of my department, I also wrote Adrienne Rich a letter. On paper, with a pen, that I mailed, in an envelope with a stamp.  I explained how much I loved her work, that I was writing a research thesis and I asked her a few questions. She replied. She answered my questions, was intrigued by my thesis and agreed to correspond during the semester to help with my research.  In all, I received six letters from Adrienne Rich. I cherished them all, but the final one was a trophy. I sent her a copy of the finished paper and she sent me back a rave review including the statement that was really the jewel in the crown….”I have rarely read an analysis of my own work that prompted me to look at my motives or techniques in a new way. Everything you wrote was true, it is all there. The beauty of great art is what you can find in it with the right set of eyes.”  Now, I’m not an idiot; I know as a teacher myself that she was trying to be encouraging to a young writer, but that really didn’t diminish it for me in any way.

                  “With whom do you believe your lot is cast?” became my personal koan. When Adrienne Rich asks this question, answering it implies that I am in fact of a kind. Throughout my twenties, there were plenty of days that the belief I was of a kind was really all I needed. Knowing that I was not without peers…somewhere, even if I hadn’t met them all. Sure there are still questions. Does my kind leave or stay, fear or triumph, love, change, believe? The certainty was only that there were others like me and that we are named together. I set about finding those answers.  I found quickly that people were eager to “help” me define/marginalize myself.

“You graduated Summa Cum Laude? So you’re one of those brainiacs.”

“You’re a vegetarian? So you’re one of those grass eaters?”

“You’re a research educator for Environmental groups? So you’re one of those tree huggers?”

“You’re a feminist? So you hate men?”

“You’re an artist? So you’re crazy?”

                   It is quite strange really how even when we hear these societal labels and know that they are inaccurate; we are still curiously intrigued by the groups that embrace these epithets.  In a kind of no-I’m-not-a-dirty-hippie-but-I-would-still-rather-hang-out-with-them-than-YOU way. So I spent a decade or so exploring all these things that society told me I was.  It went okay. On this circumvented path I did in fact meet many of my true kind. People who I love and cherish to this day. My tribe. Not necessarily the people I was born closest to, but those I was destined to know. Then somewhere in my thirties I quit searching and started rooting. Or as my mom explained it to me, “Somewhere in your thirties you get to stop apologizing to everyone for who you are, because I guess they figure out that you have been this way for this long it’s probably not a phase.”

                  Rooting for me was literal and figurative. I actually set about putting things with roots into the ground and I began to look for ways to make the lives closest to me better. I did less to work on national issues and more to work on local issues. I realized at some point that anywhere you were, there are likely to be problems. You can complain, leave or start working to fix things. I work hard within my family and my community to live simply and sustainably, but many days I still feel like those of us who care about the health of the planet, the beings on our planet and our fragile ecosystem on the planet are fighting insurmountable forces of destruction. If we continue playing by the rules of the existing paradigm we will fail, exhausted by quenching the fires and solving the problems other people have started.

                  A good novel or a good koan is something you revisit at various stages in your life. Rich herself revisited this line in some of her later poems. Different seasons in life generate different responses to the line. I am 44 now and only recently I am drawn to recognize an optimism in the statement that is inherent, basic, and yet I overlooked it in the past. “With whom do you believe your lot is cast?” My belief. My choice. My destiny to shape and form as I see fit. Okay, okay, my lot is cast, but I decide with whom!!  On a really optimistic day, maybe I even decide the parameters and boundaries that shape everything about my existence. 

                  For example, do I want to continue to live in a world that doesn’t even have a vocabulary word for the concept of living non-violently?  Do I instead want to give away all the power of my personal intentions and just use a phrase that makes me utter into existence that exact opposite of my intentions every time I say it? Come on…”non-violence” is close enough, right? It is okay if we accept a world that can’t even define our dreams, let alone envision them as reality…right? No. It is not right and it is not okay. I decide with whom my lot is cast and we will name ourselves.

                  This word is going global… Benevism! Benevism  (benivzm), [noun, from OE. b‹oeacu›n, bén, cogn. with ON. bón, bœn (Sw., Da. bön):—OTeut. *bôni-z; perh. from root ba- ‘cry’]. Def: doing good works, acting in a manner that benefits and promotes the health and well being of others, blessed action.

So… creating the world we want instead of having our energy taken from us combating the world we don't want. Focusing thoughts and actions toward doing good for others, for the planet and for future generations. Adrienne, I believe my lot is cast with Benevists… and I am not a tribe of one.

http://www.storyofstuff.org/movies-all/story-of-change/

 

                 

Loving Greta

    Spring and all of her lovely rituals are upon us. At our little adobe abode that means planting seedlings, adopting desert tortoises, weeding, renovating the chicken coop and thinking about new baby chickens. It is impossible for me to look at little pullets and not remember how all this chicken keeping began… 

Loving Greta 

    The first time I walked into Sunny’s yard to meet my charges, I thought of you, “You’re bigger than I had expected.” Chickens had apparently shrunk in my memories of farms in Iowa. I didn’t realize when I thought that, how much bigger you were than expected. We took you home, we made you comfortable, we started watching you like children at a circus, and then I fell in love with you. With chickens. With all three of you, but mostly with you, Greta.

    The day I gave you dried apricots because they were one of my favorite treats and I wanted to be generous, you responded to my generosity by promptly burying the apricots. Enough said. Your message seemed clear; we were much different than I had naively assumed. You were a chicken and you did not care for the things I cared for. The next day I watched you dig them back up and gobble down your now ant covered treat. Enjoying them far more than I ever could. That was the day I fell in love with you. The day I realized that you had so much more to teach me than a television or a newspaper and that I should spend my morning cup watching you. 

    I learned your voices and your personalities and your spirits. When we brought new smaller chickens home; I watched Betty intimidate them and keep them corralled, I watched Rita pick on them to maintain the all important pecking order, and I watched them run to you for shelter. I could hear your cluck become more gentle and easily imagined the words, “Ooooh, it’s okay, they’re only teasing, they’re not so bad and one day you’ll be bigger than those old bitties.” Which wasn’t entirely true for all the younger ones, but you were right about Hortence and Dottie. You were right about Myrtle. I think secretly you were happy that Esther stayed small and still needed your protection. 

    The day I saw her protecting you, my heart broke. It is hard enough to be the lunatics who take their chicken to the vet. It is much harder when the vet tells you there is nothing left he can do.  I took you out to see one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen, with tiny fragmented clouds each glowing a different color: orange, purple, cerulean, poppy red, bleeding yellow, dying violet, blooming bougainvillea. At some point I learned that chickens see more spectrums of color than humans and I can wonder for the rest of my life what that sunset looked like to you on your last day here. 

    I wonder a lot of things now that you are gone. I wonder if you like the chicken statues I painted and placed under St. Francis over your grave. I wonder if the other chickens are jealous that I still sometimes spend my morning cup with you. I wonder mostly about how ridiculous this world is. How we learn some of our biggest lessons from some of the smallest creatures. How truly tiny you felt the last time I held you, and still so much bigger than I ever expected.   

Two Poems About My Son

As a mother and a poet, my son's life is often a favorite subject for my poetry. Here are two poems featuring him and written about a year apart. Looking back on changes even at his still very young age can wash me with melancholy, so I try to focus on the joys, the blessings and the beauty we have every day.

Feather Sail

Perhaps tomorrow

we will still build a sailing ship together

on the couch with your Chenilly blanket

perhaps the wooden frog will be our passenger

with Edie and Peep, the stuffy chicken and chick.

You may use the Lakenvelder hen’s feather

you found in the chicken coop

as a sail again,

the protoceratops as an astrolabe,

the bugle as a telescope,

all to guide us on our journey

across stormy seas

to exotic lands;

Mr. McGregor’s garden with Peter,

or the bowling alley with bumper lanes,

or to your friend Calder’s house in Santa Fe.

You may pull in the feather sail

and cuddle close to me

as we rock and sway

bravely through a hurricane.

You may raise the feather sail

and bring our ship safely back to shore.

Perhaps tomorrow we may do it all again,

but perhaps it was only for today.

 ~ Cassandra Wensel-Kanne 2010   

Diana Fritillary

Your hand

you are four years and eleven months old

and your hand

reaches toward mine,

gently stops me

from turning the page.

Tears are seeping

out to the banks of your thick lashes.

“Momma, look at that butterfly.”

The tears fall and you hold back a sob.

You point shakily at a

Diana Fritillary

Orange fenestration, fire,

chocolate and fragile edging

spots deviating down in size

painted delicately in the

upper corner of the page,

"Momma, it is so beautiful

that it is opening my heart

and making me cry."

So, I kiss your forehead

and you say,

“Momma, can you see it?

Can you?

Can you see it with your heart?”

Can I see anything with my heart?

Could I ever see anything with my heart?

I look at the butterfly

painted on the page,

the striking repeat of the pattern

the bold contrast of color.

Then I look at you

wipe the tears from your cheek,

I see the monsoon rains on the desert

and the moon just beginning to wane

on the night of your birth

I kiss you again,

look into your vulnerability, your hope,

your perfection

I see every star in the night sky

reflected on the surface of your tears

“I can, my love, I can see with my heart.”

 ~ Cassandra Wensel-Kanne 2011 

 

Funky Shui’d

      Three people living in a tiny house can accumulate clutter almost faster than the human eye can detect. I will literally get a surface clear of any schmoo piles (technical term for piles consisting of mostly mail, paperwork and project materials), get items in said piles distributed to their proper places, and not even have time to turn my little bright eyes around before the surface is re-cluttered with someone else’s project or work. This constant battle with clutter and the seemingly unrelated challenge of trying to live for the first time in our 23 year relationship on only one income, led me to start delving into Feng Shui. So to be clear, three people living in a tiny 860 square foot house is NOT the cause of my feeling cramped and three people living on one income so I can enjoy the blessing of staying home with my son is NOT the cause of me being frugal. Nay, nay I say to that far too pedantic assessment…being un-Fung Shui’d is the problem!! My stuff being in the wrong places is the source of all our woes!! So, I needed to start reading up on all of my zones, and Chi, and my Ba’Gua (map of your energetic stations), and which elements are most beneficial where…and then let the Fung begin!!

      I entered into this endeavor with the adamant commitment that this is not about buying new stuff or discarding treasures, but about moving my existing stuff to the most energetically beneficial place. Sure, sure, I’ll throw out some clutter, donate some unused things, but NO PURCHASES!! Well, okay except the books on Fung Shui. I have to buy a couple books on Feng Shui, right? A-Ha, I’ll go to Bookman’s and use trade book credit!! Genius!! Step one, hit our book shelves and seek out some triviality or excess to trim. Three bags of books and magazines, awesome!! Step one completed and behold…more space already…aaaahhh! This is going to be great!! More Fung to be had.

     Flipping through the books to choose one, I see all kinds of easy ideas and tantalizing pictures of uncluttered spaces. This is going to rock hard!! Like spring cleaning with a spiritual purpose. Free up our creative energy, our money flow and our cohabitation energy all at once. Here I insert the image of an abundant garden surrounding a gleamingly clean and beautiful as well as functionally arranged home where my husband plays music with a big smile on his face, my son is joyfully busy at a big art project and I sip my tea while I sketch them both. This is reasonable, right? Plus, it is going to be easy as heck!! Move a couple throw pillows, dust the family photos…that sort of thing. Or…

     Wait, what do you mean my toilet is my Wealth and Prosperity Gua? Well, that sounds bad…of course I can’t move my toilet. Can I? No stop, stop, that’s ridiculous. How do we fix this? And what’s this, my bed is facing the wrong direction? Well, okay, but it’s not like it can fit any other direction in my tiny bedroom. Entryways are supposed to be clear? Really? Who doesn’t just dump their stuff there? Everyone does that. The worst thing for your Children and Creativity Gua is red and fire…so the giant red wall around my fireplace in the center of that Gua is…? Alright, I guess there is Fung Shui meaning that you got to build your house from the ground up with these properties in mind and then there’s…I don’t know…Funky Shui, which is what all the rest of us can do. Okay. I can compromise. Some good energy is better than none. Plus, who could possibly be so effed up that they would need to reconfigure all nine areas of your Ba’ Gua? I mean come on…if your health, finances, career, knowledge, relationships, family, friends, and emotional well-being ALL suck you might need more than Feng Shui. You might. I’m still pretty sure I can fix up all my minor stuff with the right portions…selections…morsels…of Fun Shooway!!

     So, okay what’s the most important thing? Family right? Absolutely!!! Turns out, I don’t even need to worry about the Wealth and Prosperity Gua because that’s all about having more than you need. Needs being met, enough money to pay the bills and not stress out, that’s right here in the Family Gua!! Perfect. My Family Gua is in my kitchen, well that certainly seems ideal! Let’s do this. Wait, what? Hmmm, metal it seems is bad energy in the Family Gua. How do you not have metal in a kitchen? Sink faucets, oven, knives, GIANT METAL UNDERCABINET VENTHOOD!! How do we fix this? Oh wait, sink is okay because even though it’s made out of metal it inherently possesses the energy of water which is fine for the Family Gua, whew! The oven? Actually fire, which is GREAT for the Family Gua! That GIANT METAL UNDERCABINET VENTHOOD that vents nowhere because it’s under a cabinet…that sticks out an entire foot past the stove in our teeny tiny kitchen…that has always been a friggin’ nightmare to clean? It has noxious Chi. Maybe I can mask it. Stick some red (representing fire) glass (representing water) tiles on it. Might have to buy those. What would that look like? Well, I am not the only one who lives here so, I ask my husband what he thinks.

“Why don’t you take the hood out? It’s ugly, vents into your face if you ever turn it on, s'a bitch to clean. Pull it out. All you need there is a light.”

                                                     ( Hood of Noxious Chi )

      What a great idea! I guess I was thinking I would pull it out and the cabinet underneath would be beautiful and magically there would be a light there. Turns out, no. It does instantly look more spacious and inviting in my tiny kitchen, but clearly this upgrade is going to take a little time and probably a little money. A little track light, some nice fiery toned glass tiles to add that good fire energy AND be easy to clean. Yeah, I like that idea. Track light, new wiring for the track light, tiles, ooh...I could get those at Fractured Earth, some grout that matches the cabinets, maybe some plexiglass to make a custom cover for the light…. I have to go the hardware store and maybe drop a couple of books off at Bookman’s before they cost me any more money!!

                                                             ( Ta-Dahh! )

There Just Might Be an Alternative to Euthanasia

         As the “mother” in our maiden, mother, matriarch trio, I will occasionally be writing about being a mom. Yes, this is a story about a five year old. Be forewarned it is also a story about cats. That’s right, I’m that lady…the one sitting next to you on a crowded plane talking, talking, and talking about kids and cats!! This story actually begins way back when my son was born, our cat Yeats (a.k.a. Buddha), fell madly in love with him. She had always been a loving cat, but more of a watcher than a participator where children were concerned. She was 17 when my son was born and the two were inseparable. His fourth word was “Buddha”, right after “moon”, “Momma” and “Poppa”. If that weren’t remarkable enough, she would actually come running to him whenever he said her name. A cat, an old cat, who learned to come when she was called. They had three and half lovely years together before we lost Yeats to old age and several months later her lifelong companion Keats also passed on. We had had them both since they were kittens. They spent nearly all of twenty one years together and their loss left a big hole in our family. We have two other cats, Tennyson and Poe (you’re seeing a pattern?) and a dog named Xana. We also have a yard full of chickens. None of them have the same relationship with my son that he had had with Yeats. However, my husband and I were not all too eager to get new pets. We had no intentions of “replacing” our beloved cats.

                So nearly two years passed, all the while with my son asking nicely for a new kitten…a cuddly kitten…one that would be his. It was really a fair request. Our other pets were older, set in their ways and not prone to playfulness. Occasionally Poe would chase a laser light for Thackery and often Tennyson would snuggle with him during a movie or a nap, but neither were kittens anymore. Every time he sought one of them out and carried them to a nice spot to cuddle, my heart would break a little bit watching him get one or two pets in before the cat lost interest and left him alone; he would look at me and say, “I miss Buddha.” You can only say, “Me too, baby”, so many times. Then my beautiful indigo child found the phrases that persuaded me over to his way of thinking. 

“Momma, do you know that at the pound some kitties die before they ever have a home?” 

“Yeah, I did know that. That’s sad, huh?”

“Do you think that in the spirit world Keats and Yeats are sad about those kitties that could be living here with me to love them?”

                Yeah, whatever, judge me all that you want, but you would have been off to the pound just as quickly as I was. And even though you are sitting there all judgey right now, I will give you some very helpful advice…NEVER (in case there is some confusion here…NOT EVER, AT NO TIME, UNDER NO CONDITIONS, NOT ON YOUR LIFE!!!) take a child to the pound with you. You may all on your own, not even be able to withstand the abject desolation. You may all on your own, leave with more companions than you intended, but if you take a child…multiple adoptions are guaranteed. You were warned.

                I had no one to give such sage advice. In fact my husband and I reasoned that, of course, Thackery should come. After all, we were getting him a kitten, it should be one with which he had a connection. That’s rational. Ration and reason are useless tools when facing a room full of desolate kitties in tiny cages all desperately in need of a home. We began by asking to see the actual kittens, ones that were obviously only a couple of months old. He selected kitten after kitten to “meet and greet”, only to be told that they were already adopted. So, we learned to decode the all important paperwork at the front of the tiny cages. (Or, so we thought.) We started to look at cats whose paper work said 6 months old, 1 year, 18 months, 2 years…reasoning that they would still have many kitten like qualities and let’s face it, once you go through those doors - no vaguely sentient human being is leaving without saving someone. When Thackery says, “These two look like Keats.” Yes…he said TWO, two 1 year old tortie calicoes sharing one of those tiny cages. One up at the front of the cage reaching her little paw out and one curled up at the back of the cage trying very hard to be ignored.

                I speak fluent cat-ese, so I will translate the next portion for you. Imagine a polite British accent and sunny voice for the soon to be named Wordsworth and a British, less sunny, rather stiff and grumpy voice for the soon to be named Coleridge. Wordsworth with her paw through the cage gives a little sorry-to-interrupt-you cough and says, “Oh, excuse me, very kind and busy people. You seem to be quite civilised individuals and I was wondering if I could perhaps persuade you to lend some assistance. You see, my cell mate and I are here utterly by some horrible, egregious error and we were truly hoping that you might be capable of remedying our unpleasant situation. Perhaps, speak to someone on our behalf and get us released from this obviously inappropriate environment. What say you kindly gentle folk?”  Meanwhile, at the back of the cell, Coleridge glances our direction with a slight humpf of derision and says to her companion, “Give it up old Sot!! They are fekking PEOPLE!! You have been at this for a fekking month, when will you learn old girl? People don’t give a rat’s brown arse about us and they obviously never will!! Uncultured, boorish, crass philistines wouldn’t recognise true aristocracy if we were free from this hellish prison and could bite them on their arse!!” Nearly at once, a volunteer ushered our two new family members into the meet and greet room where, if it is possible for something to occur faster than instantaneously, Thackery fell madly in love.

                Once out of the tiny prison, Coleridge warmed up slightly. “Perhaps you aren’t quite so horrible as other humans, let me just make a little comfy spot here on your lap (knead, knead, knead). Cough, cough,…don’t presume that my purring has anything to do with some sort of affinity for you, just an uncontrolled biological response. Yes, you may pet me if it is absolutely necessary.” Wordsworth became positively giddy. “Oh, isn’t this lovely? Are we going home with you then? That would be divine. Yes, I looove tummy rubs, Let’s play over here…and over here…and oooh look at this. Pet me more, pet me more!!” 

                “We’ll take them.” We said to the volunteer who was pleased and went to get their paperwork. Their non-existent paperwork. “Did you bring their papers in with you?” he asked. We had not. He went searching and came back quite dejected. “You can’t adopt these two,” he said. Oh no, we thought, had someone already adopted them, as well? It was explained to us that no, no one had adopted them or could adopt them; that little cough that they had developed was probably upper respiratory infections (URI) for which they don’t offer treatment at the pound. The two had been scheduled to be euthanized, in fact, immediately. That is where their paperwork was and if we would be so kind as to hand him the kitties, that’s where they were headed. 

                These two kitties that we are holding and petting and loving? Hand them to you to be killed? Right now? Take from the hands of my angelic child the kittie he is holding on his lap and dangling a little bell for and giggling with? Just rip the kittie away from his adoring gaze and give her to you to be murdered? 

                Coleridge said, “Silly, silly volunteer. I have only had the pleasure of this family’s company for a few short minutes. I, who generally abhors humans, know that since our plight has become known to these kind people, it is not bloody likely that we will be going anywhere with you ever again!!” Wordsworth said, ““Euthanized” sounds quite unpleasant indeed. Thank you, but no thank you!! We will quite happily be going home with this lovely family, hopefully by tea time, they look as though they make a lovely tea and crumpets!!”

                The following TWO HOURS was spent filling out paperwork (one stack for each cat – each stack thicker than my mortgage paperwork) to file for a “Special Needs” adoption. The special need being a long overdue visit to the Veterinarian. We scheduled an appointment for them both at Acacia Animal Hospital on Campbell while we filled out and signed document after document. “In the event that this animal is too ill to treat and must be euthanized, I will not bill the county for the cost.” Sign one, sign two. “In the event that this animal’s treatment costs exceeds my ability to pay, I will not bill the county” Sign one, sign two. “In the event that the necessary euthanization of this animal causes trauma to me or my family, I will not bill the county.” Sign one, sign two. “When this animal is deemed healthy, I will incur the cost of have them spayed or neutered.” Sign one, sign two. You get the idea. After my hand was numb from signing, I gave them $15.00 (they were a Monday, two for one special!!) and took my kitties to a kind a loving vet.

                The vet determined that they were only 8 months old, ran tests for any serious and potentially contagious diseases, started them on antibiotics for their URI, loaded them up with fluids and healthy vitamins and sent us home with organic shampoo and conditioner to get them clean. It took several visits to the vet to get them healthy and I will admit it was not cheap, (although many vets, Acacia included, will give you discounts for rescuing shelter animals), but we are over the moon happy to have our two new family members, home, healthy, happy and thriving.  They were thrilled to be able to come home with us at all, even when they were convalescing, not too mobile, coughing and sneezing and having to be bundled up in warm places all day. “Cough, cough…yes, yes right kind of you…sneeze, sneeze,…quite civil and all…yes, another blankie would be most appreciated, good chap...organic oatmeal and aloe shampoo and conditioner? Well, maybe just one little warm bath...cough, cough.. much obliged.”

                Now that they are well…all is right with the world. They are excessively loving and cuddly, “Oh, I say…you’d like to carry me about like a babe in arms? Well, isn’t that lovely? Quite kind, I’ll just use this opportunity to clean my paws, thanks so much.” “Hmmm, sleeping were we? Mind if I just join you…how about right here under the covers with you? Were you using these pajamas just for yourself? Plenty of room for us both, you’re quite obliging, much gratitude.” In addition to that they are obviously still kittens. We invested in several new kitten toys to keep them engaged and give the older cats a little break from their near constant capacity to play. Thackery is radiant in their love.

                Wordsworth and Coleridge wanted me to add “Perchance you have a smidgen of room in your home, a little bit of money you’ve been saving for a rainy day, a nice quilt folded up on the end of your bed waiting for someone to nap upon it? Get off your arses and head over to the animal prison and save a life or two today!!”