Kittens and puppies and bears, oh my!

I think it's safe to say that our adventures in animal rescue have officially begun. Several weeks ago we were able to pull two cats from a high-kill facility in a neighboring county. Crook & Cricket were in a concrete cat room where upper respiratory infections were running rampant and untreated; their time there would have been very limited had Chaz and Michelle not snatched them up. I'm happy to report that, after 2 weeks with us and successful spays, they are happy as little larks in their new home with Michelle!

The Friday that Crook & Cricket went to their new home, we headed over to BCAS to meet some of the sweet faces that they had recently acquired.  We were thrilled to see numerous dogs walk out into their new future in the short time that we were there.  And then, I just HAD to go visit the kitty room...knowing that they weren't full...knowing that no one was in any immediate danger....but I just couldn't stop myself.  It's the kitty room, for crying out loud.  And they don't want you to know this, but kitties need love too, dangit.  I found myself locked in a staring contest with a small silver and black fuzzball who was sitting very stiffly at the back of her crate.  The longer I met her eyes, the more inclined she was to trust me and venture out of her corner to be petted.  I saw that she was in heat and miserable with some gastrointestinal issues thrown in for good measure.  She'd stopped taking any pride in her appearance whatsoever, but still managed to look indignant about being caged.  Her grey-green eyes dared me to look away.  I was, of course, smitten.  When I got her paperwork, I saw that she was listed as "aggressive" and a "confirmed biter."  A kitten no more than 6 months old and her chances in this world had already been cut to next to nil.  She got her bad rep when the people who had her allowed their small child to torment her...and then they discarded her when she struck back.  Way to teach your kid to respect all sentient beings.  That is some quality parenting right there.  On the way home, we joked about what to call her:  'Vicious'...'Nancy' (as in Sid-and-)....Drusilla....?  It hit while she gazed at me steadily from her new oversized crate with the soft towel for a bed and toys, the likes of which she'd never seen before: Elphie.  Elphaba is the much-maligned Wicked Witch of the West from the musical *WICKED.*  She is mistreated and misunderstood but proud and strong with a golden heart.  If that's not my Elphie, I don't know what is.  In the week that she's been with us, there's been biting and scratching and climbing and cuddling and a motorboat purr that just never stops -- she practically vibrates with it.  But she's being a kitten and doing what kittens do and she's learning how to trust and I'm honored that she chose me to learn how to do those things with.

(Further tales of puppies and bears to come, no doubt!)