Dogs are so easy to give meds to. I can wrap a pill in a piece of cheese and my work is done.

Cats, on the other hand, are another story. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to give a cat medicine. Butter, my foster kitten, is on three different meds at the moment–ear drops and two liquids. Twice a day, I have to administer these. She hasn’t been wholly uncooperative, but you know she doesn’t like it. Well, last night she definitely displayed her displeasure with my medicine administering technique. The ear drops went fine. I was giving her the first of two droppers of the liquid stuff and the minute I squirted it into her mouth she became a whirling buzzsaw of fur and claws. I took a couple of claws across the nose and received two nice bloody wounds. Scars of inexperience. Once we both calmed down and I disinfected, I gave her the second liquid then let her have her space.

This morning went much more smoothly. I hope to give her the remaining two doses without incident.


I was so happy to read this story. The judge, a dog owner, sentenced a guy who threw his girlfriend’s 10-week old puppy off a third floor balcony during a fight, to five years in prison, suspended to three years with two years of probation.

Can I just say whoohoo?! It’s about time this crime was taken seriously by the courts.

Unfortunately, the little pup was severely injured and had to be euthanized. (Please don’t tell me his girlfriend is dumb enough to stay with him after that.)

In addition to being absolutely horrendous, there is a connection between animal cruelty and abuse and other crimes.

I work for a living, so I don’t watch daytime TV. Actually, if I didn’t work, I still wouldn’t watch daytime TV.

This week, daytime TV invaded my life anyway with all of the press given to Ellen DeGeneres’ dramatic, tearful story about Iggy, a dog she adopted, rehomed, then was repo-ed by the rescue group.

Whether you agree or disagree with what Moms and Mutts did with Iggy, the fact is that Ellen (actually Portia di Rossi, her partner) signed a contract agreeing to the very process that took place. So is it the rescue group’s fault that Ellen/Portia didn’t read what they were signing?

As a foster, I’m glad there are fairly strict requirements for adoption. I know I’ve spent a significant amount of time, money, and effort with each of my fosters and I want to know where they’re going and that they will be in good hands for the rest of their lives.

I’m concerned all of this press will give rescue groups and shelters that have specific adoption requirements a bad name and it will drive more people to pet stores or certain breeders who simply sell animals and do not try to match an owner with a pet to give it a forever home.

I’d heard about this web site in a BARC forum a few days ago. This morning, it was mentioned it on the radio. It’s also on I decided I had to visit It’s effective. It grabs you with the sweet puppy pictures and the harsh words.

It didn’t pull up any dogs in the Houston area–our shelters must not be listed. There’s plenty of good articles and info in the Education Corner. The Memorial page is gut wrenching.

I wonder if people actually knew how many animals were put down in a day they’d rethink their decisions about buying pets and about having their pets spayed/neutered. Or will they just think it’s sad, but not their problem?

It was getting close to bedtime last Thursday and I heard a knock at the door. I peeked out the window and saw Shea, the homeless woman who has lived in the park near my house with her two dogs for the last two years. She was holding some kind of fur ball.

She explained that this tiny, dirty, bag of bones kitten keeps hanging around her and her dogs and she was concerned about it and she knew I could help. (She brought me an injured pigeon once, too.) Being the complete sucker, er, I mean animal lover that I am, I took the kitty in. I set her up in the bathroom, cleaned her ears and wiped her down a bit. I showed her a litterbox and gave her food and water.

When I checked on her in the morning, all was well. She’d even used the litterbox and not the floor, which is good. (Cats are just smart that way.) That evening after work, I ran her over to a discount veterinarian for a once-over and vaccinations. She purred the entire time–even while getting the shots. He estimated her age at 12 weeks.

She’s a cute long-haired yellow, white, and brown calico. I call her Butter because I’m not very creative when it comes to pet names. I hope to get her into the HOPE foster program ASAP. She gets spayed in a couple of days. I’d love another cat, but our current cat–my husband’s cat–is a one cat-cat.

This is butter.
Butter the rescue kitten