Sometimes the only way to start plugging a hole in the heart is with some Do Goodery. This is the desk of the Broome County Humane Society, after I piled it with blankets from Tata and Friends.

She explained that these blankets are used to line the cat carriers the cats go into every morning while their cages are cleaned, like this one:

Then when that cat gets to go home, the cat blanket goes home with him, so he has a comfort thing to help him adjust.

This particular blanket, modeled with the help of Butler, was made from squares found in someone's stash after their passing. Butler says they make a comfy blanket, and he'll get to keep it in his cage.


If you want to donate yarn for the cause, email me for more info.  ¶ 12:02 PM

 
Last night in the wee hours, Tom didn't want his gushy foods. I thought it odd, but otherwise, he seemed fine. This morning, he was lethargic at best, uncoordinated, and uninterested. We decided we'd be taking him to the vet as soon as they opened. Then he started to pant. By the time we got to the vet, the moment they opened, he was noticeably worse. He died in my arms while the vet was examining him. She said there was a definite mass and nothing we could have done would have likely helped. We've buried him out back.

Tom was the cat we got after Katrina happened. With the huge exodus of pets to Northern shelters, we knew that our local no-kill would want to adopt a bunch of Katrina rescues, so we went there and brought home a cat who had been there a long time. He had one bad eye and a bum leg, and had an ear tip signifying he lived for a time in a feral cat colony managed with TNR. The other ear was feathered from many fights, and he never took much guff from anyone.

Tom never liked dogs much, especially after we babysat a friend's Jack Russel Terror who was fond of attacking all of our cats. Kenya waded in one argument with Tom and the JRT, and since then Kenya and Tom got on okay. The basset and Tom developed an agreement - don't corner Tom and the Basset could keep his nose intact. After one incident where Tom and Pepe cornered Max, the schnauzer and Tom had a non-aggression pact. Pepe and Tom however loved to argue.

Tom did loose all of his teeth while he was with us. We called him our Pirate cat because of the one eye, stiff leg and attitude. He was roughly 12 to 15 years old.

  ¶ 10:28 AM