Spaying and Neutering: 6 Things You May Believe That Are False

I’m gonna keep this as simple as a person who’s passionate about animal care and spaying/neutering can do. I’ll start by telling you the end result: Whatever it is you’re thinking that is preventing you from having your cat or dog spayed or neutered, you’re wrong.

Here is a list of just some things that many naysayers may believe:

1. A spayed/neutered animal is not as protective.

2. A spayed/neutered animal suffers.

3. It’s not my responsibility to spay/neuter an animal. (It’s God’s will/Nature’s Way).

4. A neutered male will feel like less of a male and a spayed female won’t get to experience the miracle of birth.

5. It’s just a dog. Who cares?

6. Spaying/neutering is expensive.

So let’s tackle the first one:

A Spayed/neutered animal is not as protective.

Dogs are naturally territorial, although – generally speaking – males are more territorial whereas females are more maternally protective. Either way, the most important part of making your dog protective of you, is to protect them. Just as with any part of life – work, home, money, love, relationships, hobbies – you get as much out of it as you invest in it.

If your dog is neglected, hungry, frightened, or ill, they’re likely only protecting you because you are the only one giving them scraps of food and a puddle of muddy water to drink from. They have not been properly taught that they can rely on you as their human master and, thus, you are important to protect because you love them.

The fact is, if you take care of your dog in a way that provides them with a fraction of their unwavering loyalty, they will protect you, your children, your clothes, your car, and anything that has the scent of you on it. That is because they love you – whether they’re neutered or not.

A spayed/neutered animal suffers.

You’re thinking of humans.

But dogs are not humans.

Actually, animals who are not spayed or neutered suffer more than those who are. There are many reasons for this:

The most excruciating way unspayed/unneutered animals suffer is by the spread of venereal diseases. Specifically, I’m sure most people in the PG area have seen the potlickers (strays) walking around, mangy, thin, homeless with protrusions in their netherregions. This is the result of Canine Transmissible Venereal Tumor and it is cancerous. It is highly contagious and spread by sex.

Male dogs who are intact (not neutered) are much more targeted by other male dogs than those who are neutered.

Female dogs who go unspayed can have two litters of 6-10 puppies per year. Female cats can have an average of 16 kittens per year. (If you want to put dogs/cats into human terms, consider this; they have to eat the placenta, pee, poop, and other identifying scents to protect their offspring. Would you want to go through that?)

It’s not my responsibility to spay/neuter an animal. (It’s God’s will).

Um, yes it is your responsibility. Saying it is not, is like saying your child should be educated by themselves because that is God’s will or the “natural” way or you should not take medication for you diabetes or high blood pressure because, hey, it’s God’s will.

Owning a pet means owning responsibility for their well-being. Dogs and cats don’t know the things we know about the world because WE are their world. We are their home. Their family. Their masters. They depend on us and we know the health benefits of spaying/neutering.

A neutered male will feel like less of a male and a spayed female won’t get to experience the miracle of birth.

A neutered male dog/cat is not a human. They will go to sleep and wake up groggy but fine. Animals are incredibly resilient and will not love you any less. Male dogs will be less likely to roam (didn’t you want them to be protective? How can they be protective if the first female walking by pulls them away from your home?) They’re also less likely to pee everywhere in an effort to mark their territory.

As mentioned before, the “miracle of birth” is not the same for dogs as it is for humans (remember all those things they have to eat?). Female dogs will take care of you and your children (and even other pets) the same as they would their own litters because they’re naturally maternal, IF you take care of them.

It’s just a dog. Who cares?

It’s a dog with a neurobiological makeup that is similar to our own. Dogs have been proven to have (and show) emotions (so have plants, btw) and if you’ve ever heard a dog whimper or a kitten cry, and you still believe they don’t feel anything, you are not very well-informed.

Science has proven beyond doubt that dogs respond to the people they love through the use of MRI’s. Of course, dog-lovers across the world have known this for a long time but some people still resist the idea that dogs have feelings.

They do.

Spaying/neutering is expensive.

Yes, it can be expensive. Which is why it’s important to take advantage of free spay/neuter clinics like this one which will offer spaying, neutering, some emergency treatments, flea/tick treatments, and worming at no cost to you.

In Punta Gorda, often dogs are publicly poisoned with cyanide which is a horrific form of death. But if you think it’s a good idea to use this method to control the pet population, let me explain something to you: Cyanide can be fatal if inhaled by people. Not only that, but even in small amounts, years after inhaling cyanide, children borne of people who were in contact with it, can be born with birth defects. Openly placing poisoned meat out for stray animals does not only kill the animals, but it jeopardizes the safety of children and other innocent people in the area. Don’t believe me? Read this.

One more thing: Dogs are generally pack animals.

A pack of wild dogs can kill a child within a minute and all it takes is one aggressive pack leader to initiate the attack. However, neutered dogs are more likely to stay home and protect the children in their human “pack” than their intact counterparts who are out scouring the streets for a meal and a mate.

Please keep all of these things in mind as the date nears for the next free spay/neuter clinic offered through the Punta Gorda Humane Society. You don’t need to bring anything except for your pet. The free clinic will take place March 17 through 20th from 8 am – 3 pm at the Punta Gorda Multi Purpose room at Town Hall.

Jehovah’s Witnesses: They’re Every-Freaking-Where

There are more than eight million Jevhovah’s Witnesses in the world.

They’re like a plague.

I have a lot of tolerance (no, really, I do) but I have a problem with people who have built up a following with false promises, lies, deceit and – worst of all – fear.

There is a town park here in Toledo. It boasts a nice stage, right in the center of town. If you go to the town board and ask permission to use it, they will most often allow it.

Frequently, however, you can hear the screaming voice of an angry preacher shouting about how they will burn in hell if they don’t follow God.

This is a teacher of Jehovah and while there are many here who see the ridiculousness of his speeches (and even get annoyed), there are some (over 1,500 in Belize – a country with a population of almost 367,000 as of 2016), there is still an element of the population (especially here in one of the poorest districts) who are not able to read or do not read very well.

In general, I do not subscribe to any form of organized religion. In fact, I have a very large disdain for it. (who wants to worship an angry, jealous, vengeful god?) but I do see there is some kind of need for many people to have their beliefs. Fine.

But when you essentially bully people into following a doctrine out of fear for their eternal souls, are you really accumulating loyalty or are you assembling a cult?

Here are some facts about JW that I find disturbing and – God help me – I really hope these things can be shared in a constructive way because I think cognitive dissonance is a very real problem when it comes to religion. Any religion.

Nobody likes to have their beliefs proven false.

Jehovah’s Witnesses are not allowed to have friends outside of the cult…er… religion.

They believe anyone who is a non-believer is outside of the “truth” and being friends with such people can lead to apostasy. Pretty elite, huh?

They can’t disagree.

Apparently, these are the chosen people through which God’s voice comes. They know everything God wants, believes, needs, seeks, approves of, etc. Special, right? A challenge to the beliefs of JW is a challenge to God himself and is disrespectful, disobedient and simply not allowed.

They can’t study any other books or materials that might challenge their faith.

If they find something scientific, for example, that might educate them on the insanity of some of their beliefs, they might actually leave the faith. Indoctrinate much? It’s like, if you’re a child and your parents tell you every single day that you are stupid and you’re not allowed to read or learn or do anything contrary to that belief, you will, of course, be stupid.

They Can’t Go to Heaven Unless They’re Special

Of the more than eight million worldwide, only 144,000 are going to go to Heaven. God sure is picky.

There are a ton of “rules” to being a servant of The Watchtower. I find these rules to be dehumanizing and – at times – even insulting. (What’s wrong with women wearing pants? SERIOUSLY!?)

I really don’t like to sound disrespectful but I find the blaring, screeching, fear-mongering sermons given by the loud-mouthed JW at the park to be far more disrespectful than anything I am writing here.

I have some questions that I don’t really want any answers to. I just want them to be pondered.

1. How did (white) Adam and Eve manage to have two sons who became the foundation of humanity (black, Asian, white, Hispanic, Indian…)?
2. Genesis 19:18
   Why would ANY loving “father” – omnipotent or not – offer up his daughters to be raped? You REALLY worship this kind of God?
3. While we’re here, let’s examine Exodus 21: 7-8 in which a man can sell his daughter as a slave and if she doesn’t do her job (have sex/satisfy the buyer) she can be bought back.
4. Deuteronomy 22:20-21
   Beware if you’re not a virgin. You’ll be stoned to death and you’ll burn in hell. Not only that, but guys, if you have any kind of damage to your penis, testicles or scrotum (or if you have a hunchback, are a dwarf, or have one limb too long), you’re not allowed to even approach God.

These are just a small small tiny example of the many incidents of ridiculousness in the bible. There are so many different religions in the world and that’s fine but it’s not okay to say every other religion is wrong. Who knows?

I am not omnipotent or omnipresent but I know love. True love. I am a mother. I don’t care if my child is gay, straight, black, white, purple, virgin, successful, poor, or anything else. I love them no matter what. I would never ever send them somewhere for eternity to die if they questioned my authority on something.

Just think about it rationally.

 

Open Letter to Belizean Thieves

Oh I am so fortunate to live in Belize.

Not just Belize, but the “poorest” part of Belize: The Toledo District.

I say “poorest” because it applies only to the economy, not to the area itself which is rich, rich, rich!

There are miles and miles of beautiful, untouched, perfect virgin jungle (bush); There is a wealth of wildlife, natural and free; There are thatch roofs along the clumpy roads that give this area a Disney feel. Like you’re walking in the forests of Hansel and Gretel; The people are kind and gentle and loving. Hard-working but attentive and intelligent.

There is very, very little violent crime here because it’s like a cluster of villages around a small town that make up one big family. It’s a beautiful place to call home.

However, because it is, indeed, the poorest district of Belize, there is a lot of theft. That is the biggest problem in Toledo, actually. To that end, there are those folks who like to target – specifically – white people/expats who are presumed to be wealthy.

This letter is to those people. The ones who steal from us.

Dear Thief:

I understand that you’re poor. I am, too! Heck, if I was rich, I’d probably have lots of security measures in place to prevent you taking any of my things. But I can’t even afford to replace the bike that was stolen from me a year ago. Much less security cameras.

So please know, I do understand what it’s like to be poor. If I didn’t, I’d have tons of steak and pork and fancy spices and herbs in my kitchen. However, I only have the basics because it’s all I can afford.

I work very hard for what little money I do get. Very hard, indeed. In fact, I’ve worked hard my whole life. To this end, I’ve developed an appreciation for some of the finer things, but all-in-all, I’m a pretty low-maintenance person.

That time you came into my home and took my bag, I was just coming home from a friend’s birthday party. I was exhausted.

That bag was special to me (the kitten I rescued that was being beaten and burnt, used to love to lay in that bag) as were the contents inside. There really wasn’t much money in it – only like $10 BZD or so – but that isn’t what hurt me (the bag was worth more than the money that was in it).

I had a half-full bottle of my favorite perfume. It’s a splurge I allow myself every year or so. I think I might be able to get it in Belize City or Belmopan but I’m not sure. Even though my cell phone was in there and some other things that were minimally valuable, that bottle of perfume was very special to me and I don’t know when I’ll be able to replace it.

You also got my ATM card and my Passport. This hurt.

Not that I care – because there’s nothing you can do with my ATM card or my Passport – but it’s a huge problem.

See, I’ve had to go to Immigration for my monthly extension stamp ever since that night in April and every month that goes by, I worry more about whether or not they would tell me, “Sorry Ms. Johnson but you’re going to have to leave Belize if you don’t get your passport.” because – since I didn’t have my ATM card, I was not able to get the money from my bank account to go to Belmopan to pay to replace the Passport.

I had to rely on moneygram and – let me tell you, my friend – Moneygram in PG really sucks. The people were great, mind you, but the system in PG is just terrible.

So anyway, since I didn’t have my ATM card, I contacted my bank in the states. You know what they did? They wanted to charge me a lost ATM fee and refused to issue me a replacement ATM card because I have to be there in person.

I realize this is nothing that would concern you but just so you know, the lost ATM card fee, was more than the money that was in my bag that you stole.

So then I had to go and have someone in the States open a new bank account for me so I could get a new ATM card. This card was sent to my mother (because they wouldn’t ship the card to Belize) who sent it to me but… Guess what. The mail never came.

Four months after you invaded my privacy and took my things, I finally got a half-complete, half-true police report. Enough, though, that I could get my passport.

Took a bunch of expense and headache to do it. (Do you know what it cost my friends and/or family to send me money via moneygram? $15 USD! Can you imagine?!)

So here’s my plea to you (and any of your thief friends):

If you want to steal my bag, my phone, my money or my puppy (yeah, thankfully she woke me up or you’d have stolen her, too), please help yourself.

Take those valuables and pawn them (probably not worth much, stolen) but please, for the love of all things sacred, leave my Passport alone.

It is absolutely useless to you (do you even realize the measures they have for security on our US passports??) and it’s a real expensive hassle to me.

Now before you scoff at this plea, I want you to keep in mind a couple of things:

I’m here in Belize – in Toledo – because I love the people, the place and the things. I love the true richness of this place and I spend every waking moment of the day in gratitude that the people here are so loving and warm and thoughtful and giving and hard-working. Toledo is never short of smiles! I like to give what I can. I like to support the local community. I really look forward to being a valuable part of this society.

I’ve probably patronized some of your family, in truth. They were probably super kind to me as they handed me over a couple dollars worth of tacos; a bag of produce; a pair of slippers. Who knows?

So I want you to know in this way, you are stealing from your own people. Losing my money and ATM card did not hurt me as bad as it hurts the community. That was money I’d have spent at the market.

So please, the next time you want to steal from an expat, please leave the Passport behind.

Thank you.

P.S. To the lady who got my half-full bottle of Obsession, enjoy. It’s a fine perfume. I’m glad you had the chance to use it. I’ll get another bottle…in a year or so.

Yes, Pink Eye Is Contagious, No Matter How Many Times You’ve Had It

It’s been two weeks since I got pink eye the first time. I remember when I was a kid, giving myself pink eye on purpose so I could get out of going to school (yeah, I was one of those kids) and as soon as it’d start clearing up, I’d make sure to give it to the other eye since it usually only happens in one eye.

Those days, it was a little uncomfortable but the worst part was waking up with my eye glued shut with dried up sleep and pus. I didn’t mind. A bit of warm water and it was gone.

So when I found out there was an outbreak of pink eye here in Belize, I panicked because I am very well aware of how contagious it is.

After I went to a wake and saw a child with pink eye, I was very cautious! If a child gets it, the whole house will! Kids just don’t really pay much attention to what they touch – including their eyes.

Naturally, I picked it up from there.

So here are some things to keep in mind.

Jamaica has an outbreak of pink eye.

The Dominican Republic has an outbreak of pink eye.

Puerto Rico has an outbreak of pink eye.

Honduras has an outbreak of pink eye.

Guadalupe has an outbreak of pink eye.

The Bahamas has an outbreak of pink eye.

Mexico, Costa Rica, and Panama have outbreaks.

It is all over the Caribbean.

Of note: part of the problem in Puerto Rico is – in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria – many residents are unable to have clean water to wash their hands. This has resulted in a large number of illnesses being spread.

This particular strain that we are seeing in Belize is “viral” conjunctivitis. The difference between a virus and a bacteria is that virus cannot be treated with antibiotics. I was told by doctors at Hillside Clinic in Forest Home that the most distinguishing characteristic between the two is: watery eyes. Unlike my childhood escape from school, the viral strain does not cake your eyes closed the way the bacterial one does. Rather, there will be heavy watering in your eye.

Many of us here in Toledo take public buses for transportation. These and other surfaces can hold virus molecules for long enough to transfer them to your hands. Money, as well, is one of the dirtiest things your hands can touch. Wash your hands extremely well whenever you touch any of these questionable surfaces. Buy a bunch of hand sanitizer and carry it around with you – they have pocket sized ones or buy a large one and split it into smaller containers so you’ll have one handy.

It is an extremely contagious condition that should not be taken lightly. Do not leave your house if you don’t have to. Wait until it clears up.

Make sure to wash your towels, washcloths and sheets often. Do not share them.

Educate yourself about the ways it can be spread and most importantly, take care of your eyes.

 

A Different Perspective: Bicycling

I’ve never been much of a bicyclist. To be honest, when I first came to Belize, one of my first purchases was a bike because it’s the most common form of personal transportation where I am, but I hadn’t ridden a bike in decades.

So I took my over-sized, $190 BZD bike, to the edge of town, near the ocean and made sure nobody could see me. I hiked my leg over the too-high center bar and pushed myself off an old dilapidated bench at the abandoned market. Because the wooden bench crumbled with my shove, I took off wobbling and, of course, fell. And not gracefully, either. I was more concerned about whether or not anyone saw me than I was about the scrapes on my leg and elbow.

Thankfully, nobody was watching and my pride was left intact at that moment.

Anyway, that’s the extent of my bicycling expertise.

Right now, I stay at a guesthouse in San Miguel, Belize. Although right now is “low season,” a guest came through a couple weeks ago who was rather interesting. She notified my friend (who owns Back-A-Bush) and explained she would be biking from Independence and wanted a place to stay.

That’s a five-hour ride. On a bike.

Anyway, she showed up on her bike with no problems and ended up staying days longer than she’d planned on. She’d biked from Mexico and was en route to Guatemala. Wow!

Every guest I’ve seen come to Bak-A-Bush is cool. This is not an upscale place. It’s a farm with animals in a Mayan village, so trend-setters and jet-setters don’t typically come here. It’s not vogue. It’s cool. Calm. Peaceful. Natural. Nurturing.

Which also describes most of the guests who come here.

This lady was kind of different. She was tall and thin with very short hair. She was a 52-year-old veteran of the US military; a veterinarian; a bookworm from California. Quite brainy but also quiet and introspective. We were kind of like oil and water, to be honest, but I respected her in some strange way. Despite thinking she might be rather uptight, she ended up being pretty chill. Wasn’t the picky type which is always refreshing.

It really feels awkward when your friend’s guest is someone you just can’t click with for unknown reasons. I don’t like it at all because I generally get along with anyone and find most anything interesting. Thankfully, my friend is an expert hostess and she and this guest got on just fine, of course.

Anyway, a discussion came up about biking and I didn’t agree with her. She was talking about how motorists are rude to bicyclists on the roads.

Inside, my blood got hot. I am a driver, not a biker, and it has really ticked me off in the past to see people put themselves in danger by riding their bikes in – or too close to – the road. My truck is much bigger than their bikes. How dare they blame us in our vehicles for recklessness when they’re the ones putting themselves in danger?

So I politely interjected: “I’m going to be devil’s advocate, here,” I said. Because I didn’t want to offend but I just couldn’t keep it in.

I told her obviously she’s a professional bicyclist – she’d been to tour-de-France, even! – but not all bicyclists are that attentive. I explained that groups (communities, governments, businesses, etc.) are only as good as their weakest links. It is unfortunate and unwise to expect that all bicyclists are as cautious as she and other bikers. I told her how terrifying it is that a bicyclist could carelessly fall or tumble in front of my oncoming bumper and I would be liable and motorists have so many other things to be on the look-out for (cars, kids, animals, etc).

She did not take offense to this at all. At least not visibly but I suspect her blood temperature rose a bit just like mine did. Kind of like when two cats see one another, eyeball each other – maybe their backs rise up a little bit – and then they realize they’re related so they calm down.

She politely went on to explain things in a different light.

The shoulder of the road, she said, is often littered with debris ranging from broken glass to car pieces. These things can cause an accident quicker than a bicyclist hovering over the shoulder line.

Touche’.

People on the shoulder are not as visible as those in the lane with the vehicles. It may piss off a driver to see a bicyclist in their lane, but at least the driver sees them.

Touche’ again.

I went back to reading my book.

I looked it up, later.

I was surprised to find out that my greatest fear (the rider losing control of their bike) is only responsible for about 16% of serious or fatal accidents reported to police. Rather, it is the visibility that causes more accidents.

According to The Royal Society for the Prevention of Accidents, “In collisions involving a bicycle and another vehicle, the most common key contributory factor recorded by the police is ‘failed to look properly’ by either the driver or rider, especially at junctions.” 

Similarly, in the US, bicycling accidents are far more likely to happen at intersections where visibility is minimal.

These facts seem to support my friend’s guest’s assertions that sharing the road with motorists does, indeed, help prevent bicycling accidents more than staying in the “bike lanes” or on the shoulders of the roads. Even though accidents will always happen, her claims are supported by facts.

I’ve always said that I would rather be proven wrong and shown the err of my ways, than walk around looking like an idiot, believing something that just isn’t true.

Thanks, California, veteran, veterinarian, biker guest. ❤

So if you’re on your way to the store down the street from your house, think about this the next time you see a bicyclist traveling on the road. You might feel annoyed but remember it could be your brother, sister, child, husband, etc. and you’d rather see them pissing people off, than stumbling over a piece of re-tread on the side of the road.

And if you’re happening along the Southern Highway on your way to Guatemala, give a shout-out to my biking friend, D, who’s probably already sitting somewhere sipping on a bottle of water with her nose in a book.

I Pledge Allegiance To…..

I was raised differently than …well, anyone. I didn’t have any solid structure or anything but somehow I had a very insightful and intuitive mind so the lack of structure suited me, really. I was able to make up my own mind about things. I didn’t swallow the Kool-Aid, so to speak.

Lately, there’s been all this fuss about NFL players kneeling (or sitting) during the Pledge of Allegiance in the US. Personally, I’m more upset about how “President” Trump addressed it than the act of it, itself.

But I’ll save my Trump-Dumping for another time.

Anyway, I posted today on my Facebook account, that I do not feel I should have to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance or the National Anthem or anything else if I don’t want to. That’s the epitome of the National Anthem: freedom.

I have the right to be human and this seems to be lost on all these patriots who are wearing their red-white-and-blue hats with their holsters visible and their “Jesus Is Love” t-shirts. Before we are Americans, we are human.

For me, this is such a no-brainer. Perhaps because of that incorrigible mind I have always had. I simply cannot conform, for conformity’s sake. This is not what freedom is about. Freedom is about the choice to not conform. It’s about the right to protest.

We put a lot of weight on the shoulders of celebrities and athletes. My opinion of sports aside, these “heros” do, in fact, have a high place in Western society (as opposed to, oh I don’t know, teachers) so their actions are extremely scrutinized and valued (or judged).

It sucks that we base our fashion on what hairpieces are being worn on the television. We are more worried about which clothes to wear than we are about the fact that the President of the United States can say “…son of a bitch…” on live TV.

How shallow the US has become, that we are so worried about our NFL players not standing for the pledge that we don’t realize we should be worried about the reasons why they’re not standing.

Just because someone is rich, beautiful and has some kind of celebrity dream life, does not reduce them to being that image. These are regular human beings just like me; just like you.

It’s shameful and sinful in my opinion, to require people to go against their own morality and judgment, for the sake of money and ratings. This is what it ultimately comes down to.

I don’t care what color you are, what job you have, which role you recently played in or what family you belong to: You’re human. Like it or not, you’re not the BMW you drive; You’re not the corner office you work in; You’re not the 3,600-square-foot house you occupy during the winter.

You are not just an American.

You are human.

Don’t let the rhetoric and bullying remove this fact from your life because, in the end, being human is the only thing that is certain. Everything else depends on the weather and who tosses out the first bomb.

Dead to the World

Last year, roughly, I found two kittens who were about 5 weeks old in a crate. The man who had them was paid $3 BZD ($1.50 USD) to dispose of them in the ocean.

I couldn’t let this happen!

I ended up saving them both and found a home for one. Unfortunately, couldn’t find a home for the un-special black one so he stayed with me.

He ended up being locked outside a couple of times on a “busy” thoroughfare in town. Miraculously he survived. I named him “Scrappy” as a result.

So Scrappy (or, as I would call him, “Scrappy Doo”) grew up to be a sweetheart. He was a big baby because my female cat – Maya (may she rest in peace) – was always protecting him. Scrappy was always getting himself beat up. I swear he was limping on his left paw one day, right paw the next. It was an every-day thing.

I got him neutered before he was old enough to know what mating was but he was the first male cat I’d ever had fixed. Interestingly, the fella who’d taken his litter mate was having Scrappy’s brother neutered at the same time.

I took him home before his anesthesia had worn off and was doing laundry while he lay almost lifeless.

When he started to come out of his anesthesia, he began growling and hissing. I tried to put myself in his paws…tried to figure maybe it felt as if something had ahold of his little testes. I can’t imagine how it’d feel to be perfectly fine one minute, only to wake up with something missing and a burning sensation in its place.

I was reassured by his litter mate’s owner that his little brother was doing the same thing so I let him growl, hiss and snarl his way to semi-consciousness. Scrappy Doo had become “Scrappy don’t.”

Remember I said I was doing laundry? I took Scrappy off the bed and placed him on the floor of my little house. I didn’t want him to fall because he was moving around.

Went and put the laundry on the line.

Came back and found a lifeless cat, his neck looked broken. His head was laying awkwardly over the threshold of the back door which had a gap at the bottom. His head was almost outside (through the gap) and his body was inside.

I shrieked, “Scrappy!” (my neighbors heard it), and jerked him up. No movement, no motion, no breathing, no response. I shook him – softly at first – then quite hard. I smacked his face on both sides the way a person would do to someone who’s passed out.

No response.

Finally, his eyes flitted open and he was just as before. I never got any kid of explanation for why this happened and it was quickly forgotten.

Fast forward to last night.

I’ve had a rough time lately and I won’t get into it but I like sleeping with my cat. I always have. Their purring sounds are so calming and soothing to me (though I hate it when they start kneading me. Their little claws hurt!). Scrappy’s no different.

We went to sleep, him kneading my boob and nuzzling my armpit.

Oh stop. Don’t act like you’ve never had a cat nuzzle your armpit!

I fall asleep listening to a meditation about – I don’t remember. Success or healing or talking to your animal totem. Something like that.

I awaken in the middle of the night to pee and Scrappy is nestled against me beneath the covers. Unusual for any cat in my experience, but Scrappy’s weird so I didn’t think much of it.

I rolled over and tried to ignore my need to go to the bathroom. Thinking erroneously as always, that if I could just get back to sleep, the urge would wait til morning.

It didn’t. And Scrappy – despite my stirring – didn’t move.

I sat up, pulled the sheet to the side.

Scrappy didn’t move.

Instinctively, I put my hand on his belly with the sheet still covering him. I couldn’t feel his belly rising and falling.

Scrappy wasn’t breathing!

I jumped out of that bed as if it were a bed of hot coals. I couldn’t see myself but I imagine I looked like a little kid staring at a piece of candy that’d just been dropped in a pile of sand or something. Half disgusted; half mortified.

I reached over from the two-feet-away area I’d jumped to and shoved at the back of his body (he was laying sideways, obviously) beneath the sheet. It was like someone with a stick, touching a dead animal to see if it’s still alive.

Scrappy didn’t move.

This was where I panicked. What on earth would I do?

Oh my God not Scrappy!

What does one do with a dead cat in the jungle at 3 AM? Oh my God!

Thinking back, my rudimentary jungle training reminded me that dead animals are typically disposed of in the bush.

But I can’t do that! The dogs would tear his little body to shreds!

He wasn’t snake-bitten, was he?

I tried remembering – and was able to recall with striking accuracy – the hours before bed and even the day before. In fact, Scrappy’s whole life flashed before my eyes.

I paced. I think I stomped a couple times. I cried angrily.

Scrappy didn’t move.

I resigned myself to having to go wake up El. I really didn’t want to do that but I felt like a little kid who’d just had a nightmare and wanted mommy. I really did.

But I had to do something. I couldn’t sleep with a dead cat.

I grabbed my robe, trying to think of how I could wake up El. I had no idea how she’d react. Would she be angry? “Why did you wake me up over a fucking cat!?” 

Would she be understanding? “Oh honey. Come let’s see.”

Would she be indifferent? “It’s nothing. Perfectly natural. Leave him til morning. Just put him on a chair.”

As I reached for my robe, I saw a slight movement.

Scrappy moved!

His head flopped up like a sleeping baby in a car seat going over a speed bump.

I actually jerked back in shock.

I heaved a heavy gasped “Scrappy!?”

Yanked the covers off of him.

He was rather perturbed.

I’d woken him up.

I have discovered cats can have narcolepsy. Yes! I instantly started googling this morning. I don’t know if he has narcolepsy because his eyes were closed in both instances (although I couldn’t really tell at 3 AM this morning because he was wrapped in the tangled sheets) but I figure they were.

Now it’s got me thinking It’s gonna suck when he really dies. What if he dies in bed? I’ll never know he’s dead. This brings all kinds of macabre things to mind and I hope it never happens.

All I can say is, “Scrappy? Don’t.”