My Holly Berry

I've buried yet another cat this morning. Holly Berry, a probable drop-off several years ago, came to our farm scared of the world and people. I had discovered her staked out in the garage hiding, alternately, under the Rover and Edgar's vet truck. In the beginning, I caught mere glimpses of her retreating hind end; she was, at least, partially feral, or had been badly treated by humans. Despite what must have been lousy experiences with the human race, she attempted to communicate with me. Every time I went outside, which is primarily through the garage, a loud "meow" sounded. Understanding cat language as well as I do, I knew she was testing me out--to see whether I'd respond in like fashion to her conversation. So, I hunched down and meowed back. She talked; I talked. Holly howled; I howled. In a short time, I transitioned to English, which she obviously didn't understand, so I howled in the voice she was accustomed to, only yelling in words.
"WHA-A-AT'S THE MA-A-ATER? WHA-A-AT ARE YOU HOLLARI-I-I-ING ABOUT? YOU'RE ALWAYS HOLLARI-I-I-ING!" I called to the little gray and white cat.
Then she replied in an equally loud voice from her hiding place beneath the truck, "RE-O-O-OW!! RE-O-O-OW! RE-O-O-OW!"
Eventually, through mutual conversation and food offerings, Holly, named after her "hollaring" talent, became a good friend. At Christmas I added "Berry" to her name, just for the hell of it, and "Holly Berry" stuck, then, for the rest of the seasons.
The garage was her home, and I had a cat apartment readied for her to escape the wind and cold. One early spring morning after Edgar had left on his veterinary calls, I rushed through the garage toward the barn where chores awaited. I didn't hear or see Holly--strange. Holly was always in the garage--it was her home. This day, however, she was visibly and audibly absent. I looked up into the rafters, under the Rover, inside the cat apartment. I called and hollared, "HOLLY!" until I was blue. No Holly. Then I searched just beyond the garage: in the gardens, in the barn--everywhere. No Holly. I was worried, but I had had other barn cats that would take a vacation for a few days, though Holly had never left her garage before this.
In the evening Edgar came home, and we began to feed everyone. Suddenly, there sat Holly, awaiting supper, in the garage.
"HOLLY!" I hollared.
"RE-O-O-O-OW!" she yelled back.
No other explanation existed for her garage-absence for an entire day other than she had crawled up underneath Edgar's truck during the night or early morning and had ridden along on all his vet calls in the undercarriage, perhaps where the spare tire hung. And when Edgar pulled into the garage, she knew she was home and hopped down. I broached the subject to Edgar, who laughed and said that he had been flying at seventy mph on 78, and that she had to have been freezing under there going at that speed.
So, Holly Berry, in her short lifetime, was well-traveled, at least for a day.
Holly Berry remained a shy, vocal cat for the next couple of years, but when I rescued two mother kittens and their babies from a Philadelphia kill-shelter this spring, she gravitated to the barn loft. And even though I fed wet food, supplied free-choice dry, and water up there, Holly didn't thrive. We'd talk when I brought her and the other "loft" cats dinner, but she just didn't seem as happy. It as her choice to abandon her garage; I didn't force her into the barn, though the barn loft, with its bales of stacked hay, was inviting to a cat.
Then, a few days ago Holly Berry walked over to me as I was feeding the cats in the barn. She said in a feeble voice, "Ow, . . . ow." I knew something was really wrong and scooped her in my arms and ran to the house.
"Her gums are almost white," I said. She was having trouble breathing, her chest heaving with each breath.
"Yeah. They are really blanched," Edgar said.
"Leukemia?" I said.
"Good chance. I thought we tested her, and I know she's vaccinated," he said. "Well, let's give her fluids, put her on antibiotics, and hope for the best."
But hope neither did her nor us any good. The evening before she died, I held her, talked to her, and she nudged my hand. She was comfortable--for being that close to death. I told her how much she meant to me, and she meowed in a frail voice the same to me.
And this morning she was gone--my Holly Berry.

Helpless Animals--Ignorant People

How can this world be so filled with ignorant people? After all these years dealing with animals, animal rescues, teaching high school and college, and speaking about my books to crowds, I still can't fathom the ignorance of some people--it just blows me away.

Here's a good case in point:

Right now there are a bunch of feral cats roaming around a trailer park--the Ramsey Mobile Home Park in Fairview Township in York County--that's south central PA. Two humane groups, Please Don't Litter (PDL) and PAWS (a 30 year old non-profit animal rescue organization that has spayed or neutered 10,000 felines in eight PA counties since 2004) have been shut down in their efforts to trap, spay, neuter, and release TO A DIFFERENT LOCATION the feral cats roaming the trailer park. In addition, these organizations are funded, not by taxpayer dollars, but by private funding.

The owner/managers of this Ramsey Trailer Park will no longer admit the two humane organizations into the park to continue the TNR program. Instead, and without good reason, they are trapping the cats themselves and taking them to the York County SPCA where they are being killed.

Yeah--makes no sense does it. This is classic human behavior fired by ignorance. Someone managing the trailer park hates cats. You know them: 250 pound men, many hunters, who, when they see a cat crossing the road, drive their 3/4 ton pick-up right at them. Then, when they feel the bump beneath their wheels, they shout, "GOTCHA!" It's machissmo at its finest: a 200 something pound man driving over a five pound cat. Wow, what a guy!

It's that kind of mentality we're dealing with here, folks. And the rest of us sensible people who recognize that PDL and PAWS were doing right by these animals must stand idly by and allow the ignoramuses to their cruel deeds. I don't think so.

Nothing dictates that we have to walk away from these poor cats. Please, I urge you to take two minutes to call these numbers and voice your disgust about this situation.
1. Call the York County SPCA t 717-764-6109 and ask them to not accept any more feral cats from the W R Ramsey Mobile Home Park. Tell them that a Trap and Neuter program had been active in the park but were told to stop.
2. Call the W R Ramsey Property Rental at 717-774-1970 and tell them to stop trapping and transporting the feral cats to the York County shelter where they are being euthanized at the expense of taxpayer dollars. Tell them to allow PDL and PAWS, backed by private funding, onto the property to continue with the trap and release program.

The ignorance behind this kind of human behavior is absolutely mind-boggling. The park had two groups trapping, neutering, and vaccinating the cats and then relocating them to neighboring areas--not even the trailer park. And these groups set up feeding stations and shelters for the cats, too, so no one has to worry about feeding them or their reproducing. So, what's the problem?

I don't know what the problem is with the owners of the Ramsey Trailer Park, but in a few minutes I'm going to call and find out! I'm angry and ashamed at the ignorance of some people. I urge everyone to make two phone calls on behalf of these homeless cats--two minutes. Let's out an end to such unnecessary cruelty and stupidity.