Yet Another Journal

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cute budgie stories, cute terrier stories, and anything else I can think of.


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» Sunday, August 22, 2004
This Stinks, Literally
About two or three years after we moved into the house, we started having trouble with feral cats around our house. Please understand that both James and I like cats and might probably have one if (a) we didn't have a bird and (b) weren't so darn allergic to them. Not sure about James' cat allergy, but mine is very volatile. I remember coming home from my best friend Sherrye's house on Saturday nights when she was in college (she'd come home for the weekend and we'd spend the night watching the shows she liked, Starsky and Hutch and S.W.A.T.) and having to leave my clothes out on the porch when I got home to "deodorize," even though I loved the attentions of Twiggy the Siamese and Zipper the black Angora.

But I do not like feral cats. They use our yard as a litterbox and kill the birds at our feeder. And then there's the other thing.

Hey, call Animal Control, I hear you say.

Yep. Cobb County Animal Control. Cobb County Animal Control who ignored me and put me off so many times when I called them when the problem first started. The nadir came when one of the perpetually pregnant females had kittens under our backyard shed. When they were old enough, she moved them under our front porch, which is open. I found them there one day, four adorable, wide-eyed kittens. One was so close to the stairs I could have grabbed it had I a good pair of gloves; get close to these little guys and they defend themselves in fear, scratching and biting. God knows what kind of disease they might be harboring, having had no shots and no care.

I finally decided to call Animal Control. I knew they had those sticks with the noose on them. A quick swish and all four kittens could have been taken back to the shelter, bathed, treated for fleas, given shots, and found wonderful homes.

The guy at Animal Control said there was no way they could come get them. I explained the porch was open; all they had to do was reach under with the pole.

"For us to come pick them up," he said, "they have to be contained."

Excuse me? Isn't that the job of Animal Control, to contain animals? Another time I called they said, diffidently, "Oh, we could let you have a cat trap." Not "we'll bring over a cat trap and some cat food for bait and set it up and have you monitor it." Nope, if I wanted to get rid of the cats, I had to drive to the animal shelter, pick up the cat trap myself, and set it up myself.

I don't pretend I pay a lot of taxes on this tiny bit of property, but I do pay taxes. And part of those taxes go for animal control. So what is it I am paying for?

The saddest part came about six months later. One of the kittens was distinctively marked and I recognized it as it crossed the street. It was a thin and bony tom and its ears were ripped and its tail torn. It could have possibly had a good home had these "humane" people from a supposedly "humane" animal control come to pick it up. Now it was starving and fighting for food and territory. Nice call, guys.

The other problem happened again tonight. It happened last Saturday and it happens every spring. There are days in the spring we can't even keep the windows open. The marauding toms come around and spray everything, our sliding glass door, our front porch, and, tonight, the door to our den. At this moment, even though we have no overflowing litter boxes and no unneutered tom in the house, our den reeks of cat urine, as our kitchen did last Saturday (the smell at that time was so strong that I could smell it on the second floor). How'd you like to eat breakfast with that odor up your nose?

If you go to Cobb County's website, you'll see lots of nice color photos at the top of the page of boating and recreation. Funny, I don't see them promoting the neighborhoods that reek of cat piss because they refuse to do anything about the problem! But that wouldn't be good press now, would it?

It's just bad press for those of us who have to endure it.