Critter Sitter for Hire

by Annette Dashofy

I’m in the middle of my final week teaching at the yoga studio. My class tonight is going to be a tough one. I’m calling it Weepy Wednesday. Tomorrow won’t be much better.

Since regular paychecks are going to be a thing of the past, I’ve already started accepting odd jobs. For the next two weeks, I’m kitty sitting.

I’ve known these three fur balls since they were kittens. And since there are usually two rowdy little girls in the house, I think the cats are looking at the experience of being home alone as their own vacation. I show up every other day and fill their food and water bowls, clean the litter boxes, and scratch their itches.

This is Cocoa and Tigger.

And this is Chili.

Chili, again.

They love me.

I’ve done kitty sitting for friends and family for years. Sometimes, I think I should start a business. And since I don’t just do cats, I think I should call it “Critter Sitters.”

Friends of mine have a small farm a couple of miles from here and I have a nice little barter exchange with them. When they go away, I take care of their cats, dogs, horses, cows, chickens, and fish. When I go away, Sara checks in on my kitty, Skye. And my mom. You may think I get the better end of that deal, but I’m thrilled with it. Skye is picky about people, but she adores Sara. And, seriously, how many people can you trust with your mom?

I have other important qualifications. I can give shots. I can administer fluids subcutaneously should your cat be in renal failure. I have experience with oral meds, too. Dogs are easy. Stick a pill in some burger or one of those pill pocket things and they wolf it down. Cats require some finesse.

Actually, quite a bit of finesse.

The weirdest critter sitter job I ever had was on a nearby farm that raises miniature horses. While the owners were out of town, I fed, watered, turned out, cleaned stalls, and brought in about 20 of the little guys. But that wasn’t the weird part. Theirs is a breeding facility and I was also required to take one of the studs out to “tease” a mare. For the city folks amongst you that basically means finding out if the mare is interested in a hot date.

The stud is ALWAYS interested. Surprise, surprise.

What do you think? Should I print up business cards?

Or maybe I’ll just finish the short story I began a while back that involves a pet sitter finding a dead body.

Animal Planet

By Annette Dashofy

(As you’re reading this, I’m mourning the passing yesterday of my 19-year-old pussycat, BooBoo, so I’m even more emotional over furry creatures in pain than I am most days.)

We don’t have access to cable television here at home, but since my mom’s been rehabbing from her latest hip surgery in a nursing facility, I’ve had a chance to surf more than our usual seven channels. Mostly, the experience has convinced me that cable only gives you more stations with nothing on, so making the complete round with the remote takes longer.

However, there is one station I can almost always rely on to offer something entertaining.

Animal Planet.

This Sunday, I tuned in to a show I have a love/hate relationship with. Animal Cops. It’s definitely my kind of show, except that I end up a sobbing wreck at some point during most episodes. I also end up homicidal when they’re going after the heartless, soulless creeps that do such things to animals. The latest episode involved a small, gray and white kitten whose owner had been heard threatening to throw it out the second story window. Apparently, he’d made good on the threat, because the little cutie was found seriously injured on the sidewalk. The heroes of the series whisked it off to the vets who determined that both back legs had been broken.

“I can’t watch this,” I said to my mom. But I did. And the scene that followed convinced me that I made the right decision long ago to NOT become a vet.

During surgery, the veterinarian discovered that the injuries were old. So old that she couldn’t reduce the fractures. Not only had this kitty’s owner tossed it from the window, the vet suspected he’d thrown the kitten against the wall, too.

She couldn’t save the little one. The happy ending I’d been hoping to witness didn’t happen. They had to put the kitten to sleep.

Did they catch the beast who’d done this? I assume so. Otherwise, why bother including it in the episode? But I couldn’t watch it anymore and shut the TV off. (If anyone out there saw it, please tell me they caught the guy and executed him on the spot).

To be honest, I’m a mess when fictional animals die, too. A couple years ago, against my better judgment, we went to see the Disney movie Eight Below. I began sobbing when the first dog died and didn’t stop until a half hour after the movie had ended. One of my earliest memories is of hiding under the dashboard of my parents’ car in hysterics while watching Old Yeller at the drive-in.

Another movie I should never have watched was Ruffian, the story of the great racehorse from the 70’s. I remember when the real Ruffian died. I cried then. I cried all over again watching the movie. Not just a few sniffles into a tissue. I’m talking full blown blubbering. Heaven help me if they ever make a movie about Barbaro.

What is it that makes me (and apparently lots of others) such a basket case over the plights of animals? Why do I become absolutely livid at the cruelty of some so-called humans who do such vicious things to helpless pets? Yes, I feel outrage over man’s inhumanity to man, but man’s inhumanity to the small furry (and larger hooved) creatures of the world really sets me off. Perhaps it’s the helplessness of animals. They have no choice in the matter. We’re their stewards in this world. And sadly, too many of us don’t take that responsibility to heart.

Rest in peace, BooBoo (one of the lucky ones who only knew love in his world).