- Joined
- May 30, 2015
- Messages
- 15
- Purraise
- 10
Hello,
Glad to have a place just to talk about this - by most definitions I'm a Crazy Cat Lady.
We have 11, none sought out. Some came with pregnant mothers or as newborn kittens; one was a gift during a time of deep mourning for the passing of a 20-year-old kitty. One was just flat rescued from a neglectful owner, half starved and flea riddled. During the Great Recession shelters couldn't give cats away, so those in need were added to the collective.
For 30 years strays were welcome if they could get along with those already in residence. We live in the country and so they were mostly outside. After many years, and learning the hard way about the dangers of cars, stray dogs, feline leukemia, and the heartbreak of dead songbirds, they are now inside residents. Eleven. Inside.
The last starved rescue put us over the edge - took a while to discover who was peeing, or rather how many, and the rescue can set an Olympic record for height and distance with his marking. All are speutered, fed premium food, medically cared for, and housed with compatible pals. My tolerant husband has constructed large walk-in runs with towers in the walk-out basement - plenty of window light, radio in the daytime, access to protected outdoor space for fresh air and sunshine. Diapers are worn upstairs for the ones that can't be trusted when they come up in groups of two or three for personal attention.
I don't mind the time or expense much as my children haven't seen fit to give me grandchildren yet (and there are worse ways to spend your time and money than on lovely cats), but they all want to be upstairs, all the time. I can only spread myself so thin.
I feel guilty and overwhelmed at times and unsure just how much one-on-one attention is enough.
Thanks for reading, as cat folk perhaps you have some perspective on this.
Glad to have a place just to talk about this - by most definitions I'm a Crazy Cat Lady.
We have 11, none sought out. Some came with pregnant mothers or as newborn kittens; one was a gift during a time of deep mourning for the passing of a 20-year-old kitty. One was just flat rescued from a neglectful owner, half starved and flea riddled. During the Great Recession shelters couldn't give cats away, so those in need were added to the collective.
For 30 years strays were welcome if they could get along with those already in residence. We live in the country and so they were mostly outside. After many years, and learning the hard way about the dangers of cars, stray dogs, feline leukemia, and the heartbreak of dead songbirds, they are now inside residents. Eleven. Inside.
The last starved rescue put us over the edge - took a while to discover who was peeing, or rather how many, and the rescue can set an Olympic record for height and distance with his marking. All are speutered, fed premium food, medically cared for, and housed with compatible pals. My tolerant husband has constructed large walk-in runs with towers in the walk-out basement - plenty of window light, radio in the daytime, access to protected outdoor space for fresh air and sunshine. Diapers are worn upstairs for the ones that can't be trusted when they come up in groups of two or three for personal attention.
I don't mind the time or expense much as my children haven't seen fit to give me grandchildren yet (and there are worse ways to spend your time and money than on lovely cats), but they all want to be upstairs, all the time. I can only spread myself so thin.
I feel guilty and overwhelmed at times and unsure just how much one-on-one attention is enough.
Thanks for reading, as cat folk perhaps you have some perspective on this.