Pets....and More Pets

Sometimes life is feast or famine.

Mom brought home a lovely little black Chihuahua-and-something-else mix, Mollie, who loves to cuddle and play and yip and settle in the crook of your arm. Mollie is our foster pet; Jan signed herself up to take home dogs from the Pixie Project, helping them with good nights' sleep and good company, and then bringing them back to the Pixie Project during the days so people can meet them and maybe adopt them. Of course, right as she and I are falling in love with Mollie (we get first option to adopt), Jan goes to a garage sale and meets a woman whose family is moving to Mexico for several months, and they're looking for a good home for Luna. Luna, a terrier, was abused by another dog in her youth (she's eight now) and also, with one owner, had to live outside for two years. Now Luna's in a good home, and her current companions want to make sure she gets another good one. I look forward to meeting her tonight....mixed feelings, though....Luna sounds more relaxed (read: Nathan won't go insane with Ollie and Mollie running around and playing all evening long)....but we also are already giving our hearts to Mollie (I feel like pulling a Paris Hilton and getting a man purse and carrying Mollie around with me wherever I go). What are we to do at the Buck Motor Inn? I'll keep you all posted on this exciting chapter in the Buck saga.

Animals have been on my mind so much lately. A few weeks ago, Mom and I pulled up to the San Raphael house on a beautifully weird day (or a weirdly beautiful day, either/or) where the skies couldn't decide on rain or sun, so there were all these stark contrasts -- edgy clouds, gray and viscious, next to slashes of bright blue, some sun dangling down and catching itself on leaves in the neighborhood trees. There were two vibrant rainbows in the sky, one atop another, and a spotlight of sun cast itself right on the slick road. Lying in the road was a dead kitten, who'd just been hit. She was strikingly pretty, black and gray stripes, and green eyes, and you could tell she'd been hit hard. A line of blood had shot from her mouth like a liquid ruler, and there was a halo around her head, mixing with the rain. It just broke my heart, Mom's heart, the neighbors' hearts who pulled up right after us. Mom got a plastic bag and set her on the grass; the men offered to knock on a few doors and see whom she belonged to (they never did find out). It's strange to think how conditioned we are to dead squirrels, raccoons, deer even, but dogs and cats -- those we let into our hearts & homes -- we just have completely different visceral reactions to them. Shouldn't I feel just as sad to see a dead squirrel? I actually think I do, but it's on a cerebral level, not a gut level.

Missy, Ben's cat, has gotten in the habit of sleeping next to me at night. She curls up behind my back and hogs the bed (which is fine, I get to scoot closer to Ben). Missy and I have a funny relationship -- she's finally given me the thumbs up (she has her own trust issues from her life before Ben rescued her), but she's still wary of anyone who is not Mr. B. Still, it's nice to have her warm up to me. She recognizes me and likes to spend time with me, on some level.

Karla's iguana, Fluffy, is doing well. Karla and Steve are thinking of joining this program where you can walk shelter dogs, and the dogs wear "ADOPT ME!" clothes so people on the street can pet them, get to know them, and consider giving them a good home.

Final thought: So funny. Tuesday night I was cuddled on the couch with a blanket wrapped around me, and Ollie was at my feet and Mollie was in the crook of my arm, and Mom was next to me in the chair, and the house was a mess, and I felt alive and tired and loved and curious.

Life is sure a strange, mysterious thing.