Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Shedding a dress size

When the shave was done, there were two Oscars on the table.


Oscar went for his annual check-up today. Other than his weight—a whopping 26 pounds—he’s in perfect health.

Besides a wellness exam, he also received the slimming “lion cut”, a trim to eliminate mats from forming in his long fine fur. Torso trimmed flat, while legs, tail and around the face stay fluffy. With January descending, it’s chilly in the Pacific Northwest, so I’ll be cranking up the heat to keep Oscar toasty warm.

I'm appalled that Oscar is so heavy. I feel personally responsible for his unbridled gluttony. Now that my two skinny cats have died, the remaining seven will be going on a diet immediately. No more free-feeding. Oscar’s by far the fattest, but everyone could stand to lose a bit of themselves.

Veterinarian Kim Barron defends Oscar somewhat. Unlike my other cats, she says he's "big boned." Big face, big paws.

As for Oscar, he seems pretty happy with his lighter load. He's got a headstart on his weight loss over the others. We weighed the shorn fur, and he’s already dropped a fifth of a pound just by losing the coat.


One of the many reasons I enjoy visiting veterinarian Dr. Kim Barron is because of her intellectual curiosity. Here she's weighing in Oscar's coat.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Hat trick



Today was Little Carreen’s turn at the vet, and I'm proud to say she’s officially part of my Good Kitty Club.

Unlike some of my other babies, there are no warnings in the clinic’s computer system about her. No instructions to approach “with gloves only.” No scratching, hissing or spitting to haunt her past.

She was so relaxed that veterinarian Dr. Kim Barron and I had a little fun with the fur that spun beautifully off the flea comb in a woven pattern. It made the perfect toupé, or a cozy winter hat, the kind you find at craft fairs.



Kim decided this would be the perfect time to take a picture of Little C for her file.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Bidding goodbye to the best of 2009

Photo by John Moore of Getty Images.


As the final day of calendar 2009 blasts its way to the finish line, the proliferation of “best” lists are in full swing: best gifts, best deals, best party ideas. Best cocktails, best holiday foods.

The bests are also rolled out for those of us practicing journalism—best photos, best stories. I read all the journalism bests I come across. Not because awards are the only opinions that matter. Awards nearly always indicate excellence work, but there are brilliant artists who will remain a lifetime unrecognized. Some of the most talented ones, in fact.

Still I pore over the pictures and devour the stories, because when a particular story or photo begins to gain a following, it has earned value in cultural relevance, no matter what the rest of the people say about it.

The photo above commanded my attention the first time I looked at it many months ago, and it caused me to stop and think. To piece together the story behind it in my mind. I wondered what this young woman was whispering to her fallen fiancé deep in the ground. I thought about how a pledge to marry would remain forever unrealized. It was powerful enough to evoke tears.

I wasn’t the only one galvanized. The photo has been heralded as one of the top picks for this year, a symbol of the humanity behind the machine of war. Of loss, love and grief. Of an almost-widow’s loyalty, respect and honor.

“Some people feel the photo I took at the moment was too intimate, too personal,” said Getty Images photojournalist John Moore. “Like many who have seen the picture, I felt overwhelmed by her grief, and moved by the love she felt for her fallen sweetheart.”

Mary McHugh is the young woman pictured, and she’s mourning the loss of her fiancé, Sgt. James “Jimmy” Regan. The decorated Army Ranger did a fate-tempting four deployments in three years, double tours of Afghanistan and Iraq. But a roadside bomb stole the last of his luck, and he died in Iraq on February 9, 2007.


Moore spent five years photographing war in the same countries Regan was deployed in, but that’s not how he came to hear about this 26-year-old fallen soldier from a New York hamlet called Manhasset. On Memorial weekend last May, Moore decided to wander the famous military cemetery in Virginia, where 300,000 veterans and military casualties are interred.

“I felt I owed the Arlington National Cemetery a little time – and I think I still do. Maybe we all do."

Walking the cemetery evoked different emotions than the ones Moore has grown accustomed to witnessing in battle.

“After so much time covering these wars, I have some difficult memories and have seen some of the worst a person can see – so much hatred and rage, so much despair and sadness. All that destruction, so much killing. And now, one beautiful and terribly sad spring afternoon amongst the rows and rows of marble stones – a young woman’s lost love.”

And by giving us a window to witness the grief for an unknown's lost love, Moore reminds us to hold our loved ones a little closer. In troubled times, and in peace.


Sgt. Jimmy Regan with his parents James and Mary in happier times.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

The rewards of rescue...priceless

Nell earned her stripes the hard way. But life has turned around for this lucky survivor.


Witnessing turnarounds is the most gratifying aspect of animal rescue. A skittish, bony creature who arrives terrified and smelling badly can be transformed into an unrecognizable success story.

Gradually, as scared animal eyes look into kind human eyes, they begin to trust again. Or for the first time.

Watching it happen feeds the soul, soothing the frustrations of compassion fatigue. And it inspires tears of pure joy, even for those rescuers with the toughest shells and a career full of experiences.

Animal rescue is not a perfect system. It’s woefully underfunded, unsupported by government, and not organized. It is characterized by loose affiliations and alliances. For example, contrary to popular belief, humane societies aren’t connected to each other. Neither are SPCAs, otherwise known as societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals. These names are generic, like “hospital”.

But the places aren’t as important as the people. Whether they land at a shelter, a sanctuary, an independent rescue group, or a foster home, animals blossom after rescue at the hands of people driven to save.

Some come further than others. Some won’t come far enough to make it out alive.

But for those animals who take to the lifestyle—one that requires them to wait patiently until a permanent place can be found—they are given another chance at happiness.

Nell is one such case that makes the heart soar. I met her at Whatcom Humane Society recently. The photo below portrays a frightened dog who had just been rescued after being tied to the train tracks. She was hit by a train, thrust into the path of danger by someone's twisted idea of sport.

The photo above shows Nell now, lounging under the bedcovers at her foster home.

I haven’t spoken to Nell’s foster parents, but I’m sure they are in it for just that moment in time. The one when she gives them those puppy eyes full of hope and trust.




To read previous stories about Nell's rescue, click these links.

Right on track

Already trained

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Staying abreast of health problems

Poor Henry was exhausted after a day at the clinic. He received a thorough teeth cleaning and a daring shave.


When I weather a spate of sick cats as I did recently, I begin to exhibit hypochondria where their health is concerned.

As I was cuddling Henry the other day, I felt a bump on his chest that seemed like some sort of cyst. He was bundled off to Northshore Veterinary Hospital in short order.

Dr. Kim Barron is a kind and patient woman, and always takes me seriously even when my suspicions have no basis in fact.

There was the time I thought Charlie was choking on a piece of salmon. It turned out he was just coughing on a hairball. The salmon I suspected and tried to pull out was actually his tongue. Thankfully it was slippery, so I didn’t get a firm grip.

Kim gave Henry a detailed once-over looking for cysts, even shaving him down in places for a closer examination.

When he was handed back to me with his nipples bare and boldly on display, I realized that must have been the cyst I thought I’d found.

Good thing it isn’t bikini season just yet.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Following the pecking order

Photo taken by Jim Rider of the South Bend Tribune in Indiana.


Why did the ducklings cross the road?

In the case of this flock of Mallards, it's because their mother was leading the way. While the little ones struggled to clear the curb, she waited 20 minutes for a clear path across the busy street before heading over with her offspring safely in tow.

Proving that with a little perseverance, even roadblocks in life that seem concretely unsurmountable can be conquered.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Down to a Magnificent Seven


You might think that in a multi-cat household, I would barely notice when I lose one.

That's not true in the least.

When I come home from the veterinary clinic knowing one of my animals will never return, the missing piece of the puzzle is palpable.

It's not just me who feels it. The remaining cats jostle for pecking order, and there's a perceptible hole in the dynamic for a while until the animals adjust to the loss.

Last night I drove through a heavy snowstorm to get Felix to the veterinary hospital before it closed. Felix is an elderly grey tabby cat I rescued dumpster-diving outside a Jack in the Box fast food restaurant in San Diego 13 years ago, and he's currently the oldest cat in the house. Because of the familiar distress signs I noticed before we set off, I knew when I bundled him into the carrier that he might not return to my cat house.

His health had been deteriorating slowly but surely over the past several months, ebbing away his quality of life. The slow decline made the decision to take his life a difficult one.

Day by day, he began to withdraw from the cat clutch, and them away from him, leaving him to nap alone. He stopped playing and appeared to be in pain at times, even though his tests showed all systems normal. He grew thinner, and just recently the bones on his spinal cord felt more pronounced. The wide-faced tomcat cheeks began to hollow. And when he was sitting or lying down, I could tell he wasn't completely comfortable.

My old cat was simply fading away, a little bit at a time.

The surviving pride of cats -- now down to a Magnificent Seven cast of characters -- help ease the pain of loss. But there will never be another Felix, and the holidays will be dimmer without his friendly spirit in the house.

Goodbye to a survivor and a friend.


* * *

This will be a grief-tinged holiday season for me. I lost Opus in October, and now Felix is gone too. The house feels quiet and lonely without them.

To read about the battle to save Opus, click to And then there were eight.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

A furry fashion plate



Jackson the Chihuahua fancy-foots through fall modeling his too-precious sweater knitted in autumn tones. Notice how the sweater's sage-colored panel on the right complements his eyes perfectly.

Jackson's photo was taken by Los Angeles-based Kim Rodgers of Bark Pet Photography. Kim's passionate about photographing dogs, and she's also a dedicated animal rescuer in her own right.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Bits and bites of happiness

American Thanksgiving is rolling into place for 2009. It will be my first year celebrating the holiday as a newly-minted American, and a Canadian too (Not born in the USA, Oct. 21, 2009).

I am grateful for so many blessings. Animal rescue sits at the top of the list. Those entrenched in the field know how rewarding and meaningful this work is. Having purpose nurtures the soul, and makes every day matter. And for me, documenting the heroic feats of rescuers keeps my belief in humanity going strong. I’ll be toasting my Tofurkey drumsticks to that.

In the spirit of giving thanks, here are updates from recent stories with happy endings.



I got him!

Yesterday I trapped Montana, the orange cat living outside Cafe Akroteri. Finally appetite overrode caution. He went on the WeSnip van to be fixed and treated. It was a treat for me too, because I had the chance to watch this crackerjack crew in action. I’ll be posting a story on the WeSnip experience shortly.

Initially I had suspected Montana’s ear injuries were caused by fighting with other animals, but that wasn’t it. It turns out this gentle boy had a terrible case of ear mites. The itching had caused him to kick his poor little ears open himself.

Special thanks to Lisa Weston of Richmond Animal Protection Society, a terrific shelter north of the line. She saw the blog story and worried that wily Montana wouldn’t be caught. She offered to give up her weekend to come down and help me catch the cat. You’re the best, Weston!

Previous blog stories on the Akroteri cats:
Almost catch of the day
Compassion is on the menu




Right on track


I was horrified when I first encountered Nell at Whatcom Humane Society. Some human had tied her to the tracks, and she had been hit by a train. A railroad employee rescued her and the shelter took her in. Soon she was bundled off to a foster home, where she has recuperated marvelously. She’s bouncing around like a new dog, and needs a new home.

Those of you on my Facebook will know there were some nail-biting moments when Nell disappeared from her foster home on Halloween. A storm had struck the region, and the fence enclosing her blew down. Nell was off like a shot. Rescuers put out the word to keep an eye out for her through social networks and more traditional channels too. Sure enough, she jumped into someone’s car at Lake Padden, rescued a second time. You can read more about Nell's progress on the Whatcom Humane Society website.

Previous blog stories about Nell:
On track for recovery
Already trained





Freeway of love


The woman I saw panhandling just off the freeway to raise enough money to keep her dogs will have a less stressful Thanksgiving. Rescue groups stepped up to help her. Her pit-Rottie mix Calla has already been fixed by WeSnip, which greatly reduced her licensing fees. And Alternative Humane Society donated the money to pay for the licensing charges. Then a generous animal rescuer named Belinda Ogley sent money to me on PayPal all the way from Singapore to defray Kristina’s dog food bill for a while. You're a kind soul, Belinda, to care from so far away.

Previous blog story on Kristina:
Working to make it work

Sunday, November 22, 2009

The ball and chain

Check out the 60-pound weight attached to the groom's ankle. That's the full weight of commitment.


Just because I mean well doesn't mean my efforts are always appreciated.

Last night I was blogging from a restaurant bar when in rolled a party of 15. The young men were celebrating. One of them was getting married, and this was his bachelor party.

I asked permission to take photos of the joyous event, and started snapping away. When the pop of my flashbulb finally died down and I returned to my booth to start writing, I figured that was the end of the story.

But that's when she attacked.

The battleax landed at my table like a bat out of hell. She's married to one of the men, and she was raging angry, demanding to know where my photos--which were tame, by the way--were going to end up.

When I didn't back down, her mouth started spewing bitter venom.

"Do you even have a husband of your own?" she mocked, just before asking if I wanted to fight.

There are those who will criticize me for not defusing the situation and backing down. But in my experience, there's only one way to tame a bully. Stand up to her.

I ordered her to step off. I told her the men had consented to the photographs being taken. And then I called her a "mean mommy" trying to control everybody.

That did it.

She stormed off, and peace was restored.

Holy matrimony.

The little shelter that could

This goat named Marty was a lobby greeter for the RAPS shelter until her mischief-making and counter-jumping caused so much ruckus that she had to be closed into a kennel in the dog area.


I stopped by one of my favorite shelters late last week.

The Richmond Animal Protection Society isn't nearly one of the largest shelters I have formed a relationship with. Nor is it the oldest, or the best financed.

But it does have something going for it.

A giant heart.

Executive director Carol Reichert provides the capable and compassionate leadership that makes it all possible for this little shelter that could.



Richmond Animal Protection Society executive director Carol Reichert cuddles a puppy picked up as a wandering stray two days ago.


Helen Savkovic and Bluey the cat work the intake desk together.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Dogma rules

Photo taken by Steven Kennedy.


Unexpected meetings with kind souls. That's the food that feeds my soul. Tonight I met Jen Larson, a 23-year-old who is tender and sweet. She already knows she wants a family, but more importantly to me, she wants a rescue dog.

"It completes the whole family picture," Jen said. "When no one else is around, you have the dog."






Jen Larson already sees family dogs in her future.

Veg out

Erica Epperson's art show opened today in Bellingham, Wash. at award-winning Boundary Bay Brewery.


One of the best parts of my job is mixing business with pleasure. Scouting scintillating stories for you to read draws me to people I like mingling with, even when I'm tempted to seclude from society. Check out the earthy stylings from my friend Erica Epperson. She makes a simple vegetable into a masterpiece. Here's the story I helped write for her bio. It reveals the source of her inspiration.

* * * * *

The relationship between human beings and their Earth is one of sustenance and dependence.

My acrylic and oil paintings are created to honor this connection. I see beauty in the so-called ordinary around me, particularly food items. Food that appears simple and uneventful at first blush. My work usually portrays food I have grown and eaten myself.

Each piece of an artist’s work has its own spirit. That makes it an object of power, providing inspiration, healing and meaning to people who are receptive to its beauty.

That power has led the artwork of others to influence my own style. My most profound influences are the art deco painters of the 1930s and 40s, and the Works Progress Administration murals created in the 1930s during the Great Depression. These paintings funded by the New Deal are tangible testaments to the hearty dreams of the American people. Aspirations that couldn’t be stolen, not even in the face of large-scale economic disaster.

During the Great Depression, communities gained strength by nurturing hope and working together. With our modern society facing its own struggles, the WPA paintings are a historical and inspirational example of triumph.

From my early years as a kid growing up in rural Northern California, I knew I was meant to paint, and taught myself. Art stayed a consistent and vibrant theme in my daily life. When I moved to Santa Cruz, then San Jose Bay, I operated businesses doing sign-making, mural painting, even a tattoo studio. I’ve since settled in Bellingham with my family, in this region that provides me with deep and rich fodder for my work.



A nod to the papoose

You say tomaaaaato I say tomooooto...


Hot little persimmon

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Almost catch of the day



I told you about the cats living outside Akroteri Cafe. Two female gray cats were spayed years ago, but a recent addition to the colony still needs to be fixed. I tried to trap him this week, but he outsmarted me. He waited for the friendlier cats to step inside the trap first, foiling my efforts.


Read more about this trapping mission by going to Compassion is on the menu.



Prep cook Jim Clift loves all animals, and can't stand to see them suffer.


The wily orange cat waited for the gray cats to feed first, testing the danger.




Monday, November 16, 2009

Woke up with wood



Living in the forest is peaceful. Blissfully uneventful most days. Until the wind picks up. Then the trees around the house tremble and creak and threaten to come crashing down on me. When the first one goes, it sets off a chain reaction. The trees are woven together like fabric, and pulling a thread unravels the web.

This time I got off pretty easy. Here’s what I encountered when I ventured out to survey the fallout on my driveway this morning between bouts of heavy rain.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Fruit of the loam

This is the most beautiful and complex artichoke I've ever seen.


I admit it, I'm uncouth. I didn't grow up visiting museums. Never taken an art history class. I'm mildly embarrassed to admit it took the popular culture book Da Vinci Code for me to comprehend how art relates to the world.

Now that I'm finally starting to get it, I'm growing addicted to something I don't understand.

The fodder that's feeding my addiction this week is coming from Erica Epperson. The self-trained art deco-inspired artist opened her show at one of my favorite spots, the Boundary Bay Brewery in Bellingham, Wash.

I'm enamored with her work, probably because she shows fruits and vegetables in such gorgeous light.


Erica Epperson brings sunshine wherever she goes.


There's something magical about rhubarb. On the Prairies, rhubarb grows wild all over the place. Little kids pull it out, pour sugar on it and suck on the sour stalks. Rhubarb and strawberry pies are pure heaven. Perfect blend of sour and sweet.




Saturday, November 14, 2009

Crossing the line

It was a dark and stormy night at Peace Arch.


I got to the U.S.-Canada border last night with something to declare, but it wasn’t anything I had purchased.

It was my mission. Animal rescue.

That was relevant because of what I’d just seen. I had been driving down the lanes towards the checkpoint booths around dinnertime when I noticed a thin dog resembling a yellow Labrador trotting along the grassy shoulder. I was headed home to the United States. But the dog was going in the opposite direction, north towards Canada, with her nose traveling close to the ground.

I wasn’t sure if her guardian was nearby, maybe on foot enjoying the lush Peace Arch Park. Perhaps waiting for her in a car.

Peace Arch Park—named for a giant white arch that declares peace between the two nations—surrounds the border crossing connecting British Columbia to Washington State, and Canada to the United States. It's a popular park, and the busiest crossing west of Detroit.

When it was my turn to pull up to the booth, I asked the officer if he knew about the dog.

It turns out I wasn’t the only animal rescuer on the premises. Not only had border officers spotted her, but they had started feeding her too. And had tried to get close enough to catch her.

But so far, the dog had eluded them.

I asked the guard for permission to try. He sent me to park my vehicle in the area usually reserved for searching cars, and into the office to speak to the supervisor. I grabbed a leash from my rescue kit and set off.

The supervisor was kind, expressing concern for the dog and for me. He warned me to be careful amid the traffic. It was stormy, and hail had started pelting little round pellets the size of peppercorns. I trudged along through the slush and searched. My pink skirt wasn’t the best attire for the job, but the galoshes I was wearing were perfect for the task.

Unfortunately the dog had vanished for the time being.

But still I drove off feeling peace. She will resurface again, and I'm sure the guards will help her when she does. When I returned to the building empty-handed, several officers promised to look out for the border-running canine.

Because at Peace Arch, humanity is international.





I was soaked to the skin after my fruitless search for the border-dashing dog.










I recently became a dual citizen. You can read about the citizenship ceremony by going to Not Born in the USA.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Working like a dog to make it work

Kristina Van Vorst is worried she won't be able to afford to keep her dogs, so she hit the streets with her handmade sign to plead for help.


As the American economy continues its steady collapse into itself, people’s livelihoods are being swallowed by the implosion.

Each day, jobs are being cut, houses foreclosed, bankruptcies filed. Shelters and makeshift tent cities are overwhelmed with trying to house the homeless.

And that includes animal shelters, where donation dollars are dropping as intake numbers are climbing. Animal guardians are surrendering their beloved pets because they can’t even afford to house themselves.

So when I saw 35-year-old Kristina Van Vorst on the street clutching a cardboard sign begging for services—not money—so she can afford to keep her two dogs, I had to stop and inquire further.

Kristina moved to Bellingham, Wash. three years ago, and at first she scraped by working as a nanny. But by the time the family’s children grew out of needing her services anymore, the economy had already began its plummet. Now she picks up odd jobs: landscaping, tutoring, cleaning. Kristina’s live-in boyfriend is lucky if he makes $30 working half-days for a temporary day labor employment agency.

To add to their financial strains, her boyfriend’s father also lives with them, and he’s afflicted with Alzheimer’s.

Kristina needs money to license her two rescue dogs. Three-year-old Calla is a Rottweiler-pit mix who had been beaten with a skateboard in Nebraska. Two-year-old Solonas is a pit hound mix who was relegated to a backyard before Kristina adopted her. Calla also needs to be spayed to reduce her licensing fees, and both dogs need vaccinations and special food.

By the time I encountered her, Kristina’s panhandling hadn’t panned out. She had only collected $5 and a turkey sandwich. But I put the call out to rescue groups I know in the area, and they are already working to help these girls stay together.


Calla is well-behaved and friendly.

An animal by any other name is just a human

I'm sure this pup wouldn't appreciate being associated with the neighborhood playboy when he's labeled a "dog".


When a man leers at a girl, he gets called a pig. If he’s stepping out on his woman, he’s a dog. Someone who finks out his friends is a rat. A shifty character might be labeled a snake in the grass. If he’s gutless, he’s a chicken.

As for someone being called an animal in general, that could be used to describe rapists, murderers, pretty much any person lacking moral fiber and good character.

Why are animals getting all the blame for our unsavory human characteristics?

I’m not taking a writerly sanctimonious stand against society here. I’m guilty of it too. I catch myself pinning ugly human traits on unsuspecting animals, although much less lately since I decided enough was enough. Now I make an out-loud correction to try to reprogram my mental descriptive go-to phrase, and possibly the listener’s too.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we stopped bagging on the animals for our shortcomings. That would be the humane—and human—thing to do.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Baying at the new moon

We took pages and pages of notes on relationships.


Tonight I heard a cry for help.

It came from a pizza parlor 20 minutes away.

I had snuggled in for the night with my cats and my laptop, fully resolved to increase my daily word count.

And then a friend called with a problem.

Actually it wasn’t really his problem. He was counseling his best friend, whose wife had just confessed she had strayed with another man.

I knew his advice would be solid. But there’s no substitute for a woman’s touch.

I hit the road, and once I got there, it wasn’t long before the elephant in the room was on the table. The friend shared the details. We communed. We talked about the past. The mistakes, the regrets. Miniscule and significant. The range of events that led to this catastrophic confession.

He talked and I took notes, drew pictures, made charts that mapped out the breakdown of a love affair. This event was the crash, but the derailment and communication breakdown had happened long ago.

In the end, friendship superseded heartbreak, and good times were had by all.

Now that’s true romance.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

A Ray of sunshine



Barely a day goes by that I don't feel compelled to write.

It balances my mood, resets my counter, and puts the world back in order.

So when I read this passage by Ray Bradbury, I couldn't help but feel kinship with a writer I've never known. A writer who has achieved success beyond my wildest wordsmith dreams. I feel humble and filled with gratitude for what his words have done for me today.

* * *

To sum it all up, if you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling.

You must write every single day of your life.

You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next.

You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads.

I wish for you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime.

I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you.

May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories—science fiction or otherwise.

Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.

- Ray Bradbury, one of the greatest authors America has ever known

Friday, November 6, 2009

Where there's smoke, there's fire

A photographer from the Long Beach Press Telegram captured the moment on camera as a firefighter gently brought Ellen back to life with an oxygen mask.



For years, I harbored a fear that I knew was irrational: that my home would burst into flames in my absence.

The phobia wasn’t fostered because I own items with great monetary value. It’s my animals I worry about—that they will end up as tiny charred bodies in a closet, suffocating to death, wondering where I was when they needed saving.

At least, I used to think it was a completely irrational fear. Until I met my friend Danny Parizek in Los Angeles.

Shortly before we became acquainted, Danny was on a day trip to San Diego on Christmas Eve 1999 when he got the phone call that plays in my worst nightmares. His brother was on the line with bad news. The apartment occupied by him and his partner was on fire.

“We raced back,” Danny said.

The apartment building had been constructed in the 1920s to house naval officers. The suspected cause of the fire was faulty wiring going to a hallway closet light.

Danny remembers that when they got inside their place that night, the Christmas tree stood in the living room, its melted ornaments still attached. All possessions were destroyed. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Their two cats had been trapped inside during the fire. Jack, a three-month-old kitten, had sought refuge under the bed. He was dead.

“We were devastated, we were heartbroken,” Danny said. “We wouldn’t wish a fire on our worst enemy.”

But this horrible tragedy was wrapped in a miracle.

Three-year-old Ellen was more savvy than baby Jack, and stationed herself at the only open window. There in the front room, she managed to breathe in clean air and survived until firefighters arrived to douse the flames.

As for me, I'm like a mother with children. Not truly relaxed unless I see my babies are safe in front of my eyes. But for now, I'm trying to let my fear of fire go up in flames.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Compassion is on the menu

I'm not the only restaurant patron who's inquired about cat sisters Kentucky and West Virginia. They preen themselves while on display, right in front of the bar's windows that look onto the alley.


Just like the mining states they are named after, Kentucky and West Virginia know what it’s like to hit the mother lode.

Rather than finding an ore vein, these cats have struck gold of another sort: a steady food source. Four years ago, the cat sisters were born underneath a Greek restaurant in downtown Bellingham.

“I thought they’re kind of like coal miners, living underground most of the time,” said Café Akroteri’s prep cook Jim Clift, the cats’ primary caregiver. “You have to respect coal miners. It’s one of the toughest jobs.”

People patronize restaurants because they’re famished. Hungry cats are no different. It’s common to find stray cats eking out an existence behind restaurant and hotel kitchens, scrounging for discarded food scraps that go out the back door as garbage.

But what’s not nearly so common is finding restaurant staffers willing to take responsibility for these feral cats. Many are too wild to be petted and cuddled. Yet they aren't wild enough to survive without human kindness.

Jim, who has worked at Café Akroteri for 16 years, couldn’t turn away from these creatures in need. He took the lead and started feeding the cats first, but his example has been followed by other Akroteri staff, a resident living upstairs, even the restaurant’s patrons, who bring food for the cats.

“They're pretty spoiled,” said 38-year-old Jim. “They’ve got a lot of fans.”

Jim knows the cats don’t lead an ideal existence. But he also realizes feral cats don’t have many options. Because they are closer to wild animals than domesticated pets, shelters usually have no option but to euthanize them.

“I’m kind of prepared for something to happen to them. I know they live a hard life. People go racing down this alley sometimes.”

Letting the cats stay isn’t just a humane decision. It’s a smart one, too. They ensure mice and rats stay away. And removing these ones from the premises just leaves space for more to come in. There’s an abundance of stray cats trying to survive life on the streets, so where there’s food, there will be cats.

The cats got their names because Jim respects miners risking their lives. But he cares for the cats because he respects life.

And that makes it a kindness all around. I’m sure Kentucky and West Virginia would agree.


* * *


Stay with me on the kitty trail, because this story isn’t over…
Jim’s been a responsible guardian. A rescue group helped him trap and spay Kentucky and West Virginia. Now that a third cat’s joined the group, he wants to fix that one too. The other rescue group isn’t operating anymore, so I’ve agreed to help. Early tomorrow, I’ll bring my traps to Akroteri and attempt to snag the orange tabby. Then I’ll drive him to Ferndale to be fixed on the WeSnip van. I’ve been wanting to cover the important work being done on WeSnip by Patricia Maas and her crew for ages now, so this will be the perfect opportunity to do that. Story to follow.


Jim Clift has both two-legged and four-legged clientele showing up for his meals.


Fresh water is always on the menu at the Akroteri Kitty Cafe.



Alley cats need a hand from humans to survive life on the streets.

Saturday, October 31, 2009

A fairytale friendship in the 'hood

Lily dressed up for Halloween as Little Red Riding Hood, with Mungo as her sidekicka dog in wolf's clothing.



One of the best parts about having a sibling when you’re a kid is that a brother or sister provides a convenient scapegoat, someone to finger-point and blame bad deeds on. An only child doesn’t have such luxuries.

Unless you have a Mungo.

Lily and her Sheltie Mungo get up to all the usual sibling hijinks—sharing food, laying claim to each other’s belongings. And then there’s the mischief-making.

“Lily likes to ensure that the dog is nearby whenever she is up to no good in the hopes that Mum and Dad will fall for the-dog-did-it defense,” said Lily’s mum Nancy MacKinnon, whom I attended Carleton University School of Journalism with back in the late 1980s.

“They’re a really funny pair, as sometimes it seems they merely tolerate each other, yet they are acutely aware of the other and how he/she is doing.”

Particularly in the last little while, when three-year-old Lily came down with a bad bout of the flu.

“Mungo has been her shadow, keeping an eye on her, and if she fusses, coughs or cries, he comes over and pokes me on the leg with his muzzle, then walks back to her and waits for me to see to her.”

Mungo’s playing nurse now, but in the past, that’s been Lily’s role.

“She will use him as her patient when playing with her doctor’s kit. He lets her, but gives me a look that I interpret as “why, why???”



Mungo has been intrigued by baby Lily since her first day home from hospital, showing acceptance into his pack by bringing his toys to her.