Saturday, March 7, 2009


San Francisco Cat Shelter. Each cat has own cage with small advertisement. First ad reads:

Get me. I’m ready right now. I love you.

I am a good cat. I eat cheap fish sticks.

My owner even tossed me into SF Bay to catch fish one day. When I got to shore, I lost him. I still meow for him. So, here I am, waiting.

I don’t scratch.

I love kids, postal workers, and pipe repair guys.

I am happy in your filth-filled back yard, even if it’s raining.

Yes, I am the good cat you lost in 2004.

I still love you!

Adopt me today.

Shelter No. 563-812”

The next advertisement was a warning, but I only say this because I see the situation more clearly now.

I’m talking from my bed in the county hospital.

Oh, if we could only go back to the clean and lightly-scented innocence of last week!

The poster was tacked up next to a cage in the rear of the cat room. The lights did not shine on this cage. I still didn’t get the hint about this cat.

The occupant stood near the bars of it not like a regular resident of a homeless shelter for cats, but like the Authority for Animal Welfare for the entire state of California.

The text was brutal. Think of the needle that goes into the arm of the condemned in his last moments. I’ll never forget that language of pure evil:

They call me Feckless…
Get my food
Shelter No. 999-666”

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