I'm sitting in my hotel room at the Crown Plaza in Worcester, MA. after attending most of The New England Federation of Humane Societies Conference (say that five times fast). The hotel appears to be located in the center part of town, right next to some glorious old churches and WPA era buildings. My GPS didn't seem to know exactly where this hotel was so I had a not-too-thrilling-drive around town late Saturday night. Needless to say, there are some parts of town that don't appear to be places where one wants to drive a BMW. Our building is newish (less than 100 years old) and I'm sorry to say a bit creepy-okay, a lot creepy.

I was trying to figure out how to explain the decor. In the “common” areas, no pun intended, it appears that someone went to an auction of many hotels that were closing and bought up everything they could. The range of styles of furnishings is from 1970's dreck to 1990's faux antiquey. There are brown upholstered lobby chairs that look innocent enough, until you foolishly try to sit in one of them, at which point your buttocks is squeezed like a tube of cake decorating icing, then squirted into a vortex that drags you downward to the ground. They're VERY tough to “de-chair” without first having to roll to the floor, as though you're on fire and attempting to “stop, drop and roll” yourself to safety, after which you quickly stand up, brush yourself off and try to appear normal.

I know I should talk about what I learned at the conference, but the scent of lye? soap? was so strong in the hallways and guest rooms that it seared my sinuses a bit and caused me run to the window to crank it open to gasp a gulpful of freshish air.

The rooms have been updated and they are relatively nice. The caveat is the fabric wall paper behind the bed NEEDS TO BE VACUUMED! It's covered with dust. I can see where the wall was wiped down and where it was not. It would be a very bad choice for someone with cats. That is for sure.

I'm trying not to write a whiney beyatchy review, but I believe that the crunky location, the equally crunky, err, dreadful food, the overly lit lighting and the overly warm conference rooms, just left me feeling drained and gassy (no meat for us meat eatin' folks and all dem healthy veggies go straight to “fumes.”). I also couldn't help but compare it to BlogPaws, which was a lot of FUN, high energy, a great location and good food.

Maybe that was the problem? It was the energy of the folks at the Conference? Yes, I should blame myself first, so blame me, but then blame..what was going on? I did not feel the warm welcome or the general friendliness I've felt at other conferences.

I took classes on Infectious Diseases, Working with Adopters, Social Media for Shelters, and got to see this new way to quickly socialize feral kittens. It ONLY takes a few HOURS. I'm somewhat suspect of this procedure, but it sure seems to work. I'm going to plug it so you can check it out. Fearful to Friendly. While I feel the author is on to something, I do warn you that the web site is not too informational and it points to buying a DVD. We saw some of it, and with all due respect, it's rather long and needs some editing. If you can glean the info from it with the soundtrack turned off, you're golden. I think there is valuable info there, but I would love it if it could be presented more succinctly and professionally. That said, if you can turn a kitten or cat or dog around really fast, it's worth the money and the tedious sound track.

I also learned that I'm basically f-cked. Between having coccidia and ringworm in my house, the only way to get rid of it is really to BURN the house to the ground. The ringworm will live on in HAIR for YEARS and the coccidia is not killable, if that is a word. I'm not going to get my panties in a bundle about it. It's too late. What is done is done. My cats, knock wood, are fine, but the next litter of fosters I get will be the test subjects. They say to treat the kittens for Coccidia if we had it in the foster rooms, but I am reluctant to medicate kittens unless they really need it.

I also learned to listen more to potential adopters, to not judge them first (yeah, like I'm going to be able to do that!) and speak less AND that for a few bucks, I can drive a mile and get a really BIG grilled cheese with HAM sandwich.

The Boulevard Diner, Worcester, MA

I'm looking forward to going home and getting ready to FINALLY get my hands on some new fosters! (crossing fingers)

About two years ago I trapped a few feral cats. Two of them: Buddy and Bronte, have taken to hanging around our house; enjoying the endless buffet, fresh water and cute little feral cat shack-including a heated cat bed!

The kitties have been showing up more and more often. It's nice to see them relaxing in the screen room, out of the worst of the weather. They're not terribly afraid of us, but they do keep their distance. I keep toying with the idea of pulling Bronte back inside for hard core de-sensitiazation, but she is chubby and seems happy. If I kept her indoors all winter, it would mess her up if I had to let her go back outside come spring, if she didn't want to be a domesticated kitty-pal.

I suppose that one of the cats wanted to thank us for the great grub, since they're probably “not that into” mice any more and they're probably trying to tell us that we suck at providing for ourselves. Obviously they haven't seen the mountain of crap we eat every day.

Or perhaps they have?

Regardless, this (see below) was left outside our front door.

Gore blurred out of respect for the mousey and so you guys don't barf.

This poor little mousey is in Heaven. It's earthly remains are all that linger. I'm sorry the little mousey died, but am glad to know that should I run out of cash, feeding all these damn cats, that I can count on my feral cats to provide for me.

Now if I could only train them to rob banks and vacuum the house, I'd be all set.

Rest in Peace, little mousey.

This chapter is a difficult one to write both physically and emotionally. Last night I wrestled with whether or not I should leave out what happened and just keep this as a positive, uplifting story, but that's not how life goes some times.

The truth is, socializing feral kittens can be difficult, frustrating and painful. It's part of the process. Some times all the work is for naught. Some times we have to accept the results we get, knowing we did our best. Some times things go beautifully and without a hitch and it's just another notch on our belt of success.

Yesterday, though Tweetie was mellow and friendly, the three kittens I introduced him to, didn't care for him one bit. Poor Tweetie wanted to fit in and play, but they just hissed and arched their tiny backs. Eventually, Tweetie hissed back and ran off to hide in his carrier. I got them all to play together and eat in close proximity, but clearly the kittens were all stressed.

Tweetie putting up with hisses from Sprinkles

Pixie, is not thrilled, while Tweetie looks to make friends elsewhere.

At 6pm Sprinkles' adoptive family come to see her again. Since they also wanted to see Tweetie, I left him in the room, instead of moving him to his private quarters.

Still hoping to make friends. Tweetie tries his luck with Twinkles.

Friend or Foe? Who's that knocking upon my door?

It was clear, fairly quickly, that all the kittens were stressed during the visit. Because it was important that Sprinkles show well, I realized I needed to move Tweetie to his room. Tweetie was upset. I reached to scruff him and he went down right away. A good, submissive move.

Because I was distracted by the visitors, I missed scruffing Tweetie properly and grabbed his shoulder. He flipped out and bit me. Instead of moving my hand, which I SHOULD HAVE DONE, I tried to adjust my grip, but it was too late. Tweetie's teeth sunk deeply into my index finger-the same one he bit a week ago.

Instead of screaming, I calmly let him go, stood up and told him to "go to your carrier." As I walked behind him, he ran into his carrier. I shut the door, preparing to return him to his room. My finger was throbbing painfully and starting to gush blood. Sprinkles' family thought I had magic powers over cats, by getting Tweetie to obey me so quickly, but I just knew he'd run to the first, small, dark place he could find.

I summoned up the courage to be calm and excused myself from the room, bringing Tweetie with me. I put him back in his room and quietly left him to calm down while I took care of my wounds.

I have five bite marks on my finger. It hurts like Hell. I furiously cleaned my finger, fearing infection. I've been down this road before with my very own formerly feral cat, Cricket. He sent me to the hospital once when he didn't want to go to the Vet. He sunk his teeth into my hand. It swelled up like a balloon, even though I cleaned it out. I got a few shots, one in the ass, for my troubles. I wasn't sure this wound was that serious. I sure hoped it wasn't.

The family finally left and I basically fell apart. I haven't slept well for a long while and I was very upset, thinking about Tweetie. He'd made all this great progress. Would his chances of being adopted end because he bit me? Would anyone see past that and feel safe around him?

I know it was MY FAULT that Tweetie bit me. He told me, most clearly, that he was upset and I did not heed his warning signs, so the warnings became more explosive. I never should have touched a cat in the "red zone." I should have re-directed him with a toy and got him into his carrier. My fear was how would he behave now that we've had this "incident?"

I went to bed at 10pm after getting everyone fed. Normally I'm up much later, but my body was aching. I laid in bed and couldn't get comfortable. I tossed and turned, worrying about Tweetie. In my heart, even though he hurt me, I know he didn't mean it.

I got up an hour later and made some chamomile tea. It tastes like ass (actually, I never tasted an ass, so this is just a guess). I brought it into Tweetie's room, not knowing what his state of mind would be.

He was sitting on the cat condo, so I sat on the floor next to it. I didn't reach out to give him a pet, I just looked over at him. He looked at me and burbled, then cocked his head, curious as to why I wasn't petting him. He jumped off the condo and nervously ran past me. He sat on the floor and looked at me as I sipped my tea.

He got up and jumped onto my leg. As I lifted the teacup to my lips, he head-butted my elbow and burbled another greeting. I touched his back and he melted into my lap, looking up at me as if nothing tragic had happened and that everything, as far as he was concerned was just fine...and oh, could I pet him some more so he could purr louder??

So this, my friends, is part of my difficult journey with a cat who has literally gotten under my skin in so many ways. He's a good egg, I promise. I take all the blame for what happened. I'm not sure what this means for him or if it's just another bump in the road? I just hope beyond hope's limits that I can find Tweetie the loving home he so deserves and a band-aid for my finger. I seem to be out.

Tweetie's Feral Kitty Boot Camp began almost a week ago. What was once a shy and fearful kitten, has softened and warmed into a sweet kitty. The next stage of the process is to begin to open up Tweetie's comfort zone. This will also allow the poor guy to get a break from hours of alone time.

Tweetie's first escapade was to travel with me to one of the only other rooms that, a) has a door on it and b) doesn't need to be kitten-proofed. Yes, another bathroom! Good thing I have more than one.

It was easy to put Tweetie into a carrier and bring him to the Master Bathroom where he could keep me company while I shower. And no, there is no and will not be ANY photos of this! Do you want to go BLIND? I mean, really!

Never undress in front of a kitten.

Tweetie was a bit nervous, as I expected, but the room isn't that large and he had some toys to occupy his attention. That was, until I turned on the faucet to start the shower.

Tweetie hid. Okay, no problem. I tossed his toys around and coaxed him back out of his carrier. I got into the shower and called out to him. He took one look at me and ripped out a YEEEOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!

In cat, I believe this translates to mean: "GET OUT OF THERE!!!! WATER!!!! YOU'LL GET WET!!!!! GET OUT!! GET OUT!! GET OUT!!! OH MY GOD GET OUT!!!"

I ignored Tweetie's pleas and called out again, assuring him that "hoomins need to not smell bad and this is the only way to get there, other than wear too much perfume, which really only masks the problem and doesn't really head the problem off at the pass, like people who think those air fresheners really do anything other than mask a lie. They should clean their house, not spray chemicals on their belongings."

Thinking back on it, maybe all I said was; "It's ok, Tweetie. Don't worry. I'll be out in a minute."

Tweetie just meowed.

After two days in a row of shower-meowing and with feral Mama Cat, Gabby no longer with the other fosters, I got the go ahead to let Tweetie share his play time with the kittens. Finally, no more day-long alone time. There'd be some adjustment time for all kittens concerned, but after that, it should be all right.

In another hour, the lady who is going to adopt Sprinkles will be here with her Fiancè. She wants him to make sure he also wants to adopt Sprinkles. Normally, we have one meeting, they adopt the cat, they go. This will be meeting number two of at least three meetings before Sprinkles goes home. They also asked to see Tweetie again, you know, just to help with his socializing, of course. They don't want to ADOPT HIM. Sure they don't! After all the oo-ing and ahh-ing of their last visit, I have a feeling they will change their mind.

Good thing Tweetie may already be spoken for.

:-)

Well? What's the opposite of "Uplifting?"

Sheesh.

Today had some very big ups that I can't talk about right now, other than to say that there are some very interesting, exciting, joyful things percolating. How it all comes to pass, I do not know, but it's nice to have something to look forward to nonetheless. I don't mean to be a turd by keeping quiet, it's just, well, know that I'll tell you as soon as I can. Ok, you want a hint?

I can't. Not yet. Sue me. No, please don't sue me. I really don't want to be sued for teasing my readers!

Anyway, back to being miserable.

I HATE, HATE, HATE this part of rescuing cats. In fact, it doesn't feel much like something that can be described as part of "rescuing" a cat. That said, I know there are many who would disagree with me.

Our brave and tough-cookie Director came for Mama cat-Gabby this afternoon. It was time to remove her from her kittens, forever. Gabby will be overnighted in a trap, then taken to the Vet to be spayed, given her shots, ear tipped and a checkup while she's sedated. After a day of rest, she'll be taken back to where she was first trapped, a few miles from here. I'm not sure if she'll immediately be released or if she'll be in a dog crate for a few days. Regardless, she will go back to living her wild life, free from ever being knocked up again and free to live her life as she decides is best.

I hate separating Moms from kittens. So does our Director. It's another part of the "tough love" stuff we do. It makes me feel like guano, but I know I can't keep everyone together forever. Sooner or later the day will come. Here it is.

Mama went ballistic when we tried to get her into the carrier. I felt so bad. I know she was terrified. Ironically, with all her running around we finally got her into the big dog crate. She ran over to the end of the crate where I was standing and climbed up the wall. It was the first time I was less than a few feet away from her. Her eyes were dilated in fear, but all I could think of was how pretty she was, close up, and that it would be nice to have been able to pet her during the eight weeks she's been with me.

Our Director got her packed up. The room was a disaster. I'd removed the kittens before we even started so they wouldn't see what we were doing. When I returned them to the room, after I'd cleaned it back up, they seemed nonplused and went about playing with their toys. I'm guessing they'll notice something's wrong, but I snuck out of the room before they could do that. I just don't have the heart.

Even though she was nasty and she'd hissed so many times, her "hisser" was barely functioning, I still feel sad. I'm sorry we had to do what we did, but weighing all the options, this was the best choice for her. As with all my fosters, I wish her a safe, happy, joyful life. Her caretaker and his wife will look out for her and make sure she's fed. A week from now she'll be lounging in the grass, enjoying the taste of freedom and because I've got Jewish and Italian heritage, I'll still feel guilty!

I'm really choked up right now. I just finished having a nice, cleansing cry. Some of my tears were for seeing the Masters of Mayhem leave to be spayed/neutered and on to wait for their forever homes. The rest of my tears, were allocated to Tweetie.

As we often see, the kittens we rescue during TNR, aren't always easy to socialize. Some are flat out wild beasts who will only be tamed over a long period of time, if ever. Because we don't have the time to socialize each kitten, we have to choose which are candidates for placement and release the ones that will simply take too much time in foster care to turn around.

It's the part of doing rescue work that I don't care for. I know the kittens who are released will have a harder life. At least they'll have good health and a caregiver to start with. The rest is up to them. I'm a big softy. I admit it. I want ALL the kittens to get a good home and not have to live under a fallen tree or under someone's shed, but it certainly beats being in a cage in a shelter, where they will slowly go mad, never be adopted for being too fractious and end up being euthanized.

So up until this morning, I was mentally preparing myself to be okay with Tweetie being released in the next week. He's getting neutered today, then evaluated, then probably returned to where he was first trapped. His old home base.

Then I got a short email. It was from Sockington's owner, Jason. Whose famous cat looks like he's Tweetie's father. He asked if he could possibly help little Tweetie and then...everything changed.

I realized it would be wrong to release Tweetie, when he has so many friends rooting for him. That perhaps, this one time, this one kitten's story of learning to love, might be worth telling. I spoke with our Director and we had an uncomfortable conversation, which, thankfully, blossomed into understanding and a little "bending of the rules."

Tweetie was slated to be ear-tipped today, just in case he ended up being released. It would prevent him from having additional sedation and stress, but I asked to cancel the procedure, worried that it would effect Tweetie's chance of being adopted. In our give and take, I offered to cover the medical expenses should Tweetie need to be ear tipped at a later point and instead of being evaluated by the Director just now, Tweetie is going to be released...

...to me.

This is going to be tough, but I need to give it a try. Tweetie is going back into my bathroom. He'll be on his own, without his siblings. "Tough love" may help turn him around. I'm going to give him the time he needs—which may be months, but I'm going to stick by him and with any luck, one day I'll be writing about Tweetie getting adopted.

This is very risky. Tweetie could end up not turning the corner, then we'll have to release him, but at what point? If he gets too old-even 6 months, he'll be harder to place and I can't have Tweetie in my bathroom forever.

For now, I'll be writing about Tweetie's journey to find his love for people and and my struggle to help get him there.

NOTE: I just created a special Twitter page for Tweetie. You can follow his "Tweets" here

Yesterday I posted a photo on Twitter of one of my foster kittens, Tweetie. He has an uncanny resemblance to The Famous Sockington, a cat so famous he has his own Army! Now, THAT is one cool cat.

Thousands of folks visited Tweetie's photo and visited my humble BLOG. Many were asking about adopting Tweetie, even though he's still a wild child and has a long way to go before he'll ever like people. It does my heart good to know about that support.

The sad reality for us, is that our rescue group is small and we don't have the luxury of time, to turn Tweetie, and those like him, into adoptable companions. This is why our group does TNR and we don't try to adopt out kittens who won't make good companions without months or years of work.

For those of you not yet familiar with TNR. TNR is "Trap, Neuter, Return" You can read this article on the ASPCA's web site

Tweetie IS adorable, but he's already bitten two people, myself included. Since he's been here, I've seen him soften a bit and I know I could turn him around, IF we had plenty of foster families or the money to open a shelter, since that would take the burden off me to foster more kittens.

That forces us to weigh the options. If I kept Tweetie for six months, I couldn't take any more foster kittens. That would mean, at least 24 to up to 50 kittens could have passed through my doors, who won't even get a chance to be rescued AND at the end of six months, there is no guarantee that Tweetie would be adoptable by then.

As I write this, I know of two kittens living in a car at one of the nearby town's dump. A very nice man is looking after them, but he knows if they don't get into a home for socializing soon, it will be too late for them, too. We can't help him because adoptions are down to nothing with the bad economy. Once we free up room, we take more. I hope to help these kittens as soon as mine are ready to go.

Alley Cat Allies also has something to say about this problem, too:

"Depending on your initial decision, you will end up with either socialized, well-adjusted kittens who you can easily adopt out, or a colony with fully sterilized, vaccinated feral cats and kittens. Either decision is correct because, as you have read, taking on the task of raising kittens or socializing them is no easy feat. Be secure that you made the best choice for your circumstances and don’t second guess yourself. Kittens can pull at our heart-strings, but in the end, doing what is best for you will ultimately be what is best for the kittens"

After all this, I want to assure you that we are working with Tweetie, in the time we have. We have to face this dilemma with kittens every year. There are always a few we can't turn around, no matter how hard we try. For those, the most compassionate thing we can do, is provide them with a loving caregiver and a safe outdoor home to live in. It's not ideal, but when you look at the figures of how many millions of feral cats and kittens are euthanized every year; a life lived outdoors, in comparison, is a life LIVED.