33 Cats Left

I sent the following to Howie and Jamie because I know they are both dealing with the stress of wondering how long this ordeal is going to last.  While I know there is much sadness ahead, as we lose cats, I am encouraged that there are fewer and fewer exotic cats in cages every year. 

 

On the Cat Census spreadsheet is a tab called Pension where we calculate the average age at death of our cats, and then figure out who is under that age, by how many years, times the annual care cost.  We originally did this to determine how much money we would need to put aside in our endowment fund and came up with 3.5 million back then (circa 2005?)

 

Now that figure is $799k based on the cats left who are under our average age at time of death.  It's 33 cats, including the 4 ODA cats and the 3 Guatemala tigers (although I haven't calculated their cost in that figure because I don't know how old the ODA cats are and the Guatemala cats aren't here yet)

 

None the less, only 33 of our cats are younger than our average age of death for each species.  I calculate that average based upon how long our cats have actually lived.

 

34 of our cats are already older than our cats usually live to be.  When you look at the ages left for each of our cats, it averages out to about 6.5 years.

 

I’ve been captured by strangers!

 

I’ve been sneaking into Big Cat Rescue at night, and eating some of the left over food.  I just have to keep a wary eye out that Hoover Tiger doesn’t catch me.  He’s the biggest tabby I’ve ever seen!  If I told you how big he was, you’d say I was exaggerating.  

 

I slip in and out of the sanctuary under the fence along the dog path.  There is a great place to hide there, under the porch of the Keeper Cafe.  The smells that waft down between the boards are fantastic at lunch time.  I remember those foods and I really want some, but so far, I’ve managed to keep my thoughts to myself.  I don’t know those people and I remember momma always said, “Don’t speak to strangers.”

 

They stopped leaving food out overnight for Hoover Tiger, and I’m really hungry.  Today I just feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get something to eat, so I call up through the planks asking them to drop a little lunchmeat down to me.  Well, that was a mistake!

 

Apparently big cat keepers are crazy about little cats too.  They spent two days trying to reach me and finally decided they might have to rip up the porch to do it.  They keep temping me closer for the food, and I’m so tired and weak, that I am not fast enough to get it and get away before they grab me.

 

As I’m pulled out I wonder if this is the end of me.  I hiss and spit and do all I can to look formidable, but I’m only three pounds of skin and bones.  Stephanie and Afton are all smiles at my capture and my facade isn’t having the desired intent.  Instead they’re saying things like, “She’s so cute.  Awwww.  She’s so scared.”  I decide that actually biting or scratching them would be just too rude, but I keep hissing. 

 

I wouldn’t have hissed, or waited this long, if I’d had any idea what was in store for me.  Afton acted like she’d just adopted me at the baby store and there was so much food, I thought I’d burst.  Toys!  OMG!  There were catnip toys, toys that jingled, toys you could hide in, toys that you could chase and so many soft, safe places to nap.  I thought I’d sleep a week, now that it was finally safe to shut my eyes. 

 

 

Afton says I lack “people skills” so she takes me to the Staff Meeting where I’m handed around the table.  I just nuzzle into the arms of each person who doesn’t respond to my hisses (none of them do) and then I hear them discussing my fate.  Karma says they are going to take me to the Humane Society of Tampa Bay to be evaluated.  I’m wondering what THAT means, when Howie asks out loud.  Wow.  It’s like he read my mind.

 

Karma explains that they will see if I’m tame enough to be adopted, or if I’m too feral.  Howie says that people will think