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Several weeks ago, just before we moved into our new house, a friend of mine asked for a favor. She had been feeding a young cat who was the sole survivor of a litter that some heartless cretin had thrown into the creek behind her house. She noticed that this kitty, smaller than the other ferals she was feeding, seemed to be picked on quite a bit by the other cats. She also seemed more tame, and my friend was able to coax her into being touched. "Can you take this kitty and find a home for her?" my friend asked. I said I would try, and the next day she brought the kitty to my office. The first thing I noticed about the kitty was that she was absolutely gorgeous, with fluffy, solid black fur and huge gold eyes. The next thing I noticed, a short time later, was that my new rescue kitty was pregnant.

It is possible to spay a pregnant queen, but I just can't bring myself to do it. And so we watched as the kitty got bigger every week. We named her Snoopy, since she never met a cabinet or closet that did not need exploring. Snoopy's little belly grew to the point that it nearly brushed the floor, and it had to be as big around as she was long. I began to worry, since she is a small kitty and I have had petite queens who had difficulty delivering their kittens. But I underestimated this kitty.

Saturday night, Snoopy started acting like she was ready to deliver. She meowed frequently, and her meows had a different quality than her usual soft voice. She tried desperately to open the closet door in my dressing room. Ready for a long night, I took a pillow and blanket into the dressing room and prepared for a kittening vigil. I managed to stay awake until four a.m., but nothing had happened yet, and I fell asleep. It was seven thirty when I jolted up, looking for Snoopy. I found her in my closet, two kittens nursing, and a third, still encased in the amniotic sac, cold as ice. I was devastated; I had left her, and a kitten had died as a result. I picked up the cold kitten, wrapped it in a wash cloth and held it, with the intention of burying it later. But to my shock, the dead kitty let out a meow! I pulled the membranes away and ran a sink of warm water, and then immersed the cold kitten in the water up to its neck. After a couple minutes in the warm water, the kitty began to move. I dried him and placed him with his mother, who started licking his face, as if to say, "Oh, I thought you were gone! Glad to see you, son!"

I watched and helped, when I could, as Snoopy delivered two more kittens. I had been concerned about her young age and inexperience, but she cared for her babies expertly, as if she were an older, more experienced queen. I was thankful that I'd acquired her early, and that she'd had time to know me. She trusted me completely, and only became agitated when anyone other than myself or my husband entered the dressing room.

As I write, the kittens are two days old and thriving. Snoopy dislikes the isolation, having become accustomed to sleeping with us at night and having a morning cuddle before we left for work, and so I visit her for a cuddle-time as often as I can. She is a wonderful mama, and her babies promise to be every bit as beautiful as she is. When they are old enough, they will be up for adoption, as will Snoopy. Alas, I can't keep them all, and when they are adopted, I will be doing a lot of crying. But that is part of pet rescue. As a rescuer, we go into it knowing that we cannot keep every foster that we care for, and that with every one who is adopted goes a little piece of our heart. But still, we do it, always with the hope that the families who adopt our babies will love them as much as we do.

Stay tuned for updates, and more photos of Snoopy and her babies.

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Yesterday, there was a full moon. I am certain of it. No, I realize that the full moon was last week, but I am convinced that we were being influenced by the full moon on another planet in some parallel universe or something. All day long, we encountered people at our office who acted as if they had escaped from the psych ward. By the time my lunch hour came, I was seriously thinking of drinking my lunch.

First, a woman came in who is honestly in the running for one of the five worst people I have ever dealt with in my entire career. She started out by berating the first person she saw when she walked in and continued to escalate her language to the level of truly abusive. The doctor came out and ousted the cretin from our building when she started getting physical with one of our staff, who was reduced to tears by the entire episode. I am seriously considering sending this woman a note in a plain white envelope with one single question: "Do you really think it is wise to threaten strangers who know your address?"

Later, a man came in who simply would not stop talking, no matter what. He monopolized my friend for ten minutes, during which she was unable to do any work or attempt to help any of the people lining up at her desk behind Mr. Motormouth. In an attempt to rescue her, I finally picked up my phone and called her on the other line. She talked to me on the phone as if I were a patient until the guy finally backed away. I was glad to see him finally sit down, and I know she was relieved. She was getting really tired of hearing the intimate details of his divorce, I could just tell. I think the other patients in the waiting room were sick of hearing about it, too.

Then, a woman brought in the most obnoxious child I have seen in a long time. This girl was ten years old and had the nastiest attitude I have seen in a child that age since...well, since I was that age. (I was a real brat for a while. Still am, actually.) She spoke to me and to her mother as if we were nothing but gnats who were flying in her face, annoying her. Normally, I really love kids, and I am good with them. I can almost always cheer up a child who is upset because they need glasses, or because they don't need them, which happens more often. Not this kid. She was one big drag, from start to finish. I looked at her chart and discovered that the girl was on two antidepressants. I shudder to think what the brat would have been like without them.

I was so glad to see five-thirty finally roll around, and I crawled into my car anticipating going home to a quiet house, loving kitties, a playful dog and a vodka tonic. My day was not over, however. On the way home on the 58 freeway, a woman in a silver SUV with an Arizona license plate passed me, and I was shocked by what I saw; she was reading a book while driving! She had a paperback open and propped on the steering wheel, and I watched as she repeatedly looked down at the book, then glanced up, and down again. I honked my horn at her. When she looked in my direction, I rotated my finger around the side of my head in a classic "you're crazy" gesture. She threw a different gesture at me, and then accellerated to at least 90 and flew down the freeway ahead of me. At least she put down the book first. It was about then that I spotted one of those "report drunk drivers; call 911" signs, and I seriously considered calling and reporting her for DUI. How are the cops to know that, in this case, DUI means Driving UnIntelligent.

So far, today has been relatively uneventful. Oh, wait...I'd better knock wood. You never know when the next full moon will occur...somewhere.

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If you are looking for Lindsay Lohan's "ghost" tattoo, this is not it. However, I truly believe this guy could do it for you, were you so inclined.

When my son, Alex, decided to get his first tattoo, we both scoped out several places, including the establishment where I got my first one. Luckily, Alex was introduced to a new tatt parlor by a friend of his, and that is where he went.

The place is called "Pretty In Ink" and it is located just off Oak and Truxtun, across the parking lot from Jake's TexMex Restaurant. The place is run by a husband and wife team, who are both apparently gifted artists. I was in attendance as Alex received his first ink, a tribute to his love for automotives, and of Chevy V8 trucks in particular. When I saw the black outline work, the first step in a multi-faceted project, I really liked it. But when Alex went back for the color stage of the project, I was floored by the detail and vibrance of the colors and shadows. They did such phenomenal work that I began planning the design for MY next tatt, with the intention of having the artists at Pretty In Ink make it a reality.

Check out the photos of Alex's artwork. To hear him tell it, the design is not quite done. However, I think it rocks, just the way it is. I look forward to having the folks at our new favorite tatt studio do my next piece. I would unequivocably recommend Pretty In Ink. Their work is excellent.

Yesterday morning, my first patient was a nicely-dressed lady who wished to be examined for a new contact lens prescription. She had run out of contacts, and her glasses were broken, so she was without any reliable vision correction. I asked her how long she had been without contacts; she answered cheerfully, "oh, about six months." When I asked why she had procrastinated her exam, she said, "I didn't have the money before, but I'm fine. God takes care of me and I put my trust in him."

I get this type of answer nearly every day. Why, oh WHY, do some people feel the compulsion to throw their religion into the face of every person they come in contact with? I can only imagine the look on my doctor's face if I went to her office, asked for a refill on my asthma medication, and added off the cuff, "But I am okay; I look out for myself because I am an atheist." She'd probably prescribe some antipsychotics with my Advair.

There is no professional situation that invites religious commentary, unless, of course, you happen to be at a church or seminary school. Comments like the one my patient slapped me with are tantamount to asking, "so, are you a believer like me, or do you need 'saving'?" Any comment I could make to that, other than, "well, okay, then", would open up a dialogue that I would rather not discuss, especially at work, and I am certain my boss would agree with me. Those remarks do nothing but make the person on the receiving end feel uncomfortable, rather like a betta in a bowl. Everyone is listening, now, what do YOU believe in?  

When you go to the doctor, bring your medication list, your medical history, and any complaints or problems you have. Bringing us coffee or snacks is always welcome, as well. But please, leave your religion in the car.