Cat Wrangling

Greetings From Domelandia,

A couple of years ago, a scrawny tom cat appeared at our house.  He looked awful--not only was he starving, but he had a festering hole in the side of his head where he'd run afoul of Lord knows what.  I took pity on him and got some antibiotics from the vet and put it on some food that I had to put high up so the dogs wouldn't get it.  I thought he was feral--he wouldn't let me get close to him.  Once he got used to me, however, I realized he'd been abandoned. The people who lived down the road moved away and left him to fend for himself.

The Viking called him 'Bad Cat' because he displaced our other cat.  She didn't like him.  She moved over to the barn and got killed by a bobcat one evening.  That was heartbreaking for me.  As time went on I came to like him OK.  I tried not to get too attached to him, but he really was kind of a nice fellow.  I renamed him Mayer.

One day he came home with a chunk out of his ear and blood on his face.  I decided we'd better get him neutered so I made an appointment with the vet.  The morning of his procedure, he was nowhere to be found.  When he showed up again, I made another appointment.  Same deal.  He seemed to know that we were planning something that involved him in a big way.  Finally we agreed not to say anything out loud and we took him to the vet.

He was freaked out and screamed all the way to the vet's.  He wasn't completely wild but also wasn't used to being transported in a cat carrier.  I went north to see the Denver branch of the family and the Viking had the task of getting him home and settled.  The vet advised him to keep him quiet and not let him go outside for a week or so.  The first day he escaped as Ric was leaving for work.  He was gone about 5 days but eventually showed up.  I told the Viking that he must've had some stuff to deal with and needed to be by himself for awhile.

A couple of weeks later, I glanced outside to see him in the mating position with a pretty little black and white cat.  I knocked on the window and they ran away but then I realized that Mayer was in a relationship--something beyond mere sex.  Their friendship seemed important to Mayer, so I just let it be.  She was still wild but finally got brave enough to sneak into the mudroom at night to share Mayer's food.  The two of them would sit side by side and look at us through the glass door.  Like Reality TV.  I called her Miss Kitty.

I read somewhere that a female cat is always pregnant.  Male cats kept finding her and I'd hear kittens up in the rocks, but I never saw them.  Last year, she got really brave and had a litter in Mayer's bed.  She moved them soon after they were born and I never saw them again.  We thought about her life and how awful it must be to keep having and losing her little ones. (I know I'm assigning human emotions to a feral cat, but I am only human).   Besides that, cats kill a lot of birds.  The Viking and I decided that the next time she had kittens, we'd try to do something to help her.

Pretty soon there was another litter in the mud room.  We made a safe place for the kittens in the shed and starting feeding them.  Sometimes I knew they were in there, but they were so well hidden that I couldn't see them.  At night they'd come into the mud room.  Their Uncle Mayer apparently enjoyed their company.  They slept with him.  They looked at us through the glass door and we were sorely tempted to keep a couple.  There's nothing much cuter than a kitten.

We set a trap and we caught Miss Kitty right away.  It was relatively simple. We took her to the vet and the local animal shelter paid for her shots and her operation.  The kind lady at the vet's office told us she'd find homes for the kittens whenever we could bring them to her.  Catching them wasn't so easy.  They were getting big.  They hissed and spat if they saw us.  We had to wait until they were settled in the mud room for the night.  VERY QUIETLY we had to go out another door, sneak up to the front door and hold something over the cat door to prevent their escape.  The Viking put on heavy gloves,  went into the mud room through the inside door, and grabbed them one by one.  They were extremely frightened, but he was able to catch all of them without getting scratched.  I hope they're happy in their new homes. 

We're grateful to our vet and Noah's Ark for helping us.  We brought Miss Kitty home and we see her in the mud room almost every night, sharing her boyfriend's food and sleeping over.  A happy ending. 

There are neighbors, and then there are NEIGHBORS.

Greetings From Domelandia,

2019 was a particularly stressful year for me.  I was recuperating (too slowly, I felt) from the spinal fusion surgery I underwent in 2018.  I had good days and bad ones, but felt depressed and overwhelmed a lot of the time.  Then I received a phone call in December 2018 from the neighbor east of us, telling me that they'd sold their property and would be moving.

There had been a great deal of conflict with these neighbors.  We were friends for awhile, but her comments about people of color and Hispanics ('those damn Mexicans'), and anyone who wasn't like her, made it hard for me to be around her.  One day she used the N word and when I protested, she told me that using that word was a matter of opinion.  Pretty soon I quit joining her and our neighbor Sharon for our daily treks up into the hills.  I couldn't take anymore verbal vomit.

Over the years these people did quite a number of things that were at the least, not neighborly (and at the worst, downright mean).  We tolerated them.  To them, their land was an Investment.  It was a place to live.  Maybe they were touched by its beauty but their main concern was making money.  We didn't feel a connection with them because we didn't think they really belonged here.   So I wasn't sorry to hear they were leaving.

She told us the land would be sold to people who wanted to start a 'camping club,' I knew she was lying to me.  Sharon continued to walk with her to try to get more information about what was really going on.  When she asked how such a venue would affect the neighbors and the land, the response was, 'Well, it's called Progress! Doesn't everyone want Progress?!'  She told Sharon that the buyers asked if the neighbors minded their own business. She learned that they had 'tried this in other places' and weren't successful.  It became obvious that our neighbor had told the new people that they could do whatever they wanted  and wouldn't need permits.  The deal was done very quickly and then they were gone.

The Viking and I spotted the new neighbors one snowy day and walked over to introduce ourselves.  We offered our help, and they responded by telling us they they wouldn't live here.  The Camping Club would meet about once a month.  They wouldn't look us in the eye.  We were already concerned about what was going on, and being lied to just increased our anxiety.

Several weeks later, Sharon woke up to 13 cars parked along the fence that separates her property from the neighbors.  She was in shock.  I walked to Sharon's.  One tries to be calm in these moments but my heart was pounding.  We got a name, did some internet searching, and discovered that the gathering consisted of people who participate in Live Action Role Play.  The LARPers dress in costume and act out stories.  They'd be lodged in the barn.  Events would usually last 3 days.  More investigating revealed their upcoming schedule.  OK, we thought.  Once a month, 25 people or so isn't the end of the world.  We contacted the County Planner who told us that they hadn't contacted him nor had they applied for any permits.  He said there was no way that the property (zoned residential) could be used for a commercial enterprise. He told us he'd send them a letter.

Soon after, a notice for a public hearing appeared in the local paper.  For some unknown reason, the Planning office had granted them a temporary use permit!!  Now their real intentions were revealed.  They intended to use the property as a venue for weddings, family reunions, as well as a place for LARPers to play.  200 or more guests might be attending some of the larger events.

We obtained a copy of their proposal, and read the zoning regulations.  Their application was for a permanent special use permit that would waive all the guidelines and allow commercial use of the property.  The meeting notice was supposed to appear three times; it was in the paper once. The guy in the Planner's office didn't want to post the required notification on the property, but Sharon insisted.    In their application, they promised:  Port-a-potties, no burning, no noise.  Contact the sheriff and the Volunteer Fire Department. Contact your neighbors.  Our stress levels increased because it seemed that the permit might be allowed despite meeting none of the County's land use guidelines.

But now that we knew what we were facing, we could fight.  Sharon and I agreed that we would hire legal help and appeal the decision if the permit was approved.  I said, 'We are not victims.' In the meantime, another event was held.  There were about 50 people this time.  There were still no toilets, and people were camped in the woods.  One night they built a fire and kept the neighbors across the road awake until after 3 AM.  The sheriff was called, but no deputies came.

I called Sharon one morning after this gathering. I could hear the smile in her voice.  'I've been networking,' she said.  (Sharon and I mostly keep to ourselves, so to hear that statement from her was kind of amazing).  She mobilized the neighbors who would be most impacted.  She counseled one hot-headed neighbor to ditch his anger and accusations, and instead use his intellect to make his case.  The Viking and I composed our statements and got ready for the meeting, scheduled for June 3.

My sisters came from Texas to visit, and I decided not to attend the meeting.  We went to the Sand Dunes Hot Springs.  I tried to relax and give myself a break from the stress.  I got the call from the Viking on our drive home. He said, (I'm paraphrasing) 'Sue, it was beautiful.  So many people stood up and spoke.  Everyone was respectful, well informed and articulate.  Everyone was against the proposal.'  The (now not) hotheaded neighbor said that where we live is as beautiful as any State Park, that the canyons are like jewels.

Here's what happened: A Planning Commission member asked Mr. LARPer how this endeavor would benefit the community.  About the legal requirements for using residential well water for a commercial venue.  He couldn't defend the noise issue, the campfire, or the lack of toilets. After all the neighbors had their say, the new owner asked to withdraw his application.  Everyone was stunned. That had to be put that to a vote, and it passed.  He asked if they could have one more event, but the Commission did not support that. 

I stopped at Sharon's on the way home.  I ran to hug her and in my excitement, left the car in gear.  My sisters saved the car from rolling down the hill.  I'm still embarrassed about it.  I think the stress from the whole thing was so overwhelming to me that I just totally lost it for a second.  

Sharon and I couldn't believe it was over.  It took several weeks for us to process the anxiety we'd lived with every day. We started sleeping better, and that queasy feeling in my gut finally went away.

The best thing that came out of this was that we realized we are a community. BonCarbo is made up mostly of people who left the city and gave up a lot of things to live out here in the wild world.  We have a live-and-let-live philosophy about each other.  We don't hang out with most of them, but we respect each other.  We don't have a lot in common except for the things we love about living here--the peace and quiet, the forest and its creatures, and being able to live life on our own terms.  Where we live is sacred to us.  Turns out those are the most important things to have in common.

Change is inevitable.  We don't know what might happen in the future.  But right now I know I could call any one of my neighbors and they'd help me, and I'd do the same for them.

And Sharon and I will always be total bad asses.