Caterwauling

A week late, yes, but I was on time on the day.

A friend of mine left the world on that date last year. I didn’t find out till a little later.

This year I sent all the condolences early in the day. And I had a gift that arrived on the 11th to the youngest person with a broken heart. So she could have something to smile about.

The one who broke the news to me wanted me to tell old friends. One in particular. He keeps asking me if I did.

Look. This friend was so into abusive boyfriends and complaining to me about them and not, say, changing her situation that I quit returning her calls.

I heard from my recently passed friend that the friend had gotten married. To a guy with the first name of her first boyfriend. A guy who happened to smile at me after they broke up in a way that made her lose her religion. You know, the whole if I can’t have him, neither can you thing.

In any event, I do know she changed her name and had a couple kids with the second guy by that name. Maybe she did that full circle from good guy to abusive fuckers to good guy. Let’s hope.

I did fuck up a bit and let the cat out of the bag with a friend of yesteryear. Whom I told hey, she was private and I haven’t told anyone, but she’s gone and that’s why she isn’t answering your message.

Well.

I got texts from two friends like whaaaat we just heard.

I was terrified for a minute. But they were so nice. They loved her and knew I had to be hurting.

Like, I forget that people in this world are good. And that they loved someone I loved, even better.

It sucks that my friend is gone. But I kind of got this interesting little extended network that I didn’t really have before.

The gift I gave involved a ladybug. The gift I wanted to give involved a camera.

But we both knew this person at different phases of their life and made different associations. So much as I wanted to buy MY preferred present, I gifted the other.

That’s the part that’s hardest to swallow. That this person wanted so badly to know more about my friend’s past. And she truly thought she’d never get it.

But then one day I messaged out of the blue, and she said I was just telling my husband that I didn’t know any of her friends to even ask questions of. And here you come, telling me all these great stories and keeping her memory alive for me.

Seems like we needed each other and would have never known it. So, gotta say I am SO glad for social media and remembering this then-2-year-old’s name all this time so I could look her up and strike up this beautiful little relationship.

I would never say things happen for a reason. But I will say that you can create good. And, if you’re lucky, you can find enough motivation to get you to the next day, and the next, and so on.

No secret that we get harassed for feeding community cats here. Which … plenty of county statues support our efforts.

They are fixed. They were taken from/released to this land. There is precedent for feeding them.

YET.

A batch of trumpers have been harassing the feeders. So we go in the dark.

And now, these trumpers have collectively formed a thought and dumped cat food out in giant piles, photographed it, and submitted complaints that WE are doing it.

Like, yeah I might leave some extra, but I am not putting piles into guest parking spots, you dolts. Jesus. Stupid as your fucking leader. (HOA or twice-impeached, 91-time-criminally-indicted turd. Both apply.)

Also when we put out food and then these human animals stomp out and scare the kiddos away … of course the food gets left. That’s when they take photos, to “prove” we are leaving excess food. Bitch, you stomped on my kids’ dinners. You can eat ME.

And we get hell to pay if we dare leave a tiny dish of water out overnight after letting these kids swelter all day.

Seriously, I leave a dish out at 8 p.m. and pick it up at 6 a.m. HELL TO PAY, I tell you.

Well. It’s gotten worse.

Carl Z. and his loser daughter Lauren (the one who choked an elderly lady and tried to punch me) were seen in the bushes the other night. I had left water at 5 as I was on my way to the Kravis.

After it got dark, a cage appeared and these two nuts were either the ones who put it there, or were putting food in it. On parchment paper. Quaint.

Well. Our gray boy has been gone ever since. I last saw him the morning before I went to the Kravis.

And all I will say is the cage is now gone too.

And the nasty bitch MJ whose twin is the fuckface Frank who harassed me for two years about wearing a mask is now asking where HER cage went to.

Try the intracoastal, is all I will say about that.

I have been in absolute anxiety-ridden meltdown mode ever since that cage, well, disappeared. Like, what did those fuckers manage to do while I wasn’t around for a few hours? Where is my boy?

I have been on the phone with Animal Control ever since Lauren tried to punch me out.

I have talked to every TNR group I can find. Fuckin Danika keeps rejecting my membership in one of them because I didn’t enjoy having her barfy poodles in my house, what, 15 years ago? I told one of the local rescues about her petty ass.

Anyway, my co-feeder and the one who really manages the community and gets flea and worm meds onto these babies has gone to the police and another local rescue group. Between the two of us, we have all the paperwork and legalities on our side.

But then this fuckin place is still threatening to put liens against our units. And in my Overnight Legal Scholar Era, I’ve learned they CAN do it because the property manager (who is new and a fucking idiot) has the final say.

Anyway, it’s war down here on the Intracoastal.

I was telling my friend, I go out in my jammies. Hair undone. No phone. And I get cameras in my face.

So now I get dressed. Go to the bathroom. Bring my phone. Bring a knife. Bring water and a bowl and treats and whatever fucking else I feel like bringing.

My friend said the same thing. Including some chewing gum in case she gets yelled at again and needs a moment to think. (She’s so nice — I will eviscerate them verbally, but she’s the peacemaker.)

Basically like I say, I have to dress for prison. In something I will enjoy wearing for a few days. Though my ex used to tell me that I can’t afford the bail. (And he knew about my bail money fund that I keep around for feeding times and work events.)

Not only am I sick over what they will do to the rest of my tiny, docile cats. But I also fret about did I leave too much food? Like, if my boy does come back I always have extra for him. He’s such a hungry boy. He would always finish any leftovers.

This is all literally killing me. I need for those assholes to be the one to get their “Carl-ma.” Including the bitch with the Genesis and her little Spanish bitch-boy with her old Genesis she gave him.

Can’t wait for MJ to go back to Connecticut or hell or wherever she’s from. But I can’t get rid of these other assholes for the summer. And they all only moved here in like 2022.

God I miss the days before they existed. Our BFF kiddos Fancy and Whiskers (they greet/love on each other before they will eat) were here since at least 2015 when the units next door were built. Amelia’s been here at least 11 years since she was pregnant and my friend adopted out her litter and got her fixed. Poppins, at least 8 years. Smalls and Meatball have been here at least a year. Again, most got here before Lurch and Left-Hook Lurch and those Genesis goons.

I want to move, but I know there will be assholes wherever I go too. But, I am so ready for a different set of assholes.