THE HOLIDAYS ARE ABOUT FAMILY

CATS ARE OUR FAMILY

HoneyBear

Little Havana has a lot of good things going for it, but one of the down sides is that it has to be one of Miami’s most-favored place by cruel people dumping unwanted pets.

We turned bad behavior into great opportunity.

Now, for nearly a decade, we have gotten dozens of cats into Miami-Dade County’s Trap/Neuter/Release program that helps cut down on the population of feral cats.

We have adopted HoneyBear, our Siamese mature cat that lives inside 24/7, divides her days between our work from home stations and spends a good bit of the night in my bed.

We have built outdoor houses, plus feeding and watering stations, for dozens of cats.

We currently have four main cats that spend most of their time on our small urban lot.

Moe is a shy Tuxie. Ginger is a ginger cat that is everyone's mom and caregiver.

CoCo Kitty is HoneyBear's Tortie daughter, too feral to want to be picked up or brought in to live with mom.

Baby is our newest love.

Sadly, his love and trust that allowed us to take him to the vet -- produced a blood test result that indicates he has feline leukemia.

He’s very healthy, a still growing not quite one-year-old boy, but we need to monitor things.

Baby spends a good chunk of the day with us inside while we continue to work from home.

He has just enough wild in him that he cries to go out at night.

We focus on the love we share with Baby and the good shelter and care we give to all the cats that pass through our lives.

Baby

For the full story, visit:

https://stevewright-1964.medium.com/the-holidays-are-about-families-86260835b245

FINDING A FRIEND IN A MOST IMPROBABLE WAY

EarthBound TomBoy

By Heidi Johnson-Wright

I am just as human as anyone else. Which means I’m susceptible to the stupid ideas that humans can have.

I must confess that, even though I pride myself on championing the rights of the marginalized, I am sometimes guilty of buying into ugly biases and stereotypes. In this case, I held prejudices about a friend.

I met her about a year and half ago. She lives in my neighborhood. When we first saw each other, I sensed that she wanted to connect with me. Looking back now, I can see that she was clearly afraid of trusting too much.  Afraid of getting hurt.

I took her standoffishness as arrogance, because that is what I’d been taught to believe about her group. That her ilk thought themselves better than everyone else.

So I steered clear of her, until her overtures of friendship became more insistent. Okay, maybe she’s different, I thought. Plus, I’m a sucker for a pretty face, and she surely has one. Her eyes dazzle like blue topaz stones.

We began to connect over food. My husband was the one who suggested we break bread together. And after a week or so, it became clear that we were nurturing a real friendship.

I finally began to let go of my prejudices. Why? Because once I got to know my new friend, I realized she was amazing. Smart. Sweet and gentle. Funny as all get out.

Within a month, she began visiting our house on a regular basis. After two months, she was coming to our house every day, both before I went to work and just after I returned in the evening.

Shortly after that, I had to admit that my initial biases about my friend were really more about me than her. I harbored unfair notions because I was afraid of being rejected. Of being made to feel not good enough. Of being seen as an awkward freak in a sinister, mechanical contraption on wheels.

But my friend treated me no differently than she treated my able-bodied husband. She was not the least bit afraid of my wheelchair. She didn’t run and hide when I moved closer to her. In fact, when I transferred to my living room recliner, she would sit in my wheelchair right next to me. She still does.

Perhaps you’ve guessed by now that my friend isn’t human. She’s a cat. A gorgeous, brilliant, delightful Siamese kitty.

I’d grown up in a family of “dog people.” I bought into their anti-feline propaganda. That cats are cold and unaffectionate. That they see humans solely as sources of food and toys. That they are incapable or unwilling to bond and love the way dogs do.

What rubbish. In a few short months, Princess Miyuku Honey Bear of the Royal Court of Siam (that’s her name) taught me the beautiful truths about cats. The finest of those truths is that cats can love and accept me, sometimes more wholeheartedly than humans do.

I am most honored to be one of Honey Bear’s guardians. Because she’s sweet and silly and whip-smart. But mostly because she accepts me, wheels and all.