Category Archives: Cat Stories

Female Solid Orange Cats Are Rare.

This post has not been “fixed” and the comment bar is open. A forum member gave me the instructions. You can read where and how in the post re: comments. The link is in the post giving directions if your comment bar is ever in “trouble.” ūüôā

Oh and I’ve read various blogs that have written it is in bad taste when writing to use the “faces.” However, I don’t consider myself as a writer. I’m merely a dispenser of information, therefore I will continue to use the “faces.” ūüôā


Gingerlee. Age approx. 14 years. Formerly feral. Trapped at about age 6 months.

Gingerlee. Age approx. 14 years. Formerly feral. Trapped at about age 6 months.

014Approximately (75% of solid orange tabbies are MALE). However, the solid orange gene produces a FEMALE now and then. The cat in the photos above is named Gingerlee who was once feral. Gingerlee is a petite little girl who is now 13- 14 years old and one of the sweetest of my cats. She is quite a talker but her meow is barely audible. Gingerlee makes me laugh when she is telling me something.

The next two photos are of Gweenie, another former feral that was caught at aproximately 8 months of age. I love this little cat who I consider to be highly photogenic. I could take photos of her all day and never get tired. She is all the things that I would want in a human friend. Gweenie is now 14 years of age.

Another solid orange female is Tooley ( no photo available for this post) who is about 9-10 years old. She is also a small cat but not as talkative as the other two females but thrives on affection as well.

I’m not sure how Tooley came to be in my husband’s shop. I went out to the shop early one morning to discover a young kitten looking at me and then scurrying back to duck under some machinery. I began putting out food and water at night after I got home from work. After a few days I set a Have-A -Heart which I baited with sardines. I checked the trap at 2am and there she was looking so scared. I brought the trap inside and was able to shake her out into a cage. After 2 weeks she was a “tweetey” cat that was putty in my hands.

So if you see a solid orange cat it is most likely a male. When I stumbled across these three girls I was lucky.

Gweenie napping in a box.

Gweenie napping in a box.

Gweenie. formerly feral and now a much loved house cat

Gweenie. formerly feral and now a much loved house cat

Post and photos by ~Yvonne Daniel (all photos on this blog are the sole property of Yvonne Daniel). Please do not steal from me.These are my copy rights. Thank you. ūüôā

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A Homeless Recovering Addict And a Cat He Befriended

Of note: I’ve had more than a headache while trying to get the comment section to work. It has a mind of its own. I think that it is finally working. It has been quite a while since I last “put out a post” but now that I am have a tad more energy I hope to publish a number of posts that are still in draft form.

James Bowen was a recovering addict for about 10 years.I happened to read about the Englishman some time last year and I have wanted to present his story here. I found it fascinating. He now has written two books about his experience with a homeless cat that adopted Bowen before Bowen adopted him. It almost seems like fate and destiny to suddenly be adopted by a stray tom cat that Bowen could not shake from his life.The cat who he named Bob helped turn Bowen’s life around and has helped make them both celebrities and popular with tourists.

I really hope that this incredible true tale will be made into a movie. I think it would be extremely popular and an even better movie than “Marley and Me.”

Watch the short video. If you are a cat lover or not, I think you’ll enjoy the video.

PS: I bought the first book (not the first book that was published) and liked it very much.

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Soldier and His Rescued Afghan Cat. Happy Ending But You Might Shed a Tear

Please click the link which takes you to this wonderful story. I know that I am posting other writer’s stories of late but these are too good not to pass them on to you guys/readers/subscribers/lurkers. Oh well. I know not how to refer to those of you that have been so faithful to read my postings.

Soldier and Cat Save Each Other in Afghanistan
By Caroline Golon

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Feral Cats: Rural and Urban Original posted 12/11/2010

There’s something about feral cats that seems intriguing. ¬†As a young child growing up on the farm, ¬†I often watched the feral cats that lived in my Grandfather’s big barn.¬† I¬†never¬†¬†found an actual¬†“nest” of young kittens.¬† But when the kittens were about 2-3 months old I would see them playing¬†in the¬†hay loft among the bales of prairie hay¬†that had been harvested from¬†Grandpa’s pristine prairie of about¬†12 acres.¬† For me, the aroma of the prairie hay¬†along with the barn kittens was the¬†major attraction of the hay loft.
I must digress a little about the smell of hay. When our children were growing up,¬†our son who was about¬†9 years old at that time,¬†¬†picked out a calico kitten from a litter of kittens that my Daddy was able to find in the barn. This little kitten became known as¬†Toady and by the time she was about two years of age, she gave birth to a litter of two males and one female.¬†(She was spayed after the kittens were weaned)¬†I remember my husband, our two little ones and I watching¬†Toady with her kittens.¬†The little family¬†was in a large box with low sides. The four of us sat around watching Toady with her kittens and as they were greedily nursing, my husband reached in, picked up one that was snow white, placed the kitten to his nose and said to our kiddos, “when the kittens are young and still nursing their mother, they smell just like newly cut hay.” He then passed the kitten to our children so that each one could¬† get a “sniff”. ¬†It was a moment that took me back to my Grandpa’s hay loft and I remembered the aroma of the freshly baled prairie hay. Indeed, the kittens smelled, in my opinion, like newly mown hay. I have not forgotten that moment, ¬†probably because my husband was not¬†keen for making his thoughts known. He then asked our daughter who was about¬†7 years old at the time if she had a name for the kitten. Our daughter was quite precocious and promptly named him Cotton. Cotton from then on was her cat. I don’t know if she “owned”¬† Cotton¬†or if Cotton “owned our daughter.The love was mutual.¬† As an adult cat, he was indeed handsome¬†and lived up to his chosen name with white fur that looked and felt like cotton.
My parents, my older sister, and I lived with my Grandpa for about 4-5 years. The barnyard and all of its attractions were my primary source of entertainment.  I grew up with no other child for a playmate and the barn cats, who were essentially feral, offered me entertainment and diversion from the boredom of having small regular chores to perform each and every day.
Animals in those days were not vaccinated for rabies and my parents strictly forbid me to touch any of the cats. I had such fear of rabies that I never touched or attempted to tame¬†any of the cats.¬†Instead I observed their behavior and kept a long stick in the hay loft so that I could move the stick along the floor and the kittens would leave their hiding places and play with the end of the stick. I amused myself and the kittens for an hour or so each day until the farm was sold and my parents bought a farm across the road. I don’t remember if the cats followed but I know that the “new” barn had cats so I suppose they followed the food source which was about two hundred feet from their former abode.
I remember that my Mother kept several pans in the barn so that my Daddy could pour a portion of the fresh¬†cow milk into the pans. One of my weekly chores included bringing 3 pans to the back porch where I placed them in a large pan of hot¬†soapy water to be washed,¬† and returned to the barn. ¬†Each evening, ¬†Daddy would call “kitty, kitty, kitty” and soon 4-6 cats appeared. I have no idea how the cat population was kept in check but as I became older¬†and a tad wiser, it was apparent that disease and predators- fox and coyotes¬†kept the number of cats to about 5-6.
Much later, I began working for a really large organization with many buildings and surrounding grounds. By the early to mid-nineties I was suddenly aware that feral cats were “hanging out” during late evening near the building where I worked. I learned through the grapevine that the PEST CONTROL man had been given orders to begin trapping the cats. Of course employees had been feeding the cats, thus the reason they came around at dusk.
There was a general uproar among some of the employees re: the trapping of the cats that so clearly¬†kept the grounds devoid of snakes and rodents.¬† I learned that¬†any cat caught in the¬†trap would be disposed of by taking them to the city “pound” where they were then euthanized¬†because they were¬†deemed to wild.¬† So,¬†I hatched my own plan to try to save as many cats in the general area¬†where¬†I worked. I¬†hired a carpenter, who quickly added a room with a concrete floor with an adjacent large enclosed run in¬†a fenced portion of our back yard.¬†This would provide shelter and a fairly large area in which the cats could get fresh air,¬† become¬†accustomed to being fed routinely, and¬†of seeing humans throughout the day.
I began driving one of my husband’s trucks to work, armed with two-three traps which I baited with either sardines or tuna. I began by putting the smelly fish near the pickup and after a few days I went out at night to set the traps in the bed of the pickup. The trick was to place the food at the back of the trap and to have the trap abutting something solid ( a box made of wood that I placed at the back of the traps.) ¬†Setting the traps in this manner prevented the cat/s from attempting to place a paw through the wire so that the food¬†could no¬†be pulled out of the trap.¬† If I set the trap/s in this manner I ¬†would¬† have a cat¬†and not¬†an empty trap. Any slight jarring of the trap would trigger the trap so¬†the cat had to enter the trap in order to get the food. One other thing that I did not do.¬† I¬†never trapped during “kitten season” ( birthing time) for a mother cat could be trapped and the kittens would die of starvation¬†with the removal of their mother.
The total number of cats that I was able to save over a period of several years was 25 plus. I was able to trap two and sometimes three in one evening. I was at least able to save most of the favorites of fellow workers who really were fond of the cats. I want to make it clear that when trapping and after releasing them in their new home, I kept in place my own quarantine of 14 days before I attempted to touch a cat.
Prior to setting the traps I made an appointment with my veterinarian to have 1-3 slots open for testing, spay or neuter, and vaccination.   My vet then and who is still my veterinarian was quite adept at wielding a net as he opened the trap door. While the cat was wrapped in the net, he had the pre-anesthesia med ready to be injected through an opening in the netting. Amazingly only one cat from that colony  was FIV positive- an adult male. (All of the cats that I trapped were Feline Leukemia negative.)  I kept the FIV  cat in a large wire cage under the car port until my carpenter could return to make a large enclosure attached to the back porch  where he could live out his life.  I named this cat Zetty and for about six months he remained fairly wild but with each passing day he became tamer and after about 8 months he allowed me to pet him without any fear. Zetty is now about 16 years old but is a tame cat who loves to be petted and groomed. Now, he is showing signs of old age but continues to be a happy cat with a hearty appetite.
I want to make it clear that not all veterinarians will handle a feral cat, considering it unsafe and deeming a feral cat too wild and not worthy of being saved.¬†Veterinarians with this mind set also do not believe it is possible to tame a feral cat¬†to become a house pet.¬† I’ve continued to use the same veterinarian for about 30 years .Dr. “M”¬†¬†truly has a way with cats and has a special knack for handling any cat that comes his way.
For information about feral cat trapping and other good information go to
Post by Yvonne

The Foundlings Four (hand raised by me)


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Originally posted January 20,2011    
The Foundlings Four

In¬†August 2001, an almost unbearable summer was still underway. Texas in the summer is miserable with hot sticky heat waves that seem to go on and on with a relentless determination to keep the thermometer over 100 degrees for days and days.¬†This particular August had been difficult for me.¬† The heat seemed to intensify as I mourned¬†the loss of one of my favorite cats, Bentley, who had gone missing in June. He had slipped out the back door one morning and I did not pursue him because I had hardly slept the night before due to a migraine headache that would not let up- even with strong medication. Bentley had never left the yard, always preferring to lounge under one of my husband’s trucks. So after he ran from the house I told myself that he would not go far and so I retreated back to bed where I stayed almost the entire day. I forgot about Bentley being outside and when I suddenly remembered¬† at 10 o’clock,¬†that he was still out, I began to call for him fully expecting that he would come to the door at break neck speed- happy to be going inside. But on this night Bentley¬†did not¬†appear. ¬†I was immediately worried and horrified for fear that he was not coming back.¬†My¬†fears became real by the next morning when he did not appear.¬† In the days that followed, I drove around many neighborhoods putting up posters and running ads in the newspaper for at least 5-6 months. Bentley was never found and to this day I think of all the terrible things that could have caused his demise.¬† Years later I still feel guilty because I forgot that he was outside. In the past I had not ever let a cat remain outdoors and to this day I¬†can¬†not comprehend why I was so lax and careless. ¬†Our home is in a semi-wood area with deep ravines¬†about a¬†block away. Coyotes might have eaten him and many other bad things could have taken his life. Losing Bentley impacted¬†my summer in a way that I could not have imagined.

By mid July, I had spoken with a prominent neighborhood couple, who owned a corner plot of land that was a perfect stetting for a large sign that I had envisioned to advertise my lost cat. A large sign would display a reward of 500 hundred (yes, $500) and a description of my cat. The corner is a well traveled road and I thought the spot would be the perfect place for my lost cat sign. I believed that a large reward would be an enticement for people to pay attention stray cats or if someone had him, then they hopefully would return him to me.

Of course, I had to find someone to make my sign but finding a sign maker that I could afford proved to be a difficult task. I spoke with no less that 5-7 men before someone told me about a man in a small town that was about 12 miles from the city. I spoke with him on the phone and made an appointment to bring my cat’s photo and the information that would be printed on a large piece of sign board that I would furnish. In a few days I met with the man who seemed interested, however, he could not give me a definite price.¬† I left the sign maker with a photo of Bentley, my name and also my phone number.¬† My other obstacle was to locate a carpenter¬†who could make a brace for the back of the sign. The brace would stabilize the sign¬†by keeping it upright and in place.¬†I obtained the sign board from¬†the only store in our city that had what I needed.


To be continued:¬† Look for Part II of “The Foundlings Four”.


Post  and photographs:  Yvonne

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The Foundings Four Part II


 Someone told me about a  sign man in a small town that was about 12 miles from the city. I spoke with him on the phone and made an appointment to bring my cat’s photo and the information that would be printed on a large piece of sign board that I would furnish. In a few days I met with the man who seemed interested, however, he could not give me a definite price.  I left the sign maker with a photo of Bentley, my name, and my phone number.  My other obstacle was to locate a carpenter who could build a brace for the back of the sign. The brace would stabilize the sign by keeping it upright and in place. I obtained the sign board from the only store in our city that had what I needed.  

 By late July I had not called the sign maker to tell him I had obtained the sign board. I had begun pondering the possibility that I would never find Bentley because he was most likely dead. My hopes of finding the handsome tabby and white cat were dimming by the day. The Dallas newspaper had stories of neighborhood cats that had met their demise at the hands of evil people. Cats were taken and then mutilated and thrown in the gutter or on the lawns in neighborhoods throughout the city. My husband said that Bentley might have died in that manner. With those words, I believed there was no point in continuing my search even though we lived 100 miles south of Dallas,  I felt that no city or countryside was safe from evil people.  Too many awful thoughts of what might have happened to my cat dampened my pursuit. I continued to keep the ad in the newspaper. However, I did not bother to call the sign man to let him know that I had abandoned the lost cat project.

The hot and humid days of August were in full swing. The last Friday of August had arrived and it was my day off¬†¬†from a very stressful job. I had completed my list of errands by mid-afternoon and had decided to take a nap. I was in deep sleep when the phone jolted me awake. I answered the call and a man began talking. He told me his name and asked if I had found my cat.¬† I slowly drawled out ‚Äúno I did not find him. It was a lost cause to begin with.‚ÄĚ He then proceeded to say that he had a collection of old cars that were parked near his work shop. I wondered where all of this irrelevant information¬†was going to lead.¬† He said, ‚ÄúI was working in my shop yesterday and heard what sounded like a kitten meowing. I knew I did not have a cat but the meowing continued. I followed the sound and it was coming from under one of the old cars. I looked under the car and there were 4 tiny kittens. Then I remembered that I had seen a dead cat on the road near my house so I suppose those are her kittens meowing because they are hungry. I put them in a box and took them to the house. My daughter tried to feed them but they would not eat.‚ÄĚ I then interjected that they could not eat or drink milk because it sounded as if they were too young. I then told him to get some kitten formula from the vet near him but he soon made it clear that his daughter was too busy and that he did not have the time either. ‚ÄúI don‚Äôt know any cat person except you and¬†I know¬†you are passionate about cats.‚Ä̬†I attempted to persuade the sign man but he continued to say they were really hungry since the mother cat had been dead for more than 24 hours. I reluctantly agreed to take them ‚Äúoff his hands‚ÄĚ later in the evening.¬† I knew the routine of feeding orphaned kittens. IT IS DIFFICULT, FRUSTRATING,¬† NERVE WRACKING , AND TIME CONSUMING.

  I was thoroughly disgusted with the man since it was evident that he clearly saw me as an idiot who would go to great lengths to help any cat in need. Well, no matter what he thought, I was then committed to rescue the kittens or they would soon be too weak to save if  they were not already in a precarious condition.

By 5:30 pm I left a note for my husband that his supper was in the fridge. ¬†As I walked outside I heard thunder and saw a huge thunderhead in the northwest.¬† Soon after leaving our house, rain began to splatter the windshield with lightening and thunder¬†accompanying the intensifying rain. I¬†made my way to a vet¬†clinic¬†that also served as an emergency clinic after normal¬†clinic hours, where I purchased¬†some kitten formula.¬†¬†From there I drove to the sign man‚Äôs house, honked my horn, and a teenage girl¬† of about 14 or 15 years old exited the house. I called to her, saying that I was there to take the ‚Äú4 orphans‚ÄĚ off their hands. She directed me to the garage and pointed to a cardboard box. She said, ‚Äúthey‚Äôre in there. They won‚Äôt eat or drink.‚Ä̬†¬†She then gestured to a saucer of milk on the floor nearby. I looked at her in exasperation. ‚ÄúThe kittens are not old enough to drink milk. Kittens this young are still suckling.‚ÄĚ The girl looked at the floor and responded, ‚Äúoh I didn‚Äôt know that and my Dad said he didn‚Äôt want to keep them and that he didn‚Äôt know what to do with them and then¬†he thought of you.‚Ä̬†¬†Without speaking, ¬†I¬†picked up the box, opened the¬†back passenger door of my Explorer, and shoved the box across the seat. The kittens did not make any sound. I gave a quick peek and noted that they were huddled in a tight cluster of various shades of fur. ¬†I was angry that I was now committed to caring for these¬†tiny creatures. I¬†told the girl, “I’ll do the best that I can to save them” and with a wave of my hand¬† I¬†was out of there. ¬†As I drove back home it was still daylight and I saw a rainbow in the distance. I wondered if that was a sign of good luck.

I arrived home at dusk. The rain had stopped. The air felt like a wet blanket: hot and humid from the rain. I placed the box of kittens on the floor of a spare room. I then prepared a hot water bottle which I wrapped with a large towel. I placed several layers of newspaper in the bottom of the box,  added an old towel, and then the hot water bottle that I had wrapped in a towel. I then went outside to look for a framed piece of wire mesh which I had stored that would fit over the top of a medium size box. I then put another old towel over the lid.  This  set-up would keep out drafts of air. Well so far so good.  I had placed the kittens in a shoe box while I assembled a new home for them.  I was working quickly so that I could get some formula in their very empty stomachs. As I placed each one on the warm pad, I noticed that they made very little movement but each one managed a weak hiss: still remants of being born feral. I prepared the formula per directions in warm water, got an unused syringe (without the needle of course) from my pet supply cabinet, sat down in a chair, reached inside for a kitten, pried the little mouth open and pushed in  just a tad of formula. In a matter of seconds the kitten grabbed the syringe with its front paws and drank 3 ml. I then reloaded the syringe and fed the other kittens.  All four of them took the formula with an amazing gusto. After feeding each kitten I dipped a cotton ball in a small clean stainless steel cup of warm water. Young puppies and kittens that are orphaned require cleansing of the genital area which imitates the care that the mother gives to her young. This routine must be done EACH AND EVERY time the kittens are fed. During the wiping of the genital area the kitten will urinate and sometimes defecate during the wiping process. IF THE GENITAL AREA is not stimulated the kitten, if very young will not urinate or defecate. This routine is a necessity as well as burping the kitten since they are taking in air as they suckle. Burping the kittens is done in this manner. Hold the kitten in one hand in an upward position and with the free hand, gently pat the kitten on the back until you can usually hear a faint burp. This also is of VITAL IMPORTANCE. 

 Several problems arose while raising these kittens. Constipation,  diarrhea, and bloating (due to the kitten not burping) were all encountered. Feeding time is the most important aspect of raising a kitten or puppy. This is the time you evaluate the stool for the proper consistency. Also I had to watch for bloating of the stomach and lack of appetite. My veterinarian instructed me to give a teeny dose of Pepto Bismol  for a bloated stomach. At least twice the kittens were put on antibiotics to knock out an intestinal bacteria. I made at least three trips to my veterinarian when one or more had either diarrhea, constipation or bloat.  A round of Amoxicillin, subcu fluids, or Pepto Biz fixed the problem each time.  All of this seemed to be a never ending chore but I was determined that I WOULD successfully raise the four kittens. 

I worked the evening shift at a local facility and fed the kittens as soon as I got home and then would feed them again at about 2:30am and begin feeding them again by 8 or 9am. I managed to give the kittens 5 feedings in 24 hours which is not ideal but they were thriving. In an ideal situation, the kittens should have been fed about every 3-4 hours but I could not take them with me to work and I did not have anyone that could come in to feed them while I was gone.

After they were about two and one half months old, the critical stage for the kittens had passed. By then I was becoming attached to them- Each one had their own distinct personality. By three months of age I decided on names for them. The Siamese mix female who was more demanding of food and loved being held was named Carley. The gray long haired female for obvious reasons became Grayley. Two males were left without names and I finally chose the name Frankie for the handsome long hired tabby and finally there was the short haired blue gray tabby who I named Beasley. I have no idea how or why I chose those names but the names seemed to fit each kitten.

Ten years later and the four foundlings are a prominent part of my life. Each time I go to sleep generally all of them are beside me with one sleeping near my head. These four cats are the most affectionate of all my cats and I am thankful that I have them in my life. I have often believed that Bentley was lost so that these cats could become part of my life. Of course, all of this is purely hogwash but maybe there really is something such as fate and destiny.

Post  Yvonne