Palers

Oh, little Palaaway. Our big-eyed beautiful boy. He is living up to his moniker more and more. Cory and I are really starting to regret naming him "Trouble-maker."

So far, he has managed to go missing for a few days on end (and being virtually a house-cat, this is not necessarily a good thing), rip out three of his claws, bloody his mouth and get stuck on both of the next door neighbor's roofs, thus requiring rescue efforts of ladders and climbing on top of gates.

Palaaway's most recent curiosity-induced brush with trouble came after exploring the contents of a rat trap. With Cory away at Classroom Without Walls this week, I came homee on Thursday evening to a sullen kitty, sitting in the same position he had been all day. Delia, our helper, told me that she was worried because Palaaway had gotten into something sticky. She had tried to get it off with oil, but with no luck. She was not kidding. It was not only sticky, it was everywhere. His entire stomach, sides of his belly and four legs, were covered in what I found out later was rat poison. Surely not great. It was so sticky that he had pebbles encrusted on his legs and could only sit in one position. Immediately I looked up cleaning solutions, but the oil and the peanut butter did not work. Besides, they were for cleaning small spots. Palaaway was a mess. The next step was to call our local vet, who assured me they could take care of him. When I arrived, they sent me next door to the grooming center. Their dryer had just broken down an hour prior. When I questioned why they had not told me this on the phone so I could have made other arrangements, they told me that the vet clinic and the grooming center (owned and operated by the same company) did not communicate to one another. Right. So then they had me go to their old clinic-turned grooming center, just a drive around the corner. When I arrived there, one of the six staff members told me that they were too busy (with two dogs waiting to be picked up and no other animals in site) for them to be able to clean Palaaway up (which would take an hour) by the time they closed at 7:00. It was 5:30. They told me that I could bring him in the next day. I insisted, explaining that I could not take him home to roam through the house with all that crap on him and that yes, they certainly did have time to clean him up and help a customer out. They finally relented. It took cooking oil and a scrubber to pull off the big chunks and a bottle of baby oil and three bathing sessions to get him back to "normal." An hour and fifteen minutes later, his gray fur now white again, some areas rubbed raw, he was ready to go home. And what were the other five staff members doing while one of them was cleaning Palaaway? One slept while the other four played chess. Yep. That's the Philippines for you. But then again, who could blame them when they are probably making 20 pesos an hour? I tipped the guy who had cleaned Palers up quite well and left with him in his crate. When we got home, he was snubbed by his brother and sister while he recuperated on the dining chair. I made sure to keep an eye on him for signs of poisoning, but he seems to be fine. At least one of his senses is working properly.

Curious little dude. But so dang lovable.

Speaking of animals, for Valentine's Day this year, I adopted a duck. That's right. A duck. It was my year to choose a charity and I had just finished reading Farm Sanctuary by Gene Bauer. I decided to go to their website and adopt a farm animal who had been rescued from a foie gras operation or other inhumane breeding/slaughtering facility. He lives on a farm in California and I should get his details soon. Makes my heart smile.