...I though it was a goner but....

Regards last night's Braves-Marlins game: that's what I'm talking about! For those of you who live out of market, John Smoltz with 10 K's in 5 innings, and Jones-Tex-Mac go back-to-back with the long ball. Final score: 8, zip, with 15 hits from my boys. Well done.

I promise this whole blog won't be exclusively baseball; it just so happens that I am doing actual work today at work.

I caught another feral cat at work today. Well, technically, I didn't, and technically "another" is the wrong word, but a cat was caught and I'm doing my part.

We have a regular here, a lovely veternarian person who is horrified by the many stray cats she sees running around on our Molf Mourse (brief side note: I'm trying to avoid saying too much about the specifics of where I work in case someone sees it that would be offended, so I am disguising the nature of my place of employ by obscuring the real identifying traits. Clever, no?).

Anyway, this particular cat has laid several clutches of kitchens over the past three years and is very pretty and very evil. The last batch of kittens she birthed in our linen bin, so every time you'd try to toss in a tablecloth there would spitting and hissing and general cat craziness.

Dr. Better-Person-Than-I-Am decided that she would try to catch the calico and get her fixed. My job is to check the cage every day. So far, we've caught two cats, aborted seven kittens, and removed a bullet. The cats have been vaccinated, spayed, and rereleased---back on to the Molf Mourse.

This is the third time this week that the calico has been in the cage in the morning. I guess now she's just grooving on the free food.

This morning there she is again, raising hell in a cage that she has now entered of her own accord four times. Three times, after the operation.

Dr. BPTIA asked me if it was the same cat. I said I couldn't tell from where I was. She said what does it look like. I said they all look exactly like dark, dirty, kinda gross feral cats.

I genuinely could not tell because unless it had a very distinctive characteristic (say, Clean. Or Not Clearly Riddled With Fleas), they all look the same to me. I said I wasn't sure I wanted to get any closer to find out.

This sweet lady actually warned me not to touch her.

Because as if.

I might be the only person in the world who has ever told a sweet veternarian with her heart entirely in the right place: "I would not touch that animal with a cattle prod."