Stray Cat

Monday night I went down to UMKC to meet with a professor. She is an expert in Medievel history, and I needed her help, to mine her mind for information and insights.

I parked 4 blocks from campus, on a street lined with attractive bungaloes, all painted and surrounded with flowers. I locked the vehicle and started walking the middle of the street. Down the street, ahead of me, an orange cat came down the street toward me.

We weredogs have an odd relationship with cats. The dog part of us, for the most part, wants nothing to do with cats. But, the human part is drawn to them. It is not uncommon for dogs to be friends with cats. Happens all the time. Flecka and Bailey are good friends. Rooster is tolerated, even admired, by most of the dogs in this neighborhood.

But, nature has given dogs, weredogs, and most animals, for that matter, the ability to tilt our heads from other species, even other dogs who are in need. Attachment is risk. This is one of the cardinal laws of the Wild.

Curiosity kept me down the middle of that street. The cat did not veer off. He sauntered right up and stopped right in front of me. Then he sat, looked up at me and meowed. Well, he tried to meow. His voice was broken from hunger. I knelt and ran a hand down his flanks. The bones were covered by a thin sheet of skin and mangy fur. His eyes pleaded with me. He needed food. He needed sanctuary. He needed help.

My pragmatism spoke out. I had somewhere to be. I cannot be distracted by stray cats, or stray puppies for that matter. There are too many for me to save them all.

The whole time until I returned to the vehicle, and that street, I thought about that cat. I tried to toss him from my brain. But, he kept pushing his way back in. When I returned to it I was resolved to do some thing for him if I could find him. I wanted to find him.

I didn't find him. I went back there last night. Nada.

So, if you know anyone, people or weredogs, who live or operate in the vicinity of Charlotte St, between 54th and 55th streets, in Kansas City, MO, please, keep an eye out for an emaciated, orange tabby. He needs help, food, friends, as we all do.

I can recall a time when I would catch a lot of crap for worrying about a cat. A lot has changed since then.

If you see the cat, and don't want to mess with him, contact me. I will come get him.

They're Back

They all returned last night, late. They pilled in here about 9pm. I had to slip down to the basement to shift back to dog. The boys were yelling for me the whole time.

Apparently, they had to leave town quickly for a family funeral. But, that doesn't make sense. They left too quickly, and I had no idea they were going. I don't buy it. I need to figure out the deal. I fear that Jack is into something covert. I just hope it is legal.

Great. Now I have to play Dick Tracey to keep tabs on my family, to know what they are doing. Most weredogs are blessed with nice, boring families. Me? No way. I will have to spend at least a couple hours tonight going through Jack's laptop, through his emails and documents. Sherry too. Going to be a long night.

They are all gone now, school, work, and God knows where.

Sven has a new look in his eye. No change to his scent. But, I have to look into that change in his eye. It worries me.

A friend just sent me this.

Funny. But, as we know, it didn't quite go down like that.

No Family, Not Wolves

No sign of my family. No ideas.

Word from the Georgia packs is that it was not werewolves that killed that couple.

I have gotten word that Diella is trying desperately to get in touch with me.

We're out of beer and bourbon, of jerky and wishbone treats. I need to go to the store. Maybe tomorrow.

Costas, we need to talk.

Dogs and Heaven

This crossed my radar recently, cracked me up. Sparkle howled over it. Even Flecka got it and laughed about it. Although, I had to explain it to her 3 times.

I would like to know where these 2 churches are, and when this interesting exchange took place.

I have never understood this need of some people to believe that only humans have souls, and favor with their God. I have been a weredog for a very long time and I no more understand it now than Day 1. My suspicion is that religion is just an excuse, that the instinctual drive for dominance is the root reason.

Deaths of Georgia couple linked to dog pack

Deaths of Georgia couple linked to dog pack

ATLANTA | A former college professor and his wife apparently were attacked and killed by nearly a dozen dogs along a rural northeast Georgia road where their bodies were found mutilated, authorities said Monday.

Preliminary autopsy results showed that Sherry Schweder, 65, of Lexington, Ga., probably died of injuries suffered in a dog attack, Oglethorpe County Sheriff Mike Smith said.

Chester: This was no pack of wild dogs.

Family Update

12 days since my last post. Been busy. Patrols nearly every night. And out most every day. Things to do. It gets exhausting slipping out and in, 4 times a day, and night. Little time for sleep.

Jack is working days. I guess. He leaves and is gone all day. But, even though I read his emails at night, and review his phone texts, I have no idea what he is doing. But, he is still on edge.

Sherry is silent at home, hates her work in the OR, says the doctors are all bastards. Except for a few. Too few. She says most docs need serious attitude and ego adjustment. Most everyone does. People especially. A few dogs too.

Ricky is now heavier than Jack, 207b lbs. And he is strong. Only 14. He has Asperger's, which means tantrums. For now, Jack can still handle him, when he loses total control, sing just joint locks and pressure points. But, he knows, eventually, he will have to use harder methods, as Ricky gets much larger and stronger. I can smell Jack's frustration.

Sven, the golden boy - intelligent, sensitive, athletic, gorgeous - bears the brunt of Jack's angst, that which is really meant for Ricky. Jack has taken to slapping Sven up side the head, for no reason. Last week he did it 5 times in one night, laughing or snarling each time. I love Jack. But, I wanted to bite the sumbitch each time he did that, each time more than the previous. Jack is really starting to piss me off.

Braden is back from Iraq. Early. Wounded. Convalescence. I had no idea he was coming home. I don't think he did either. He is on something. I can smell it. He has PTSD. I can smell it. He has lost who he is, and what he is. I can't smell it. He is still fighting, his own war now.

I came home 3 nights ago, about 4am, curled up on the floor downstairs, and went to sleep. I was tired. Very tired. I awoke the next morning, late, around 9am, to an empty house. All the people - Jack, Sherry, Sven and Rick - were gone. No sign of where they went. That was 3 nights ago.

I have been keeping things running, feeding all the other dogs, cats, and assorted pests. I don't how to this will play out when they return home. When they return home.

I have been out every night and day looking for them. Nada. My pack has been helping, looking. Still. Nada.

And I cannot find Warin. His scent is cold in his house.

I am in tonight. Sleeping light. Every night is light. Until I find out where Jack and Sherry are, or see them here.

10 Worst Evolutionary Designs

This is fairly entertaining,

10 Worst Evolutionary Designs

Sample:

2 Hyena clitoris. When engorged, this "pseudopenis," which doubles as the birth canal, becomes so hard it can crush babies to death during exit.

6 Shark-fetus teeth. A few shark species have live births (instead of laying eggs). The Jaws juniors grow teeth in the womb. The first sibling or two to mature sometimes eat their siblings in utero. Mmm ... siblings.

Chester

Dogfighting Crack-downs

Another story about recent raids in dogfighter.

http://www.kansascity.com/105/story/1360417.html

Weredogs are reserved about this trend. We aren't sure yet if this is a fashion or if it really spells a new attitude for dogs amongst most people. Dogs have no comment.

Dogs have long put up with the price of being "mans best friend." Often has been the case that men did not know how to treat their best friend, and seemed to think that "toy" was synonymous with "friend.

This was not always the case. According to werelore, men and dogs used to share a common bond that was built on trust and respect. Man realized the debt they owed dogs in the great war on neanders and wolves. But, over time, man forgot. His memory dulled. Monotheism showed up. Woman and dog were told to go to the back of the hut and lay down.

But, dog has not forgotten. We stay obedient, because we d remember. And we continue to hope. These raids, these widely changing attitudes, give us hope. Humans' reverence for life seems to be returning. But, of course, at the same time, it is diminishing. Such is always the case during times of great and global wars. And some religions are always driving the devaluation of life.

And then there are the neos. They seem to be bent on the destruction of everything, even themselves. It doesn't make sense. Maybe I will someday be able to ask one of them about that, how that works. But, to do that I would have to arrest my impulse to kill them, in order to talk to them. And that is a tall order. But, I used to think the same about werewolves.