THE CAT WITH NO NAME

It was a cold and rainy morning as I fought melancholy with purposeful action; heading for groceries for a post funeral gathering tomorrow. A block from home, under a neighbors street parked car appeared to be a small animal. Turning my car around and parking behind their car, I coaxed from underneath a tiny, wet, bedraggled kitten. Really tiny.

No near neighbors claimed her or knew of a local mama cat, so wrapped in a towel one of them generously donated, off we went back to my house for reinforcements from my husband and then to the veterinarian we use for our own cats.

As she warmed in my arms her tiny mewl came infrequently but surely, her coat dried and smoothed out and she slept.

But her rough start was to get worse and our dark day, darker. Only weeks old, she had a respiratory infection. Her eyes were not clear. Her snuggles were likely really lethargy.

And there was no room at the inn. Isolation at our vet was full. We drove from place to place with despair, the cat with no name snug in my arms. All the other clinics either did not have isolation or were full.  We have no isolation area in our home and two elderly cats - one blind and one deaf - who would, and should not be asked to, risk a sick stray. Local Helping Hands foster homes were overflowing even if they would take a sick kitten. The local Animal Shelter, who makes every attempt to be low kill, has no isolation room and does put down sick animals.

So with tears flowing we took her to one of the vets to be put to sleep. A cat with no name.

My head knows that this was the right decision; knows that with out us she would have crawled into a soggy corner and died a miserable death; knows that her two hours of warmth, love and cuddles, her death in caring arms was the only possible choice.

My heart knows only sorrow. Sorrow that this living animal was put out, dropped off as unwanted or merely neglected. Sorrow that whatever love and joy she would have brought to our world is lost forever. Sorrow, tinged with a bit of anger, that her mother wasn't spayed.

I'm asking Khayyam, Nastasha, Toughie, Sandro, Orca, Scooter and their big doggie sister Seamus to watch for her. They can call her Angel.

PINKWASHING JUST BECAME PERSONAL....AGAIN

This lovely lady, mother, grandmother and friend died this morning of metastatic breast cancer. Welcome to October. But I won't be writing a tribute. As much as that is deserved; others will be writing about her love, her cheerfulness through every hurdle and the deep mourning she leaves behind.

I am writing to YOU. About the irony of losing Diane Wright True as we begin the yearly October Pinkwashing. About the other friends I've lost to metastatic breast cancer. About how wrong we get the fight against this ugly disease. This disease isn't pink. This disease isn't sexy. This disease kills.

We KNOW this. We are AWARE already. We do not need education, we need a CURE. Or at least a control that works for life with a chronic disease.

So, yes. Through my tears, I am yelling, screaming, pleading.

Please do not buy one more pink spatula, pink bag of candy, pink socks or anything pink whose profit does not go directly, let me repeat directly - not through the hands of a for-profit company, to finding a cure. While I have no problem with companies contributing to research, they don't need your sale to do this...and many don't actually even contribute when you "buy pink". Don't drink the pink Kool-Aid.

Want to really help?
Want to really honor Diane? Or any other loved one lost? Or those fighting right now?

Contribute directly to those who make a difference and where your ENTIRE contribution goes to research. Here are two.

Metavivor "METAvivor appreciates your donation and honors your generosity by ensuring that 100% of your donation goes toward supporting grants for metastatic breast cancer research."

Stand Up To Cancer "Stand Up To Cancer is a groundbreaking initiative created to accelerate innovative cancer research that will get new therapies to patients quickly and save lives now. 100% of your donation received by SU2C will support Stand Up To Cancer’s collaborative cancer research programs."

So maybe you can tell. I'm heartbroken and angry. Racheal and Kaylee and Emily and Hayden deserved so much more time with Diane. Just like thousands of others we have lost; their mothers, grandmothers, sisters, daughters and granddaughters deserve a cure in any color and without having to "buy pink" for it.