i CAME HOME LAST NIGHT AFTER a fantastic Melissa Etheridge concert (packed house - astounding energy - fantastic guitarists) to pick up an anonymous phone message. The woman had seen my flyer for Manx and told me that a man living on the street directly behind me is trapping cats and then calling out Animal Care & Control. On the day she stopped the truck & got this info, there were 12 cats captured. Possibly my darling Manx was among them. It breaks my heart. I loved my cat. So (deep breath) I get up today to go to Animal Pound, confident Manx will be there. Well she wasn't. Only the sad, sadder, even sicker cats that were there a few days ago. I nearly came to blows with the pound men. The second I raised my voice to one man, there were two at his side, standing there like a phalanx, hoping to intimidate me into silence. I cannot explain the outrage and grief I feel... the lack of options... all of those men defending the man who traps cats. This launches me into a horribly nasty state of mind where I want to do something to that trapper man, something to make him
sorry for what he's done. So I go outside to the back of my house and stare at the back of his house, and call him nasty names, and then spit at him. I want to do something wicked to him. He deserves no less penalty than castration.
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