Welcome to the Pussy Club

_________________________________________________________

Here are the pictures of the cutest pussys that we promised you!

Here are some adorable stories about pussys!

Thursday, February 8, 2001

The Very Sick Little Cat - A True Tale

When you work with adolescents who have emotional or behavioral problems one of the big issues is helping the student develop empathy for others.

Students who display little or no empathy frequently get a charge out of

watching or, at times, causing others to have physical and emotional

pain. I have been working with one such adolescent for two and a half

years. I'll call him Joe.

Joe's behaviors roller coaster all over the chart. He has good days and

bad days. Along with the struggle of getting him to complete his class

assignments or to do his homework there is the constant monitoring of

his interactions with the other students. His moods can turn on a dime

and seemingly for no reason at all. But he has shown some improvement

over the years. Some improvement for Joe is a lot to say and considering

how big and tall Joe is now at the age of thirteen... improvement is

As a sixth grader Joe would not pass up a chance to tell me all about,

and in great detail, any dead cat he saw in the street. He would get

even more excited when he described how his dog or some other dog in his neighborhood would chase down and kill a cat. When I did not react in

horror to his stories he seemed disappointed. His graphic, verbal

descriptions of cruelty don't happen very often anymore and this, I

For the past two weeks Joe cornered me daily to tell me all about a

kitten he saw coming to and from school. As always, I reminded Joe and

the other students not to bring any stray cats they find in their

neighborhoods to school. The number of sick and starving cats that end

up at school on their own keep me busy enough. But Joe persisted in

telling me about this kitten.

Joe would say, "He's real sick and hungry and cold and, and... he so

Thursday after school I was in with the nurse discussing another student

when I was told I had a phone call. It was Joe calling me from his

house. Joe had picked this kitten up and taken it home. Joe's mother was

having a fit but Joe refused to release the cat back into the

neighborhood. I told Joe I would meet him at the 7-11 by his house.

I drove over to corner store and parked my car. Joe's neighborhood is

not an area where you want to be standing around for long by yourself

even if you live there. Soon I could see Joe and two of his friends

walking towards me. The sight was quite an oxymoron. Three large boys,

who looked like this was, in fact, their home turf, carrying a small

Joe put the kitten in my hands. It looked to be about five months old

but didn't look sick. It did look thin and dirty.

I asked Joe what made him think this cat was so sick. Joe suddenly had

an expression of horror and anger on his face. The other two boys looked

quite taken back by my question, too.

Joe said, "It's hurt!" and pointed to the cat.

I held the cat up and started to look more closely for signs of some

great trauma. As I began the inspection I asked, "Where is he hurt? Show

Joe said in a tone of frustration, "Look, he doesn't have a tail!"

I paused without looking up at Joe and the other boys to gather my

thoughts before I spoke. I looked up at the faces of these three young

men. The faces I saw where definitely displaying empathy for a small,

helpless animal. I simply said, "Well, I guess we have #34 rescued cat."

The tenseness in the faces of all three boys dissolved and big smiles

grew. I told Joe I would see him tomorrow and reminded him to do his

homework. He said ok and the boys turned and walked away.

The kitten was a manx.

Joe's completed homework was turned in the next morning and this, I

feel, is an improvement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been colder earlier, but now it was damp, too; the moisture drilled through to the bone and his shivering was more pronounced than when it was only freezing. (wet fur is awful)

Fur plastered against skin covered bones, tail low and dejected, he trudged slowly along, hoping to find shelter, or food, soon. If not a warm place to rest, at least no harsh voice raised in anger or hand raised to strike. It didn't seem like too much to ask. Maybe, if God was listening, something to eat (it's been so long!) and a pause in the constant ache in his maimed back leg? (hurts so much!)

Limping along, watching the shadows for predators, he struggled up another embankment.

Was this the same one he'd landed near so many cold, lonely nights ago? (where are they?)

What had he done to deserve such punishment? What ever it was, he was more than willing to atone, if only they'd come back for him! He missed his people so much; wished he could tell them he'd not meant to be a bother. He'd try to do better if they'd only give him another chance. Was that why they abandoned him here in the cold? (wind is chilling-sharp against wet fur)

He'd couldn't understand where they'd gone or why the people that had given him such love during his kitten-hood, who had played with him and given him treats, would abandon him now when he needed them so terribly. (will be good, promise!)

The leg jolted him again, a constant reminder of how alone he was. He'd tried to get out of the way of the car's backing. He remembered, with a cringe, the agony of the crushed back paw, the horrible pain of being picked up by the scruff of his neck and tossed in the car. Mercifully he'd fainted, only waking later in the cold and dark, on a forest path. (not used to alone!)

Where were the people he trusted to help him? What had happened? Surely they'd be here to help him soon? (please! take me home!)

But this was days ago, and though the leg had healed slightly, the pain of the desertion hadn't. That never would go away. (why did you throw me away?)

People were supposed to be the source of all good the things; his mother had taught him to trust and love those large clumsy two-leggers. Was she wrong? No, he'd not believe that! She couldn't be! People were good, they *could* be trusted to help, not hurt! Couldn't they? (where are you?)

A week later, he wasn't so sure. He was still cold and wet, he couldn't seem to find his way home, (so lost! so lonely!) and now there was a peculiar white covering on the ground that made it hard to walk. Sometimes it fooled him into stepping into holes; one had been so deep he'd feared he'd not escape. His poor leg wasn't strong enough to help in climbing, and scrambling up the side had taken hours and cost him much of his little store of energy. Exhaustion was following him, a partner with starvation and fear. (so tired, so cold, so hungry)

He'd seen people from a distance and had hurried ahead; people would help! They'd feed him, dry his wet fur, warm him and tend his crippled leg, stroke his head and tell him he was a beautiful little cat. (wait for me!)

He'd been horrified when the small humans yelled, and chased him with sticks. He'd escaped; gray and brown stripes blended with winter foliage so that he was hard to see when he was still, but he'd had a horrible fright. He'd expected help, not harm. His trust of humanity was eroding, but he still had some left, though it was becoming slimmer, hourly. (isn't there anyone there?)

Ahead there were lights again; was this a beacon to home, or yet another bitter disappointment? He limped ahead, furry heart still filled with hope. (someone, please help me?)

He passed by several lighted windows and could hear talking or that strange box with the moving figures, but nobody heard his plaintive meows for help and he moved on. He even passed one window where there were other cats, two haughty black Persians; they stared disdainfully at him and turned away from the scrawny, limping stray that was crossing their domain. (don't need *you*, still strong! am!)

There were still a few windows to peek into, maybe one would hold the warmth he was seeking. His nose twitched; what was that? Sniff, sniff. It smelled like...food! There! Under the cedar bush! In that little black dish...was that really food? (yes, yes! o, thank you!)

God hadn't abandoned him! He was still there! He limped to the dish, and as he did looked up and saw a lovely, white furred face gazing at him from the window. He meowed silently and got a quiet answer and a nod. He lowered his head to eat, knowing he was safe for the moment; the Other would watch while he had his first meal in ... how many days? (thank you!)

Suddenly, a door opened and a huge shadow loomed over him; he cringed and prepared to run as fast as he was able, but no hand struck, and he relaxed a bit. Then there were voices, another smaller shadow and a gentle hand touched his cold head, stroking the damp, matted fur; arms scooped him up and held him close and warm. (help me?)

He was inside, warm and fed and safe! His mother was right, people WERE good. The gentle hands stroked him, and dried him and the soft voice tut-utted over his starved condition and ohhed over the poor mangled leg and whispered softly he was a handsome boy. He was eating warm food, drinking fresh water and had a soft blanket to curl up on when he'd eaten his fill. A loving hand was there to smooth his rumpled coat, and best of all the beautiful white-furred Other he'd seen at the window was close; she was a warm, purring presence at his side as he went to sleep, safe and warm and loved and *home*. (God was listening)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE TRUTH ABOUT CATS AND DOGS

What animals can teach us about relationships

An English artist from the early part of the century, Louis Wain, used to create pictures of cats engaged in a variety of human-like pursuits. One painting would show several of them wearing top hats and playing a game of cards; another would depict kitties attired in summery dresses, as though preparing for a Sunday afternoon picnic. Louis Wain eventually became quite mad, and his works became increasingly bizarre. His felines took on wild-eyed, maniacal expressions, and had vivid colors and patterns emanating from their heads, like rock stars in psychedelic-era concert posters. The artist eventually died in a lunatic asylum, proving that anthropomorphizing our pets is a dangerous pastime indeed. Animals don't-and shouldn't-possess human qualities; instead it is us who ought to try to become more like our pets.

Yes, in the scheme of things, cats and dogs get little respect. On the rare occasion that we humans do acknowledge our animal natures, the animal in question usually winds up with little respect, as proven by a rundown of the pejorative terms we use: "Dumb animal." "Brute." "Bitch." "Dog." "Catty." But most people fail to realize that our relationships with one another would be much improved if we would only behave a little more like cats and dogs! Cats and dogs can be wonderful teachers, especially with regard to relationships.

For instance, women often complain to one another, "Men are dogs." If only we were so lucky! Ladies, we should pray that our men become as loyal and selfless as canines. Do not malign this noble animal with a negative comparison to your man. Instead, encourage men to embody dog-like qualities.

To start with, dogs are honest. They don't hide their feelings. They don't voice "harmless" little lies or tell us they've been somewhere when they haven't. We don't expect dogs to remember our birthdays and anniversaries because we know from the start that they are simply incapable of doing so. But we also know that whenever there is a celebration, they will enthusiastically join in the fun. And if ever they do something wrong-and they will-they look guilty and beg desperately for our forgiveness with such sad sweet eyes we are compelled to reach down and give them a pat on the head. One cannot hold a grudge against a dog.

But perhaps the most marvelous characteristic of dogs is that they absolutely live to serve their mistresses. Nothing makes them happier than making you happy. They are eternally loyal, and their lives are given meaning by ministering to others.

In fact, dogs make us remember what it is to be simply, perfectly happy. They charm and enchant us, lifting our spirits effortlessly. Walk down the street with a dog and the most dour faces light up instantly. Even a few minutes spent playing with a dog removes us from our hectic routines and burdensome responsibilities and into a world of joy, inspiring us to play like children-without regard to the adult world's cutthroat rules and competitiveness. Yes indeed-they say that dogs are "man's best friend," but really, they are women's!

Men, for their part, dismissively refer to women as "felines" and deplore what they term "catty behavior." A woman who succeeds in a corporation is sometimes said to have "clawed her way to the top." And then, of course, there's that problematic term, "pussy," sometimes used affectionately, but frequently deployed as slur.

But men should hold up cats as their feminine ideal. Consider the facts: Men often complain that women can be nagging and emotionally pushy. But cats are nothing if not sensitive to emotional and physical boundaries. They have the most carefully attuned sense of balance in all things, making them the perfect household companions. And cats have a certain keen intelligence that causes you to feel they are one step ahead of you at every turn.

Cats have a marvelous sense of discretion. They endure the company of others until it is boring, and not one second longer. It's not that they're snobbish, but they make no bones about how they really feel. One could never imagine a cat faking...anything!

Cats are never unpleasant, merely, at times, uninterested. And why not? They don't suffer fools gladly, preferring their own serene company to second-class companionship and clumsy attempts at affection. They are supremely secure beings who teach us that striving for a little bit of solitude is natural and desirable.

From a cat one learns grace, silence, and contentment. When stroke a purring cat you nearly begin to purr yourself! In fact, cats are incredibly tactile and sensual. Rub a cat the right way and she will truly appreciate your touch, stretching out and smiling to show her pleasure.

So here it is: the truth about cats and dogs. If we really did behave like them, perhaps the relations between the sexes would be a lot smoother. While the word on the street is that cats and dogs don't get along, anyone who has ever lived with both knows it isn't always the case. Cats and dogs can make the most charming companions. Perhaps there is no sight sweeter than that of the canine and feline sleeping together with a tender, quiet affection.

How to learn the wise ways of animals? Have a pet! After all, both having pets and having a partner offer similar benefits. Studies show that people in either situation tend to live longer, healthier lives. They keep us active and give us a sense of pride. We want to walk around with them and show them off! So the next time someone looks at you with disdain and says, "You're an animal," bow your head modestly and reply, "Well, I try."


	Pussy Club _________________________________________________________ Welcome to the Pussy Club Here are the pictures of the cutest pussys that we promised you! Here are some adorable stories about pussys! Thursday, February 8, 2001 The Very Sick Little Cat - A True Tale When you work with adolescents who have emotional or behavioral problems one of the big issues is helping the student develop empathy for others. Students who display little or no empathy frequently get a charge out of watching or, at times, causing others to have physical and emotional pain. I have been working with one such adolescent for two and a half years. I'll call him Joe. Joe's behaviors roller coaster all over the chart. He has good days and bad days. Along with the struggle of getting him to complete his class assignments or to do his homework there is the constant monitoring of his interactions with the other students. His moods can turn on a dime and seemingly for no reason at all. But he has shown some improvement over the years. Some improvement for Joe is a lot to say and considering how big and tall Joe is now at the age of thirteen... improvement is positive. As a sixth grader Joe would not pass up a chance to tell me all about, and in great detail, any dead cat he saw in the street. He would get even more excited when he described how his dog or some other dog in his neighborhood would chase down and kill a cat. When I did not react in horror to his stories he seemed disappointed. His graphic, verbal descriptions of cruelty don't happen very often anymore and this, I feel, is positive. For the past two weeks Joe cornered me daily to tell me all about a kitten he saw coming to and from school. As always, I reminded Joe and the other students not to bring any stray cats they find in their neighborhoods to school. The number of sick and starving cats that end up at school on their own keep me busy enough. But Joe persisted in telling me about this kitten. Joe would say, "He's real sick and hungry and cold and, and... he so sick." Thursday after school I was in with the nurse discussing another student when I was told I had a phone call. It was Joe calling me from his house. Joe had picked this kitten up and taken it home. Joe's mother was having a fit but Joe refused to release the cat back into the neighborhood. I told Joe I would meet him at the 7-11 by his house. I drove over to corner store and parked my car. Joe's neighborhood is not an area where you want to be standing around for long by yourself even if you live there. Soon I could see Joe and two of his friends walking towards me. The sight was quite an oxymoron. Three large boys, who looked like this was, in fact, their home turf, carrying a small gray cat. Joe put the kitten in my hands. It looked to be about five months old but didn't look sick. It did look thin and dirty. I asked Joe what made him think this cat was so sick. Joe suddenly had an expression of horror and anger on his face. The other two boys looked quite taken back by my question, too. Joe said, "It's hurt!" and pointed to the cat. I held the cat up and started to look more closely for signs of some great trauma. As I began the inspection I asked, "Where is he hurt? Show me." Joe said in a tone of frustration, "Look, he doesn't have a tail!" I paused without looking up at Joe and the other boys to gather my thoughts before I spoke. I looked up at the faces of these three young men. The faces I saw where definitely displaying empathy for a small, helpless animal. I simply said, "Well, I guess we have #34 rescued cat." The tenseness in the faces of all three boys dissolved and big smiles grew. I told Joe I would see him tomorrow and reminded him to do his homework. He said ok and the boys turned and walked away. The kitten was a manx. Joe's completed homework was turned in the next morning and this, I feel, is an improvement. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scoop's Story FAITH It had been colder earlier, but now it was damp, too; the moisture drilled through to the bone and his shivering was more pronounced than when it was only freezing. (wet fur is awful) Fur plastered against skin covered bones, tail low and dejected, he trudged slowly along, hoping to find shelter, or food, soon. If not a warm place to rest, at least no harsh voice raised in anger or hand raised to strike. It didn't seem like too much to ask. Maybe, if God was listening, something to eat (it's been so long!) and a pause in the constant ache in his maimed back leg? (hurts so much!) Limping along, watching the shadows for predators, he struggled up another embankment. Was this the same one he'd landed near so many cold, lonely nights ago? (where are they?) What had he done to deserve such punishment? What ever it was, he was more than willing to atone, if only they'd come back for him! He missed his people so much; wished he could tell them he'd not meant to be a bother. He'd try to do better if they'd only give him another chance. Was that why they abandoned him here in the cold? (wind is chilling-sharp against wet fur) He'd couldn't understand where they'd gone or why the people that had given him such love during his kitten-hood, who had played with him and given him treats, would abandon him now when he needed them so terribly. (will be good, promise!) The leg jolted him again, a constant reminder of how alone he was. He'd tried to get out of the way of the car's backing. He remembered, with a cringe, the agony of the crushed back paw, the horrible pain of being picked up by the scruff of his neck and tossed in the car. Mercifully he'd fainted, only waking later in the cold and dark, on a forest path. (not used to alone!) Where were the people he trusted to help him? What had happened? Surely they'd be here to help him soon? (please! take me home!) But this was days ago, and though the leg had healed slightly, the pain of the desertion hadn't. That never would go away. (why did you throw me away?) People were supposed to be the source of all good the things; his mother had taught him to trust and love those large clumsy two-leggers. Was she wrong? No, he'd not believe that! She couldn't be! People were good, they could be trusted to help, not hurt! Couldn't they? (where are you?) A week later, he wasn't so sure. He was still cold and wet, he couldn't seem to find his way home, (so lost! so lonely!) and now there was a peculiar white covering on the ground that made it hard to walk. Sometimes it fooled him into stepping into holes; one had been so deep he'd feared he'd not escape. His poor leg wasn't strong enough to help in climbing, and scrambling up the side had taken hours and cost him much of his little store of energy. Exhaustion was following him, a partner with starvation and fear. (so tired, so cold, so hungry) He'd seen people from a distance and had hurried ahead; people would help! They'd feed him, dry his wet fur, warm him and tend his crippled leg, stroke his head and tell him he was a beautiful little cat. (wait for me!) He'd been horrified when the small humans yelled, and chased him with sticks. He'd escaped; gray and brown stripes blended with winter foliage so that he was hard to see when he was still, but he'd had a horrible fright. He'd expected help, not harm. His trust of humanity was eroding, but he still had some left, though it was becoming slimmer, hourly. (isn't there anyone there?) Ahead there were lights again; was this a beacon to home, or yet another bitter disappointment? He limped ahead, furry heart still filled with hope. (someone, please help me?) He passed by several lighted windows and could hear talking or that strange box with the moving figures, but nobody heard his plaintive meows for help and he moved on. He even passed one window where there were other cats, two haughty black Persians; they stared disdainfully at him and turned away from the scrawny, limping stray that was crossing their domain. (don't need you, still strong! am!) There were still a few windows to peek into, maybe one would hold the warmth he was seeking. His nose twitched; what was that? Sniff, sniff. It smelled like...food! There! Under the cedar bush! In that little black dish...was that really food? (yes, yes! o, thank you!) God hadn't abandoned him! He was still there! He limped to the dish, and as he did looked up and saw a lovely, white furred face gazing at him from the window. He meowed silently and got a quiet answer and a nod. He lowered his head to eat, knowing he was safe for the moment; the Other would watch while he had his first meal in ... how many days? (thank you!) Suddenly, a door opened and a huge shadow loomed over him; he cringed and prepared to run as fast as he was able, but no hand struck, and he relaxed a bit. Then there were voices, another smaller shadow and a gentle hand touched his cold head, stroking the damp, matted fur; arms scooped him up and held him close and warm. (help me?) He was inside, warm and fed and safe! His mother was right, people WERE good. The gentle hands stroked him, and dried him and the soft voice tut-utted over his starved condition and ohhed over the poor mangled leg and whispered softly he was a handsome boy. He was eating warm food, drinking fresh water and had a soft blanket to curl up on when he'd eaten his fill. A loving hand was there to smooth his rumpled coat, and best of all the beautiful white-furred Other he'd seen at the window was close; she was a warm, purring presence at his side as he went to sleep, safe and warm and loved and home. (God was listening) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE TRUTH ABOUT CATS AND DOGS What animals can teach us about relationships An English artist from the early part of the century, Louis Wain, used to create pictures of cats engaged in a variety of human-like pursuits. One painting would show several of them wearing top hats and playing a game of cards; another would depict kitties attired in summery dresses, as though preparing for a Sunday afternoon picnic. Louis Wain eventually became quite mad, and his works became increasingly bizarre. His felines took on wild-eyed, maniacal expressions, and had vivid colors and patterns emanating from their heads, like rock stars in psychedelic-era concert posters. The artist eventually died in a lunatic asylum, proving that anthropomorphizing our pets is a dangerous pastime indeed. Animals don't-and shouldn't-possess human qualities; instead it is us who ought to try to become more like our pets. Yes, in the scheme of things, cats and dogs get little respect. On the rare occasion that we humans do acknowledge our animal natures, the animal in question usually winds up with little respect, as proven by a rundown of the pejorative terms we use: "Dumb animal." "Brute." "Bitch." "Dog." "Catty." But most people fail to realize that our relationships with one another would be much improved if we would only behave a little more like cats and dogs! Cats and dogs can be wonderful teachers, especially with regard to relationships. For instance, women often complain to one another, "Men are dogs." If only we were so lucky! Ladies, we should pray that our men become as loyal and selfless as canines. Do not malign this noble animal with a negative comparison to your man. Instead, encourage men to embody dog-like qualities. To start with, dogs are honest. They don't hide their feelings. They don't voice "harmless" little lies or tell us they've been somewhere when they haven't. We don't expect dogs to remember our birthdays and anniversaries because we know from the start that they are simply incapable of doing so. But we also know that whenever there is a celebration, they will enthusiastically join in the fun. And if ever they do something wrong-and they will-they look guilty and beg desperately for our forgiveness with such sad sweet eyes we are compelled to reach down and give them a pat on the head. One cannot hold a grudge against a dog. But perhaps the most marvelous characteristic of dogs is that they absolutely live to serve their mistresses. Nothing makes them happier than making you happy. They are eternally loyal, and their lives are given meaning by ministering to others. In fact, dogs make us remember what it is to be simply, perfectly happy. They charm and enchant us, lifting our spirits effortlessly. Walk down the street with a dog and the most dour faces light up instantly. Even a few minutes spent playing with a dog removes us from our hectic routines and burdensome responsibilities and into a world of joy, inspiring us to play like children-without regard to the adult world's cutthroat rules and competitiveness. Yes indeed-they say that dogs are "man's best friend," but really, they are women's! Men, for their part, dismissively refer to women as "felines" and deplore what they term "catty behavior." A woman who succeeds in a corporation is sometimes said to have "clawed her way to the top." And then, of course, there's that problematic term, "pussy," sometimes used affectionately, but frequently deployed as slur. But men should hold up cats as their feminine ideal. Consider the facts: Men often complain that women can be nagging and emotionally pushy. But cats are nothing if not sensitive to emotional and physical boundaries. They have the most carefully attuned sense of balance in all things, making them the perfect household companions. And cats have a certain keen intelligence that causes you to feel they are one step ahead of you at every turn. Cats have a marvelous sense of discretion. They endure the company of others until it is boring, and not one second longer. It's not that they're snobbish, but they make no bones about how they really feel. One could never imagine a cat faking...anything! Cats are never unpleasant, merely, at times, uninterested. And why not? They don't suffer fools gladly, preferring their own serene company to second-class companionship and clumsy attempts at affection. They are supremely secure beings who teach us that striving for a little bit of solitude is natural and desirable. From a cat one learns grace, silence, and contentment. When stroke a purring cat you nearly begin to purr yourself! In fact, cats are incredibly tactile and sensual. Rub a cat the right way and she will truly appreciate your touch, stretching out and smiling to show her pleasure. So here it is: the truth about cats and dogs. If we really did behave like them, perhaps the relations between the sexes would be a lot smoother. While the word on the street is that cats and dogs don't get along, anyone who has ever lived with both knows it isn't always the case. Cats and dogs can make the most charming companions. Perhaps there is no sight sweeter than that of the canine and feline sleeping together with a tender, quiet affection. How to learn the wise ways of animals? Have a pet! After all, both having pets and having a partner offer similar benefits. Studies show that people in either situation tend to live longer, healthier lives. They keep us active and give us a sense of pride. We want to walk around with them and show them off! So the next time someone looks at you with disdain and says, "You're an animal," bow your head modestly and reply, "Well, I try."