Hey you out there! Yes, YOU. You people who take your unwanted and pregnant cats, and sometimes dogs, and dump them in my neighborhood! Or other people's neighborhood thinking that some kind-hearted soul or old granny will take them in, feed them, and provide them with the happy home that YOU didn't want to give them. That they'll take care of the kittens that are coming, find them all families that want them, and then spay her--LIKE YOU DIDN'T, or just didn't want to spend the money for it--so she won't have anymore offspring.

In other words, take the responsibility for them that you didn't want to.

You think you are doing them a favor by putting them off in a nice neighborhood. You think, "Oh, they can hunt, they'll be able to fend for themselves." No they won't! They will be able to catch a spare mole or bird now and then but not often enough to keep their bellies full. And that's when they'll start digging in the trash. But there's small pickings there and spoiled food that will make them sick. They will die a slow and horrible death of starvation. How would you like to die that way? Wouldn't you rather die quick and fairly painless? But you don't think of that.

You be the one that spies them in your yard meowing in that disoriented way that they do. You be the one that sees them for several days and they look thinner and thinner till finally you can't stand it anymore and you call to them and they come running. You get out a bowl of cat food and water and they gulp it down so fast you think they're going to choke. But you wouldn't be the one doing that if a stray animal was dumped in your neighborhood because you have no heart for these poor lost souls.

You be the one that tries to integrate them into your household that already has three cats and see how they get along. You clean up the cat pee when they rebel against using the cat box that three strange cats are already using meaning they've already claimed the territory. You try telling your three cats, that have roamed the house peacefully and unafraid for four years, that the new cat is adjusting and that's why she attacks them every time they turn they're back on her. You tell your large unassuming male cat that he really doesn't have to hide on top the furnace all day and all night. All he has to do is stand up to the new gal and don't let her intimidate him. Which is rather hard to do when she is fierce and ferocious and deadly serious about kicking him out of the house--and his two fellow housecats.

You be the one that foots the vet bill--but that's why you got rid of them in the first place because you thought you couldn't afford to take them to the vet--and get them shots and ear mite treatment and dewormed because you don't want your other cats getting infected by them.

You be the one that calls up fourteen no-kill shelters only to be told at each and every single one, "Sorry, we're full" and that you can be put on a waiting list, if you like. You be the one that makes that heartbreaking trip to the humane society where it is nowhere near humane because they kill them seventy-two hours after they get them. You be the one to ride with that unhappy cat that meows nonstop the whole time you're in the car because you are on your way to the killing place. You be the one that has to live with that last look you got of them as you handed them over to the worker at the "shelter." Let that scared, confused, and sad-eyed look haunt you. The look you couldn't see when you delivered them to my neighborhood in the dark of the night.

Yeah, I'm mad.