by Romeo, the Virtuous Kitty

I’m one of three cats in this pet-loving family, though I bear the distinction of being the only one who dutifully uses his litter box. Arnie is 21 and can barely find his food bowl, let alone his litter box, so we’ll cut him some slack. And Bill Feral spends days (and nights when he can sneak out) outdoors so he does his business in the woods out back. Which leaves me, largely alone in my concern about my feline friends’ litter issues.
The thing is, clay litter is bad for us kitties. We’re clean creatures, as anyone who lives with us can attest. And we hate those little bits of litter between our toes. And so we lick. And nibble. And often swallow the litter bits.
Problem is, those bits are toxic. Especially the clumping kind. They’re designed to absorb moisture. Which is great until they’re lodged in our intestines and keep on absorbing moisture from our innard until we’re dehydrated. In fact, there are many tails…errr…tales of cats dying from ingesting clumping clay litters, especially kittens.
But we cats aren’t totally self-absorbed. We care about the planet too. And the mining of clay is a filthy, environmentally degrading business.
Clay litter or sodium bentonite (sometimes called diatomaceous earth) is the result of strip mining, which is as invasive as it sounds. Heavy machinery scrapes away the top layer of earth to get to the clay beneath. The land is rendered useless for other purposes. What’s more, the dust of the clay litter – being breathed in by us and our people – is a known carcinogen. And when it’s tossed, it sits for eternity in a landfill. Even our nine-lives can’t outlive clay litter.
Clearly, there must be a better, more virtuous material for we cats to relieve ourselves, yet remain fastitiously clean.
And indeed there is.
From milled corn to wheat to recycled newspaper pellets (there’s even an online contest right now to create the new “it” handbag based on the litter’s bag. But please, no handbags to carry cats in. We have more dignity than your average Chihuahua!) to pine dust or pellets, there’s plenty at your local pet store to fill the box.
My person, Leslie, has tried ‘em all, in the interest of research. My canine siblings loved the wheat stuff and nibbled on it all day like it was a bowl of peanuts. The resulting diarrheic mess ensured that wheat litter would never enter the house again.
Yesterday’s News was a bit smelly when I was done with it. Though Wilbur the Bunny uses it in his litter box. He kept eating the pine litter.
But Leslie gets me Feline Pine or Feline Fresh. Both offer up a great pine pellet litter. Smells like a walk in the forest (at least until I get there to make my…deposit), is a cinch to clean up and can even be composted. Though Leslie says to warn you that kitty poop can carry toxins so you never want to compost it unless you have municipal facilities that operate with high heat.
So there you have it. My first blog post (but not my last!) about something near and dear to my heart…and my rear.

Love…
Romeo The Virtuous Kitty

I’m a great fan of second-hand. I love garage sales and antique shops, vintage stores and salvage companies.
Other people’s castaways often delight me and I’ve been known to garbage pick when I spot something good! I’m also frequently astounded at what I see curbside. Perfectly good furniture. Toys. Bikes.
Things that, though I don’t need or want them, would certainly prove useful to someone else. And with so many great organizations happy to claim our cast-offs and redistribute them, I’m baffled why anyone simply tosses good stuff.
But this story, in particular, makes my heart ache: a tale of an injured dog that was caged, then put out with the trash.
I’m unfailingly astonished at the cruelty humans are capable of – toward each other, but toward benign animals as well.
I’m inevitably spurred to action, too, which accounts for the seven pets with whom my family and I share our home. They come from different circumstances but all share one trait: they’re used. Sometimes not so gently.
Such as Polar, a rescue dog whom I often say rescued me from the grief of losing my dog Gunther. Polar was seized after reports of neglect and possible abuse. He’s enormous (hence his name), but gentle and smart. We still have to work with him. He’s easily stressed and often wary of certain people.

There’s Kira, dropped at a shelter, along with a litter-mate and her mother. She’s sweet, manic and lucky to be alive.

Suki, our newest dog, who, at 75 pounds and six months, shows signs of becoming a Goliath. We refer to her as our “privileged rescue” – she was taken to a Newfoundland breed rescue group where she was fostered with a caring couple and has never known hunger or hardship.

On the feline side, there’s Arnie, whom a friend gave up when her son developed allergies. He’s 21, skeletal, but shows no signs of slowing down.

Romeo is toothless and overweight, though far slimmer than when he was brought to us. He was headed toward a filthy shelter with a bad reputation when I said I’d offer him temporary refuge. Six months later, he’s still with us and adored by all. My nine-year-old son refers to him as “Sexy Chick” (Thank-you, David Guetta!!) in an effort to “make him feel good about himself.”

And there’s Bill, a one-year-old wild boy. A feral cat who found his way into foster care, then into our family.

And finally, there’s the lone rabbit: Wilbur. Adopted from our local shelter by my now-12-year-old daughter.

A house full, to be sure.
And though they contribute enormously to the hustle, bustle and love-bursting energy of our home, each one is the product, not of careful planning and care, but accident and neglect.
If you’re in the market for a pet, please consider someone else’s “mistake”. You might just be saving a life – and injecting new life into your home.

Our new kitten, Bill, has taken to using my houseplants as his litter box. I’ve taken various bits of advice: cover them with aluminum foil (waste of foil…and none too effective), add in some hot sauce around the edge where he stands (nope, has just decided he’s a spicy kinda kitty).
But…eureka! The answer was lying in a nearby woods.
Pinecones are the perfect deterrent. Uncomfortable to walk on, eco-friendly and aesthetically pleasing.
Thanks again Mother Nature!

As owner of a new puppy, along with two new rescue cats…and someone whose elderly dog developed problems following a rabies vaccine, it’s certainly top of mind these days. You can read my original post here.

I asked my friend Helen, who is involved with border collie rescue, natural rearing and is a dedicated researcher of all things dog, to respond further. Here’s what she says:
Veterinary medicine was indeed developed for the protection of humans, not animals, and as rabies is the only deadly disease that both animals and humans can contract, rabies vaccination is mandatory by law. However, studies have shown that a single rabies vaccine provides immunity for life and repeated vaccinations do not increase immunity. Furthermore, animals who receive multiple rabies vaccines are at risk of developing not only potentially serious or even fatal health issues, they can develop dangerous behaviour problems as well. In other words, if animals (particularly dogs) receive multiple rabies shots they can in fact become more dangerous to humans, making the process of repeated vaccinations counterproductive.

Vets are noticing health and behaviour problems arising after the administration rabies vaccines at such an alarming rate that there is now a major research study going on at the University of Wisconsin veterinary school working toward proving that a single rabies vaccine will last at least 7 years (www.therabieschallengefund.org). The hope is to change the law and reduce the risk to our pets, and to ourselves, from over-vaccination. The study is just entering its third year, which is the limit of current laws. Fortunately many regions (including London) are accepting titers (blood tests that demonstrate the presence of anti-bodies) in lieu of vaccines while we wait for the law to be updated.

A few years ago, our dog, Chloe, suddenly and mysteriously started losing control of her hind-quarters. She would fall over. Or trip on a step. She always looked a bit baffled by this, like she couldn’t quite figure out why her body wasn’t cooperating. We returned to our vet, who was equally baffled. We decided to wait it out and see if it improved.
In the meantime, I shared Chloe’s plight with a dog-loving friend who was increasingly interested in holistic and natural rearing of dogs. She was active on a Web-based “dog” board and had been fielding a lot of questions related to dog behaviour and health issues. The more she dug, the more she became convinced that the culprit (or one of them) was over-vaccination of dogs.
She asked me if the symptoms presented themselves roughly three months after Chloe’s rabies vaccination. Yep. Seemed consistent with other stories she was hearing. She continued to research (did I mention this friend is a PhD candidate? Research is her raison d’être.) and was alarmed by her findings, which she talks about at length in a blog post on her own site.

In the meantime, we’ve discussed vaccinations with our vet and opted out of vaccinating our 20-year-old cat, a decision our vet supports wholeheartedly. But with an eight-week-old puppy and a new kitten, we’ve got some serious thinking to do. For our older dogs, the answer seems clear.

I like to think I’m an urban environmentalist. I compost. I rely on pedal-power more than fossil-fuel to get around town. I buy local. And organic. But it seems I’m missing a key green accessory that all the groovy greens have. It’s no longer enough to have a hybrid in your driveway and solar panels on your roof. I don’t have…wait for it…backyard chickens.
Turns out that chickens aren’t just for farmers and commune-dwellers anymore. As one site puts it, urban greens are putting the “chic in chicken.”
Though I might sound like I’m joking (yolking? ha!), I find the notion quite appealing. I like chickens (and not just on a rotisserie!). They have that amusing jerky way of moving around – like Seinfeld’s Elaine on the dance floor. They eat grubs and control mosquitoes. They are a clucking, pecking composting machine.
I’m rescued, however, from my feathered fantasy by a friend who confesses his own poultry past. Having given it two attempts, the result (save for a few weeks of double-yolked eggs that he says were delicious) were hen carcasses littering the coop. I imagine my own two dogs licking their chops at the prospect of chicken dinners (we already had a rather sad experience with Stewey, a backyard bunny) and decide that backyard chickens are one green accessory I’m going to have to do without.
I hear rumours, however, that goats are gaining in popularity. And just think of the things I wouldn’t have to landfill if I had a pet goat!