The Boys
Somehow I held back the tears, the ones brimming in my eyes, sobs wanting to escape my throat. Somehow I held back, somehow I keep calling -- can you help me find a home for The Boys? It was January 2014, what locals here in Wisconsin will remember as Polar Vortex season, and my mother was dying. What would happen to The Boys, her kitty cats? With three cats of our own, two of which were seniors, plus two young children and a dual self-employed couple -- our home was not a viable option. Sitting in my car, with illumination from the lamp post in the parking lot of the building I was scheduled to speak at in less than 30 minutes. Channeling my estate planning attorney self, quieting the daughter inside, I kept calling. Our local shelter, a local feral cat rescue, our family vet. The answer over and over, sorry we cannot help. It was my family vet that told me, ever so gently, that if The Boys went to our county animal rescue they would likely ...