What If EVERYONE Else Thinks You Are Crazy?

I had to refresh my memory about the definition of "crazy" and whether ones own self doubt precluded one from the affliction.

From Yahoo I found..They say if you think your crazy then that proves that your not crazy, but why would you think your crazy in the first place if your not crazy?

Turns out I might still be looney-bin worthy despite my own inner voice.

I have been pre-occupied by a few things lately, and, of course, while I am trying to focus on resolving the immediate issues I am further taxed by a little gift from the gods. Something about a 'camels back and the number of straws I can hold?' rings in my ears. 

My husband and staff in an effort to lighten my load are reminding me to try to look at things rationally and reasonably. (Like I was ever good at these?).

Here is the latest challenge:

Things began to unravel on Saturday morning when Savannah slipped out the front door (thanks to her little brothers who busted through the baby gate Saturday morning), and sent me into a tailspin of terror and trekking into the blackberry bushes as I feared she went for the pond again. She always heads to the right and down the hill, end of this road = pond. (Something about the bear disappearing into the woods when they know its their time to go?).  After 45 frantic minutes I found her calmly and safely sitting behind the garage.

While searching for her I thought to myself, "I had to post that blog about her yesterday, didn't I?" Savannah's Blog

Later that day I couldn't find Magpie. I searched all day, all night, and all the next morning. We searched everywhere! (And when am I buying Tagg? soon!). That cat never leaves my side, never. I call for her and she comes, always..I was feeling so pigpenish,,you know the black clouds hanging over me wherever I went. 

I was getting paranoid.

After a quick nap we resumed our search for Magpie at 6 am on Sunday. We instead, in the exact area where I found Savannah the day before, a dead opossum. 

Now we medical people Do Not Believe in coincidence. We believe that if you have one problem and then another arises they are linked. So we always look for the common root and make the two incidences/diseases/ whatever relate to each other. 

I was sure that that dead opossum had something to do with Magpie missing. Especially when that opossum was in the exact same area as where Magpie spends all of her outside time.

As I investigated the cold, hard, soaking wet possum I noticed her belly moving. 

I didn't want to look but I knew my brave husband would have a very different answer to this dilemma than I did.

As I looked at the babies in her pouch all squirming, and sopping wet, I began to hear little chirps around us. 

"Oh, my god! They are everywhere!" I blurted, "Don't move!"

We lowered our ears, fanned out our arms, and began the seeking. Like human metal detectors we waved about, as if a robin in search of a worm underground. 

OK, I should clarify, these babies were pinkie sized, bald, closed eyed newborns.

"This one is dead," my husband pointed and stood over a small speck of grey.

"Pick it up honey. It is either too cold and wet to move anymore, or it's playing possum. Either way pick it up and check."

As he touched it, it chirped, he jumped, add another to the pile.

My preliminary preemie count was 40, and one rock hard rigor-ed mom.

"What are you going to do with them?" my somewhat hopeful husband asked?

Why he asks me questions that I know he doesn't want the answers to escapes me. Occasionally I try to shield him from the answer. Today I was stressed, I fired back, "TAKE CARE OF THEM!"

I inspected, dried, and re-homed every baby to a fluffy toweled cat carrier. Mom got a proper burial.

An hour later a small meow was heard from the garage we had checked about a dozen times. Magpie was perfectly fine, dry, and had a cozy nap in the blankets about five feet away from where Savannah and the opposum had been. Weird coincidence? Who knows?

I am now the proud foster parent to 9 of the cutest-ugliest babies ever.

And so the jesting began, persists, and continues.

Am I crazy to be helping these little vermin grow up into healthy vermin? Shoot, I guess.

Can I do anything else? 

So I hang my head, admit my lunacy, and wake up every 4 hours to dropper feed these hissing, spitting, helpless beasts.

It is not my place to decide who lives who dies and who isn't worthy?

Footnote; These babies will be headed to a wildlife rescue, and from there they will be released back into the wild. Please tell them I said "hello" if you see them. And if you see my husband please don't remind him that I am crazy. He already knows. 

And please always be kind.

I can be found @pawbly, @FreePetAdvice, or for any pet questions Pawbly.com.

Update: After a week of no sleep, stressing about my ability to adequately care for these little ones, and an illness that kept me in bed for three days, the babies were brought to the incredibly qualified hands of Pheonix Wildlife Rescue, in Pheonix MD. I wish them all the very best, and I miss them so much I cannot even talk about it.