George and Tigger

I must get a zillion phone calls each week from people trying to dump rehome their "beloved" pets. Usually, by the end of the week, I'm less than diplomatic with these ignorant people. However, yesterday was a different story...

The call came in from a man named George. At first it sounded like all the other calls..."I'm moving and need to find a new home for my cat." Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah..... It quickly turned into a different kind of call. George went on to tell me that he was finally accepted into government assisted housing that has a strict NO PETS policy. If he gets caught with a cat, he's kicked out and therefore homeless. He had no options. A friend was supposed to take the cat, but the friend backed out. He was moving tomorrow.

When I started to tell George how full we were, I heard the desperation and despair in his voice. Poor guy must've spoken to a hundred rescue answering machines and I was the only one that actually answered the phone. His voice quivered as he held back the tears , (with his eastern european accent he became harder to understand), "please...he's been my buddy for 2 years. I don't want him to die at animal control. " There was something about George calling the cat "his buddy" that struck a chord with me.

I drove to George's apartment. It was a basement apartment with no windows - a very modest place. "Tigger" greeted me at the door. Man, is he a CUTE cat! Tabby and white - four white feet - pink nose....I could've kissed that pink nose a hundred times. I love those kind of cats.

George was already crying when I put Tigger into a crate. I tried to reassure him that Tigger would be cared for (and neutered!) and loved. Oddly enough, George told me that Tigger had never seen the outside or sunshine. It's a windowless apartment and he had lived there for 2 years. You should have seen Tigger's face as we left the apartment. :)

Here's the clincher: This poor man (I was being kind when I said the apartment was "modest") shoved $30.00 in my hand. I tried to return the money - surely it was his food money for the week! He wouldn't take the money back. George looked at me with tears pouring down his face and said, "This is for my buddy."

Don't worry, George, we'll find Tigger the BEST home - with a window.

A New Start for Sophie

Mondays are always especially refreshing for me. It's kind of a renewal of the week and the prospect of new adoptions, new foster parents and rescuing more cats becomes a possibility. There's something about the weekend that leaves me tired!

The best news I've had in a long time came from a young woman interested in adopting "Sophie" our darling blind cat. She took Sophie home for a trial adoption and I've been holding my breath waiting to hear the news on how Sophie is acclimating to her new home. I opened her e-mail first this morning:

"Sophie has settled in very well, and, according to your predictions,behaved by sussing the place out, then becoming comfortable, and snoozing. She has used the litter box as if it were an Olympic event. She has been hanging out in the little bed I made for her. She is a wonderful cat! I am very happy to have her here. I am pretty sure I will be adopting her for good. I can't imagine her leaving now."

E-mails like this always make me cry!! One minute nobody wanted her and she was going to be killed at the shelter, the next minute this blind kitty was at a loving foster home with people she didn't know, in an environment she didn't know - now it looks like she is HOME!

Sophie looking VERY cute in her foster home.

When a hard-to-adopt cat goes to her forever home it's the best buzz I can have. Congratulations little Sophie Princess.

The Third Day is the Charm....

I don't usually have 2 crappy days in a row. Since yesterday was a terrible day, I woke up this morning to grand illusions that things would have improved. The trip to my doctor this morning proved a downward spiral for the rest of the day. I went in to get a simple refill on my hormones. Being post-menopausal, it's something I take very seriously and I really (really!) needed them. The doctor said, "I don't think you need these anymore." and started flapping his gums about homeopathic remedies. This doctor got the same response as the doctor who told me I didn't need an epidural when I was in labour with my 3rd child because I already had two kids and wouldn't feel much pain in childbirth. Happily, both these doctors still have their testicles and I got my epidural and my hormones.

As usual, I digress...

I can't figure out if it was the full moon or what, but I was beginning to think there was something to Murphy's Law. Nobody has died or anything, but it's been one thing after another. We've had two requests to return cats through no fault of their own, a $10,000.00 vet bill, some veterinary misunderstandings, an emergency shelter run this afternoon because they were going to euthanize a cat with a uterine infection - might be gangrene...yada...yada...yada. Geez..I find myself getting mad all over again as started to type the list!

The best part of two bad days in a row, is that there won't be a third bad day. There never is. Whenever there is a bad day, a REALLY good day is just around the corner and dammit, I'm ready to receive one. What'll it be...a hard-to-adopt-cat adoption inquiry? A volunteer begging to drive a cat to the vets for me?

An Update from the Vets: The kitty with the uterine infection is going to be OK! They're spaying her this afternoon and she'll make a full recovery.

See? Good news is happening already - Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

In The Trenches...

While most people are warm and cozy by their fireplaces on a bitterly cold Canadian night, I look out the window and think about the homeless cats that huddle under cars for warmth. The days and nights are long for these poor cats. I've seen cats come into the shelter with frost bite on their ears and feet - they're shivering. We rescued a cat who is currently in our program that was found literally frozen in a snowbank last year. His name is "Murphy". He's an orange cat that we lovingly referred to as "The Frozen Orange Juice Guy". (OK..Ok..I thought it was cute at the time.)

I remember speaking with a lovely lady named "Donna" that ran a rescue for feral and homeless cats. I cringed when she told me how she picks out dead kittens from frozen rivers each winter. In the Fall, she brings out small shelters for them. She told me that last winter someone left a note on one of the cat shelters that if she didn't move the shelters, he would poison all the cats. She was forced to try to relocate these wild cats into a safer area so they wouldn't die by being poisoned.

To me, Donna is working in the trenches of cat rescue. She goes out after working all day in the freezing cold to feed the colonies. My hands really don't get dirty - I've never picked out a dead kitten from a frozen river. There's no instant gratification from the kind of rescue she's doing. When I rescue cats from the shelter, I only take the sweet friendly adoptable cats. They look at me with love and gratitude. Donna's cats look at her with fear and desperation.

I think if I had to do that kind of cat rescue, I wouldn't last a year. My hat is off to you Donna, and all the people who are in the trenches of cat rescue year after year. I admire you and thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Because of you, I can continue to do the work I'm doing and still get manicures....God bless you.

Backspace...Backspace...

After my last post, I decided I needed to write something to take it's place quickly. Time to brush off the dust and move forward. I took great joy in hitting the "delete" button on the jerk's e-mail.

As always, the adoptathon was awesome. How many people can say that they have a volunteer job playing with kittens?? How great is THAT? One of the best parts of these events is talking with all the people that come in to meet the cats. We had a prior adopter come in and they brought pictures of "Lucy" a cat they adopted from us over the summer. She looked happy, healthy and so sweet! I remember Lucy - I wish Lucy's foster Mom had been there to see the pictures. These people were glowing over their "baby". It does a heart good!

As always, there were tears as foster parents said good bye to their kitties. I hate that part, because I'm too much of a coward to bring in my own foster cats to these events. It takes some serious gonads to bring in your sweet babies, put them in a cage and watch strangers hold them and make comments. Yes, some serious courage.
I can't bring in my little "Thomas" ...nope...nope..nope.. he's too sensitive, and sweet and he would hate being in a cage...he's my baby....!!!

This is coming from the same woman who put her kids in preschool and barely slowed the car down to drop them off. The same woman who voted for "All Day Kindergarten" ....The same woman who made her 4 year old daughter take a bath with her baby brother, (even though she knew he'd pee in the tub) because she didn't want to fill up the tub twice....

But I digress...

"The Buzz Kill"

Today was awesome. We had 17 cats adopted - 14 from an adoption event, and 3 out of loving foster homes.

I came home to a hideous e-mail and I'm trying desperately not to let it get to me. Out of kindness for a desperate woman, I posted a cat she was trying to rehome on our website. It was a courtesy. The cat wasn't officially in our program - I had never met the cat, nor would I collect an adoption fee. A man and his mother came forward and met the cat and took her home. I guess it was a disaster. I tried so hard to help them get over the hump of having a new frightened cat, but they ended up taking her to the humane society. I felt just awful.

To add insult to injury, they blamed me for the failure. I don't know why. It's like blaming The Toronto Star for a broken bicycle that was given away from a free ad. That's all I was - a free ad. There was no adoption agreement, and no money. I was just trying to help someone who was desperate and her cat to find a home.
So I come home to the following e-mail from the people who adopted her and dumped her at the humane society - they didn't even give her a chance: (I've edited the obscenities - but you'll get the picture)

You did this.
All of it.
You are a profoundly stupid and arrogant little b*tch with some serious mental deficiencies.
I never want to hear from you, or your rescue ever again.
Why don't you take this opportunity to take your cats and shove them sideways up your c*nt.

I'm trying really hard not to cry. Dammit..I never cry at sad stuff - just injustice. I didn't deserve this. I spent hours on the phone with these people trying to help them with their new cat. I even offered to go to their home to help them with a cat that was never on our program. It was just people helping people. I'm a volunteer for f's sake.

More than anything, I'm pissed off that they took away my buzz from 17 cats finding wonderful homes today.

Screw 'em.

The Other Half of the Pooper Scooper

I knew my blog wouldn't be complete without an entry about my better half, David. We were married in July of '03 after a move from California along with my 2 teenage sons, 4 cats and 2 dogs. Why would a man take on a woman with such baggage? I've asked that question many times, and I still don't know the answer.
What the poor guy didn't know, is that shortly after we got married I would end up running a cat rescue organization, which would change his life and our personal finances forever.

When we met, I asked him if he liked cats. He gave the "The Typical Guy Answer" (TTGA): "I'm kind of a dog guy, but I guess cats are OK." I still laugh at that response. I remember shortly after we got married, I got up in the middle of the night to use the washroom. When I came back to bed, there he was asleep on his back, his mouth open - there was a cat asleep on his chest, another in the crook of his arm, and one right between his knees. There was a HUGE tuft of cat hair stuck to his lips that was blowing up and down as he was breathing. Nothing could have made me love him more than I did at that moment....or so I thought...

Three months after we got married my "baby" Newman - my 3 year old tabby girl, started having seizures. After many vet visits, we end up at a feline neurologist. Good Lord, I had no idea there was such a thing! The vet recommended an MRI, spinal tap,...etc etc...to the tune of $3000.00 to determine the cause of the seizures. Imagine being a newlywed, bringing in two crappy teenage boys, a bunch of cats, 2 dogs and NOW the ol' battle axe is asking for 3 Grand for a CAT? It didn't go that way at all...in fact, he looked at me with love in his eyes and said, "Newman is family...we take care of family."

My knees buckled. Holy crap...where was this guy 20 years ago??

David has little songs he sings for all the cats. This "yeah-cats-are-ok" guy, carries them around, cleans up cat barf, the stray piece of cat poop that doesn't make it into the litterbox, and doesn't complain that we have a cat that pee's in our sinks. His time with me is often interrupted by emergency phone calls from foster parents and I'm always asking him for money to pay for vet bills. He reminds me why I'm doing this often thankless volunteer job when I cry in his arms or slam my fists on my desk. He's my best cheerleader.

The only thing he asks of me? Don't put cat crates where he parks his car.

God, I love that man.

Emotional Rescuing...

Last week we had word that the shelter we usually rescue from might be going on strike. Because there was no one to take care of the cats, they announced they would be euthanizing every animal in the shelter. Nothing gets rescue groups moving into action faster than an announcement like that! I watched the e-mails fly into my inbox - rescue groups rallying together to get as many cats out of the shelter as they can. The meet up was yesterday - Sunday.

Call me a loser, but I didn't attend the big rescue. I was at a hotel downtown on a Romantic Spa Package weekend with my husband. No doubt while rescuers were rolling up their sleeves to put cats in crates, I was having breakfast in bed. Pampering looks good on me, lemme tell ya.

Good thing I was well rested. I knew what was coming today, and I was right. When we do what I call "emotional rescuing", it becomes a grab 'n' snatch at the shelter. We aren't making intelligent decisions on who would fit best into our homelife. Sooooo....yeah...the phone was ringing this morning - well meaning foster parents who looked into the eyes of the condemned at the shelter and grabbed cats that weren't really the best choice. Been there - done that. I wish I had a nickel for everytime I grabbed a cat that wasn't necessarily a good fit because I didn't want him to die alone in the shelter.

I've always regretted not rescuing this litter of kittens. They were killed before I could tell the shelter I wanted to rescue them. Look in the eyes of the condemned - how can you NOT be emotional?

In Memory of "Jonathon"...

What does a seagull have to do with cat rescue? Here's the story that came through the Abandoned Cats Rescue line last night:

A lovely lady named Julie is part of a running club and while running through a field a few days ago she came across a seagull flopping around on the ground. His left wing had been torn off. He was in pain and bleeding. The rest of Julie's group thought she was ridiculous for pulling off her jacket and wrapping the distressed bird in it. Blood was pouring from the poor thing and all over Julie's clothes. The running group continued on without her, while Julie waited alone in the field with the seagull and waited for Animal Control to show up.

When the officer from Animal Control arrived he opened the truck to take the injured bird. That's when Julie saw "Fergus" - a darling black and white cat in the cage of the truck. His paws stuck out and he stared at her with pleading eyes. When Julie asked what is going to happen to the cat, the officer replied: "He'll be euthanized in 3 days."

That's when Julie called us to help him. She feels very strongly that this seagull came to her for a reason, and she didn't want the seagull to die in vain. We're rescuing Fergus this morning, and Julie is going to foster him. Her whole family is very excited about getting their new visitor. They've purchased catnip toys and a new bed to make him feel welcome.

I think we should name the cat "Jonathon" in memory of a special seagull - Jonathon Livingston Seagull.

We're coming to pick you up today, Fergus! Hang in there buddy!

AN UPDATE: I cried when Fergus' foster famiy sent me this e-mail shortly after his rescue. His new name is "Rocky". (My new name is "Mush")

To Sleep or Not to Sleep....

We sleep with 5 cats. There. I said it. Five cats sleep on our bed every night. Everybody assumes their nightly position, and as long as we don't turn over or move - we have a sleep filled night.

Getting into bed is always a daunting task. The covers billow as we try to maneuver in and not disturb the cats. Cat hair flies up and we brush it off our lips. "Newman" my little epileptic cat (I bottledfed her from 3 days old) has a "blankie" that she needs to nurse on every night before she can settle in. So I have to lay there quietly while she nurses on her blankie. Pella, Phoebe and Bob both run for my husband to see who can sit on his chest first. It's usually Pella - she's a big black sweetie of a cat. Phoebe lays across his legs. Bob takes the spot on the pillow above my head. Thomas, our latest foster cat gallops across the bed over and over...We're pretty sure that we're paying for the chiropractor's kid to go through University.

Romance...um...*sigh* ..romance with 5 cats on the bed. Why do I always feel like I'm in a porn movie with 10 eyes staring at me? I remember a passionate moment when a cat was sitting on my husband's back and she was accidently thrown off the bed. I don't need to tell you that the moment was ruined when we had to stop to make sure the cat was OK.

So why not just boot everybody out of our bedroom, you ask? I've slept with cats on my bed since I was a kid. I'm lost without my kitties snuggled up with us. There's something very comforting about their little faces and soft, gentle purr's. They're so happy that we're there. Spending time with them as we go to sleep gives us great joy. Sure we complain - but it's laughter-filled complaining if that makes sense.

I don't need to tell you that I married a saint. But that's another blog post.

P - Double O - P

If you're offended by matters of the bowel, read no further. After receiving 3 e-mails this morning regarding cat related bowels problems, I have inspiration to write about it.

Seriously, I had 3 e-mails before 9 a.m. regarding cat poop problems. They weren't anything serious, but I did have to address the situation. I used to be very delicate when talking about cat poop - "stool", "feces", "solid matter". Heck with that. Even the vet doesn't get the benefit of a delicate discussion. I call it the way I see it - it's POOP.

I had a bunch of people tell me that I had to try "Shweet Scoop" cat litter. "Oh Beth...it's the best...you'll love it." I didn't love it. In fact, NOBODY loved it. The jury was in. I found one turd right in front of the litterbox. You don't have to hit me over the head with a pooper scooper to know what my cats were telling me about Shweet Scoop.

Like a lot of pet owners, I can distinguish what cat (or dog) did what pile of poop. It's disturbing that I know this. My husband has now become an official family "Poop Identifier". I can hear him sigh from the basement, "The dog pooped in the basement again." or "Bob pooped in the bathtub." I'm not alone in this distinction. Most animal people know the difference in their pet's business.

If there's an accident in the house, it's rarely in a convenient location. It's always on a rug where I can't see it in the dark on the way to the washroom. Don't get me wrong - the accidents are few and far between. But anyone who has pets knows that dealing with poop is part of the deal. Last time I asked my husband to keep a foster cat, he didn't turn me down straight away - he just said, "Do we REALLY want something else in this house that poops?"

No, I guess not.

The Right Hand(S)

What can I say about two women who help me with all the day-to-day crap that comes along with running a rescue? When I took over the rescue, I was pretty scared - the rescue had a mountain of debt and a lot of ticked off people that weren't properly looked after. D- and J- at that time were foster parents who came forward and scraped me up off the floor and helped me put together the rescue again. Geez....I felt like a Humpty Dumpty success story!

These women never complain and end up taking on some pretty crappy jobs that comes with running a rescue. Complaint calls, crying foster parents, and the dreaded "return". We cry, laugh and hold each other up during the good and the bad times. WOW...sounds like I'm describing a FRIENDSHIP...not just a business relationship, eh? :)

All three of us live in an all male household where we're the only women. Even our sons are the same ages. (You can imagine the stories we share) Whenever I feel like I can't carry on another day - these two women keep me going. Because of them, I'm able to leave on holidays and know the rescue will keep on running beautifully.

What would this blog be without telling you and reminding myself how much they mean to me. I can't imagine having friends that don't share the appreciation and passion for animals as I do.

The Adopters

I think one of the biggest mistakes animal rescue organizations make is treating every potential adopter with suspicion. I believe in the goodness of people.

I don't believe in "The Adoption Application", where potential adopters fill out a questionaire. I mean...most of us have fudged on our employment applications, rental or mortgage applications, so I don't hold a lot of credence in the Adoption Application. I think talking to people is the way to find out what kind of adopter they're going to be. The losers usually reveal themselves pretty quickly.

I know it's shocking, but there are some potential adopters that leave messages for me that I won't even call back. Let me give you a few examples of those calls - they always start with:

1. "Yeah..um...um...I wanna buy a baby kitten for my girlfriend..."
2. "I want to pick up a kitten today...where are you located?"
3. "How much does it cost to buy a cat?"
4. "I'm looking for a cat to catch mice in my apartment."
5. "I'm interested in and want to know if the adoption fee includes the declawing.

Truthfully...I'd call back #5 just to give her information about declawing. It won't do any good - she'll be more worried about her furniture - but I'll feel better about doing it.

It's always extra fun when I speak with a potential adopter with whom I really connect. Those are adopters that send me pictures of the cats in their new home and Christmas cards. We have one awesome adopter that sends us a donation when it's her cat's birthday! They're the kind of folks that makes you glad you went through all the trouble.

It took me a long time to figure out that I didn't have to like every adopter personally. They just have to be great cat parents. They don't have to be my best friend. I've tried to relay that to the foster parents, but it's a tough concept - especially after you've loved and cared for your foster cat for months. You WANT to really love the adopter! Believe me - I understand!

I remember I had a foster cat that I really loved. She was SO sweet! A family came forward and wanted to adopt her. The wife was very nice, their son was very nice....then there was the husband. I still cringe. He was such a wienie. He loved the cat and was gentle with her. But he was the kind of guy that I would have hated to have as a neighbour. It was a successful adoption and the cat has lived happily ever after for the past 4 years. Do dah. Do dah.

The bottom line is: I'm grateful for every successful adoption. I'm grateful for all the wonderful people that I've met who have adopted our wonderful kitties.

I certainly don't have all the answers. Amen.

This Ain't Sears....

It's always bad news when my home phone rings before 9 a.m.. The lady on the other end asks for "the cat rescue". My first thought was: "Who the hell gave out my home number?" Then she went on to explain that she adopted a cat from me almost 3 years ago. (Those were the days when I used to give out my home number to potential adopters. I don't do that anymore.) She said she adopted the cat from my home - a big long haired black cat. She couldn't remember the name that we used, but damned if I can't remember which cat she's talking about.

Then I hear the words I was dreading: "I want to return him." I hate those words for a variety of reasons:

1. Taking a cat back means I can't rescue someone else on death row.
2. It means I made a bad decision about this adopter and the cat wasn't really in a "forever home."
3. Where can we put this new cat? Is there foster space available?

Returning a cat after 3 years isn't like returning a blouse to Sears, for God's sake. He's going to be depressed and feel abandoned yet AGAIN. She's returning him because she has allergies. I hate that excuse. (that's another blog rant).

I hope he's OK. We're going to make him feel welcomed and loved. When I see him I'm going to tell him that I'm sorry I let him down and I'll do better next time to find him a REAL "forever home".

"The Crazy Cat Lady"

I take exception to being called "The Crazy Cat Lady" (TCCL). My house is immaculate, my litterboxes are clean, I wear make up and try to look presentable. Sure, one of my cats likes to pee in the sinks, there are always cats lying around on the kitchen counters, and I have cat hair stuck to my lipstick most of the time, but other than that....

People ask me all the time, "How did you get into rescuing cats?" I suppose I was always rescuing something. As a kid, I "rescued" a guinea pig out of a Kmart who looked sad. I remember telling my parents that there was a guinea pig at Kmart who looked depressed and had "burned ears from the fluorescent lights." Suckers! (I brought 2 guinea pigs home that day so the one with the burned ears wouldn't be lonely) I rescued a couple of kittens out of a barn when I was 13 years old. I was sure they would freeze to death in the Wisconsin winter. "Patty Lou and Becky Sue" lived to be 23 years old. I grew up with those little kitties.

As an adult, I volunteered with The Cat Protection Society in Newport Beach, California. I was a foster parent for orphaned kittens. My history as a lousy foster parent was apparent even then - I kept 4 of the kittens I was fostering. The Cat Protection Society was run by a bunch of wealthy old ladies. They were a militant bunch and not very friendly or grateful to the foster parents. I stuck it out with them....it felt GREAT to be doing something to help.

When I moved to Toronto, I knew that I wanted to get back into fostering, so I contacted a local cat rescue group. Once again, this group treated their foster parents like dirt and I quit. Surely, there had to be a cat rescue organization that would appreciate their volunteers!!! I contacted yet ANOTHER group and found the one that I'm still with today. It originally was run by a lady who had some mental health issues. She abandoned the group and and I "inherited" 30 foster cats, 15 foster homes and a $10,000.00 vet bill. Four years later, we have over 100+ foster cats in our program, 65 foster homes and our bills are paid! (yay!)

So that's the not-so-brief history of this "CCL". I drive a station wagon that can't fit in the garage half the time because it's full of cat carriers, extra litterboxes, and cases of cat food.

I wish I drove a sports car...a red one... but how would I fit all the rescued cats from the shelter in a freakin' sports car?

The Foster Homes

It always frustrates me when people tell me "Oh, I wish I could be a foster home, but I'd fall in love with the cat and want to keep him!" Sure you do! Everybody does. We all cry when our foster cat leaves to a new home.
The only people who can be foster parents are the ones that get hurt. Who else can do it? People who don't like cats? No. People who aren't "into animals"? No. It's us - people who agonize when a prospective adopter comes forward for "their cat".

I remember my favourite foster cat, "Ducky". Man, I loved that cat. He was with me for 6 months before he was adopted into a wonderful home. I cried and cried when he left. Sometimes I feel like such a lousy foster Mom. But because he was adopted, it meant I could rescue somebody else that needed me. The adopters still send me pictures of "The Duck". He looks happy and healthy. I still think about him.

Our foster homes *rock*. How could 65 families from different homes, different educational levels and social-economic levels, come together as one? These people open their homes to cats they've never met and to potential adopters they've never met. They love the cats like their own, and kiss them goodbye when it's time for them to go to their "forever homes". Some of these people I've never met, yet they continue to open their hearts month after month to these little felines.

These people aren't just flapping their gums about how much they love animals. They're doing the work. They're scooping litterboxes, giving medication, mourning dying kittens, and learning who their foster cat really is and what kind of forever home he or she needs to be in. They're bracing themselves for the inevitable "goodbye".

I'm in awe of all of you. Really and truly.

It's New Years Day for Everybody Else...

My calendar isn't like everybody else's. Most people think of January 1st as a fresh start and a day of renewal. I think, "It's January - it's going to be a good adoption month." Everybody who waited to adopt because of the holidays will be calling in January. Whoo Hoo. January also means there will be very few kittens at the shelter too! Less cats to euthanize. Whoo Hoo Part Deux!

My New Years Resolution was to start a blog. So here it is. If you're looking for an eloquently written piece of inspiration, this might not be it. It's a diary. A diary for people who love ALL animals - not just cats. It's going to contain my thoughts, passion, and love for rescuing these wonderful felines. I hope it will speak volumes for those of you who are walking the walk, and inspire those who want to help.

It's about love.