Update on the Garage 5…
Our modest role in Jennifer Quinn Yovino's garage rescue post started when Gabby Hicks emailed us late Tuesday about a kitten wandering alone a downtown parking garage, and she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard faint cries behind the stairwell wall. Having spent 15 years prowling downtown Fresno after dark, we knew the location and risks, and stopping by later that night, I noticed a couple of adult cats, but no kittens or cries. I passed my surveillance on to Gabby and prepared for my ill-fated U-Haul trip through the Grapevine.
24 hours later, while I was shivering under a moving blanket in the breakdown lane off the 5 just north of LA, we were tagged in Jennifer Quinn Yovino's post and read that earlier that day, a crew of animal lovers at FCSS had somehow charmed the fire department into responding to the location with a concrete saw, convinced the building manager the proposed modification was necessary and reasonable and captured the little ones. What the!
Gabby confirmed details via text, and added that unlike the response from any woman I've known, the mama cat bolted at the sight of firemen, but the grungy gremlins were being held by a co-worker pending further instruction. Of more immediate concern, she and the others were now considering what cookies would be a fitting reward for the firemen who responded and did I have any thoughts on the matter?
Shaking my head, I voted oatmeal raisin—”No I don't think they need to be gluten free…”—texted Stephanie Yeats Cymanski to tetris open some foster space and offered the mobile tech the last of my cold McDonalds fries to get us back on the road. My snarky encouragement worked, and the following afternoon, when I arrived at Rhonda Berry's house to pick up the gang, she cautioned me that Chucky, the alpha male, had given her husband a chomp upon inspection. I brushed off the warning—hisses and airplane ears are no match for Su Kim-trained scruffing—and the furry ruffians soon found themselves huddled in the transport carrier on their way to foster.
After I pit-stopped at PetSmart for supplies, Margaret Jackson greeted me at her door and offered her litter of sherpas to haul the gear into the house. Under the excited watch of those sherpas, now foster apprentices, I set up a luxe kennel with bedding, hutch and hammock, as well as a litter pan, food and stuffy for companionship. After encouraging the Jackson 3 to be patient while Garage 5 decompressed, I left the anxious stand-off—three wide-eyed little girls staring into the kennel and five wide-eyed kittens staring out—and headed back to my real job.
Over the last two days, Mama Jackson has peppered my phone with updates and confirmed that her existing cat was the only one unenthused about the prospect of 4-6 weeks of nonstop kitten chaos. The Garage 5 are now free from grime and fleas and getting used to the Jackson 3, and we’ve commissioned an effort to find and TNR mom. And for our rescuer friends contemplating yanking a fire alarm because OMG those little ones in that tree or parking lot will surely DIE if something isn’t done RIGHT NOW, don’t do it. The Fire Department was less than a block away from the Garage 5’s rescue location. Your results will vary…
The Garage 5 and the Jackson 3.