I have a confession.

Once a week, every week, I sneak off and visit Mike. I meet up with him and kiss his face and tell him how handsome he is and how much I love him. And then I go into another room and find Wiley and tell him the same thing.

Then I try to make time to give Gigi, Dolly, Bob, Sabrina and many, many others a brief hug or kiss. I tell each of them how special they are, and how good they are, and how loved they are.

The day after my sweet, perfect Sammy passed away in April of 2013, I went to the Humane Society and told them I just needed to hold a black cat. They’ve been kind enough to let me keep coming once a week ever since.

I had always heard that black cats were the least adoptable, and the proof is in the Humane Society. Black cats are there in abundance. In actuality, they have the earned reputation of having the sweetest temperament. Simon and Henry were both adult male black cats when I took them home in July of 2013.

Henry was the last of his litter, all his other, ‘cuter’ siblings having been adopted. He would sit in the top of a cat tower, alone, in the bathroom of the shelter, looking outside at grass he had never touched and sky he had never sniffed. I am happy to report he has now experienced both, and watching him run and leap through the warm air and roll in the grass makes my heart smile.

The two women who run my local Humane Society are personal heros of mine. The poor, sick, mangled, abused or neglected cats I have seen them treat with the utmost tenderness and compassion blows my mind. They are some of the unsung heros of our community, quietly making a difference to those with four legs and fur and the people who love them, and the people who will come to love them.

The saddest part of my visit is having to leave, because even though they are loved, well-fed, and cared for, they have an urgent look, asking to be taken home, wherever that is.

There is a new program just started. ‘Foster For Life.’ They are asking those who can to take home one of their ‘senior’ cats (some of which have been living at the Humane Society their entire lives) and become their permanent foster parent. The Humane Society will take care of any and all medical needs, you just provide them with a loving home.

Barb, pictured far right, was going home today in that program. At nine years old, it will be her very first.

On good weeks, I’m able to spend a couple hours with the furry residents before I have to go back home. When I come in, Simon, Henry and the others take deep whiffs of my clothes and give me the side eye.

I pat their heads and promise them I’m going to stop. But I know the truth.

I’ll be back next week.

Right at 35 days before my 35th birthday, Rachael and I found out that a book we wrote about our experience making our first film “No Lost Cause,” was being returned to us by the publisher after a year of waiting for it to be printed. Instead of wallowing in our collective misery, I committed to blogging every day while I searched for ways to overcome this perceived rejection and obstacle to our goal. I currently also have about three other projects brewing at the same time, and write about the progress of each of them. This is part of that series.

Read the first entry here: https://ashleyraymerbrown.com/2015/01/23/35-days-to-35-dealing-with-rejection/