Dear Friends, My parents had no idea what went on in that “nice” place. I went to an expensive boarding school high up in the Himalayan Mountains. We were given 4 inches of cold water to bathe in twice a week, there were worms in our potatoes, and we were hit if we misbehaved. My parents had no idea what went on in that “nice” place. What’s that got to do with the cats who “work” in our office? I’ll tell you: Jack is on the left. He’s been with us for about nine years, ever since he was removed from a hoarder’s trailer, where he was found crammed into a carrier with an old cat, Roxanne. Roxie is still with us, and every morning Jack and his pal Eddie, here, go to Roxie to have their heads washed. Some weeks ago, Jack must have been practicing his leap from the chair to my desk because I found him limping. So, off we went to the emergency room. As I sat in the waiting room, a woman was told to hand her cat to a technician to “take in the back.” I said, “Don’t you go with him?” “They never let me,” she said. Minutes later, the cat screamed. We exchanged glances. She ran to the examining room door and knocked. They wouldn’t let her in! Next up was a man with a frightened Great Dane. He, too, tried to go in. “We don’t allow that,” said the vet tech. In a minute, we heard someone yell, “Sit!” very sternly. Then my name was called. “We’ll just take him back and examine him,” said the vet. “I always stay with Jack,” I said. “Don’t you trust us?” asked the vet. After five minutes of unsuccessful negotiating, Jack and I left. Do I trust them? Having watched undercover video footage of “nice,” smiling vets smacking the hell out of animals for “acting up,” and having seen what “nice” nuns did to children whose parents weren’t around, I wouldn’t trust the Queen Mother with my cat! Animals depend on us to relinquish them as reluctantly as we’d relinquish a sack full of gold. They’re worth it. Ingrid E. Newkirk Ingrid E. Newkirk President