"There’s always room for one more." That’s what the dirt- and sun-faded mat says, with the five cats with Cheshire grins staring up at me as I open the door to walk back inside the house. A friend of the family gave it to my mom and dad awhile back. There’s a lot of truth to it, when applied to my family.

I was in the first or second grade when Peaches came into my life. We were having our usual Thanksgiving family get together with the entire extended family. My mother, hostess extraordinaire, was confined to her bed because of a bad back. My dad, desperate for some fresh air, walked over to open our front door. At the same time, a white ball of fur dashed inside. My dad grabbed it, called my sister and I to the back of the house, and proceeded to introduce my mother to Peaches. My sister and I stood in the doorway, watching as my dad placed the dirty, stray dog on the bed with my mother, who was forced to accept a new member into the family if she wanted the dog off her bed. Thus started an endless procession of stray animals into our lives.

Peaches made for a great companion. We took her on vacations and out in the boat, and she tolerated my endless games of chase and dress-up. But she engaged in "games" outside of the house as well. Back then, not a whole lot was done to promote spaying and neutering pets. I had heard Bob Barker shout it at the end of every "The Price is Right" but had no idea what it meant. So, a year later, Peaches brought nine puppies into our lives. A month later, she was hit by a car and killed.

While I was completely devastated over losing Peaches, my dad helped me by bringing me into the family room and teaching me how to care for the puppies. He said it was important for me to do that so they wouldn’t miss out on the love their mother had for them because she had loved me too. I got to help potty train them, clean up after them, feed them, and play with them. As my reward, I was allowed to keep one. I picked the runt, because he slept all the time, and I thought he’d be the easiest to care for. I named him Baby Teddy Bear, but we just called him Baby.

Upon first encounter, my father comes off hard and lacking personality. He says little, rarely has an expression on his face, and tends to respond with low grunts or other noises. However, beneath this rock is a gentle and compassionate man, at least when it comes to animals in need. Or at least that was how my mom explained it as she rolled her eyes the night Daddy brought Bandit back to the boat.

I was in fifth grade now and we had moved our boat to Chimney Creek on Tybee. A friend of my dad’s had found a mother

raccoon, dead, and nearby, several babies. He called my dad over, and we now had a baby raccoon in our family. Of all the pets I’ve had, Bandit had the most conflicting personality. We gave her my brother’s old room, complete with her own cradle and toys. We bottle-fed her, which was so much fun for me. You could hold the bottle out, and she would jump up, wrap her velvet arms and legs around my hand and the bottle and latch on until there wasn’t a drop left. This was the only time I found her cute, mainly because she had a bad habit of stealing my prized-possession: my teddy bear, Homer.

I’m 23-years-old, and I still hold a grudge over the damage Bandit did to my bear. She was a thief by nature and had a habit of sneaking into my room to take off with my bear. When I’d try to take it back, she’d snarl at me. I’d run to Mom to tell her Bandit had taken my bear again. I’d pout while she’d shrug and laugh, because she knew there wasn’t much you could do to stop Bandit. I could, on occasion, pay Bandit a ransom of a candy cane in return for a few peaceful hours with Homer. But they didn’t last long. And when she wasn’t busy plotting the bear napping, she’d sneak up behind me and tie knots in my hair. As long as it was, I got in the habit of wearing a baseball cap around the house with my hair tucked completely inside. At one point, I had to start wearing it to bed because she had learned how to open the door and I would wake up in the morning with more knots in my hair. As I said before, I didn’t think she was all that cute. My dad didn’t help with Bandit’s attitude. He spoiled her so much. He made a playhouse for her out of a cardboard box left over from a case of Girl Scout cookies that he would use to take her to work with him. She loved to sit in his lap and look out the window as we drove around town. When it came time to release her to the wild, Daddy built her a tree house in our backyard. Well, Bandit wouldn’t go, until Dad went and got MY bear and let her take it to the tree house. She stayed outside, but would occasionally come scratch at the door to come inside for a candy cane. (Side note: I did get my teddy bear back a few days later, minus a nose, mouth, and pieces of his tail.) A couple months prior to Bandit’s release back to the wild, I acquired another helpless soul. I had been playing hide-n-seek with some friends around the fishing camp. I hid by a dumpster and heard some rustling around. I knew it wasn’t any of my friends, so I peered inside to find two sets of wondering eyes peering up at me. I pulled out the first puppy, and it ran away. I got the second black lab out and she followed me back to the boat. The puppy stayed by my side all weekend long, and I wore my mom down and convinced her to let me take her back to Atlanta to my aunt who worked with stray animals. I counted on my dad to persuade my mom to let me keep the dog, which he accomplished somewhere in the five-hour drive back home. When we arrived around midnight, I was put to bed and the dog taken to her new sleeping quarters with Baby. A few minutes later, my door opened and the once shy puppy burst into my room, jumped into my bed, licked my face, and settled in to what was now her place at my side, as my Shadow. Three years later, Mom and Dad had enough of Atlanta and decided to move us permanently to Tybee, unknowing that our home would become stray cat central.

We don’t know where these cats kept coming from, but they always appeared. Marsha was about six-weeks-old when she was found by one of the boat captains. She was presented to me as a present, so of course I had to keep her. I had never had a kitten before, but didn’t figure there was too much difference between a kitten and nine puppies. WRONG! I would wake up in the morning with bruises from where my phone had been pulled off the wall and hit me on the head during the night, or have scratches for when she decided to use me as a speed bump during her Enduro laps in the early morning hours. But nothing is more troublesome than one kitten, except two kittens.

Dad and I ran the marina together, and he would let me sleep in some mornings. He would get up, come get Marsha, and take her into the marina office (it was a gutted house with a bar, a jukebox, dartboard and checkers board). One morning, he returned her to me, or so he though. About ten minutes later, I awoke to hear the words "I grabbed the wrong cat." Later that afternoon I met Trash Cat (so named because he loved to sleep in the box where we kept our paper trash - later renamed to Top Cat). We determined that he and Marsha were from the same litter. They played well together, and had fun tormenting me through the nights. They were always a great source of entertainment late night at the bar. As they got older, it became customary to check the barstools before seating so as to not smush one of the cats.

Over the next ten years, we acquired a number of foster cats (around 30), and a few permanent ones, Domino and Blondie. (Our cats are very well fed and have been mistaken for small dogs.) We also became very familiar with spaying and neutering, though as soon as we got one fixed another one would turn up. I also came to learn about feline leukemia and how emotionally draining it is to hold a cat as it is euthanized, knowing it could have been prevented if more people were responsible for their pets.

Now I’m married, with 6 cats, 5 strays that were taken in - 2 of them moms who we took in, let them have their kittens, got most of their kittens adopted then got them fixed - 1 cat that I adopted as she reached out for me during an adopt-a-thon at PetSmart, 2 dogs, both abandoned by their owners, and 1 vocal bird that my husband bought thinking it would be better than a wife (joke was on him … he met me 3 days later). And yes, they still find me. I believe there is an underground network for strays, where they are passing out my address with "free meal and vetting here" underneath it. The only difference is that now, I have more resources available to me to help with all these animals. The Pet Assistance League of Savannah has helped me to pay for five spays/neuters since March. Dr. Pam Fandrich and the vet techs at Crossroad Animal Hospital have gotten to realize that I will make a visit about every other week, most of the time with a new animal, and they don’t look at me funny… anymore. All my friends and family members know that if there is ever an animal in need, I will find a way to get it help or find someone who can. Of course, several of them have also been the recipients of some of my rescues, and a few are still on speaking terms with me. But my best resource has been the Internet.

I’ve joined a group of several hundred other good-hearted animal lovers across the country to rescue animals and place them into "forever" homes. I spend several hours every night, sending e-mails, working to get transports together to get the rescues into other rescue groups or to their "forever" homes. Every other weekend, I drive a transport, sometimes dogs, sometimes cats, sometimes an hour, sometimes three or more. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me if I could deduct my mileage and expenses from the rescues off my taxes. It never occurred to me to even think of doing such, as I’ve never thought about getting anything out of it for myself. Then, a week ago, my mom called to tell me that Baby had gone missing. I had never imagined a time would come that I wouldn’t go to my Mom and Dad’s and not see him or Shadow there. I’ve spent the last week thinking about Baby and all that he brought to my life. How he would roll over in my lap and lick my face when I was sad, how he would run to greet me whenever I came home, and how I took care of him when he was sick or had been in the hospital. The more I think about Baby, the more I realize that I do the transports for myself, so that I can provide others with the same, wonderful experiences and fulfillment that Baby and my other pets have brought to me. And that’s why, whenever I’m asked last minute to add another passenger to a transport, I say, "there’s always room for one more."

For more information about adopting or spaying/neutering your pet, visit:
http://rescue.sinclairproductions.com

No one knows how Ty B. Bear came to live by the beach. Ask Ty B. and he just shrugs. He knows it’s not the norm for a bear, but he is not a normal bear… he’s a BEACH BEAR.

Ty lives in a large hollow log by a low country marsh near the beach. Everyday begins with an early morning walk along the ocean. Ty B., in one of his three Hawaiian shirts, carefully combs the beach for "treasures" that wash up at night. His "treasures" adorn the inside of his log. They are too many to count and include bottles, coins, beach toys and shells… especially, the shells – of all sizes, shapes and colors. His "treasures", the beach, the low country marshes and his friends are the sources of great adventures.

Ty’s friends love to stop by the log or beach. His friends: Wilmington the turtle, Marsh the raccoon, Thunderbolt the pelican, Armstrong armadillo, Talahi the otter and others enjoy the quirky bear’s company.

Ty LOVES the beach! He is not a "surf dude" by nature – though he does enjoy the water. He has an enormous amount of energy and is constantly busy with projects he creates from his "treasures". Ty B. Bear is always hungry!

Hot dogs and bagels are Ty’s favorite foods. He knows it’s impolite to hunt through trash cans so he buys his scoff with the coins he finds on the beach. No one seems to notice he’s a bear. The humans just think he is a very hairy, funny looking kid.

No matter what the season, this beach bear can be found along the beaches, waterways and marshes of Tybee Island and the Savannah low country.