Pamela Anderson FilmFest

Fabulous Celebrity SpokesCreature Pamela Anderson could not have appeared at a more inopportune time. There was no room at the inn, and our benefactor [sadly, for only a few short months] had just died of a massive coronary.

A fellow benefactee rang at around 8am. She’d received a call from a man who said a tiny kitten had run into the road and under his car, and he’d only narrowly avoided killing her. She was definitely a wild one! But he caught her…and now he wanted to bring her to my friend — who felt no more able to handle yet another kitten than did I. If she didn’t say “yes,” however, the kitten would be dropped off at animal care and control — where we both knew she’d be euthanized. She was just too small to make it on her own, and ac&c has neither the employees nor the facilities to handle babies. It’s standard procedure, unfortunately. Happens all the time.

Neither of us wanted to know about this kitten, because once we know about an animal in trouble we can’t say “no,” but. We can’t always say “yes,” either! It’s a nightmare. We decided to take her and share in her care. I’d watch her during the days, and my friend would keep her at night. What the hell. It’d only be a few weeks, right?

Yeah, right. We were going to our dear, departed benefactor’s home, every day during “office hours,” to help the family tie up loose ends. The kitten had been there for only ten or fifteen minutes by the time I arrived, but she was locked in the bathroom. Hissing and scratching isn’t the best way to make new friends, but that kind of bravado in kittens makes me laugh rather than tremble, so I headed for the loo…

She began threatening me — from her “hiding place” behind the toilet — the moment I opened the door. Awwwww…they’re so cute when they think they’re terrifying. She’d cornered herself, so all I had to do was reach and grab. As is the case with almost every feral kitten, the spitting lasted only as long as it took to bring her to my neck, at which point she began purring to beat the band. I cuddled and crooned to her for a few minutes, then took a good look at her. She was filthy, but — what a little beauty! Possibly white, and with bright blue eyes, she was definitely too young to eat on her own. Why had she fled the lair? Her eyes were barely open; her legs still had minds of their own. How had she managed to run into the street and under a moving car, yet avoid becoming a bloody statistic?

I’ve never worried about getting dirty in these situations, and believe traumatized orphans shouldn’t be “abandoned,” for even a moment, unless it’s an emergency. So, as her other mother headed out for bottles and formula, I plopped her under my shirt and into my cleavage, and sat down to read legal docs. A couple of hours and three bottles later, it was time she had a bath…

Filthy! she was. The remnants of her past circled the drain, and — her cover was suddenly blown. “OMG, you’re Pamela Anderson!” She pretended she’d never even heard of Pamela Anderson, and I didn’t push it. But neither did I promise to keep her secret.

She certainly led the jet-set life. Each morning, she was chauffered to the manse. I’d act as both nursemaid and playmate from 10 – 5, after which she’d head back to her beach house. That first weekend, her other mother had to go away, and I couldn’t have her here, thus, she gained a third mother. And between the three of us, there was love and attention [and bottles] ’round the clock. We called her PAnder.

These videos were taken by her “night mother” [the presence of furniture (and/or dogs) will always be your first clue that a shoot didn't happen at our house]. She’d been with us for about a week when Night Mother bought a camera — then called to tell me she’d filmed her playing with Bam, Pup, and AJ. I almost had mine own major coronary!

AJ didn’t worry me. He’s a big ol’ sweetheart, and I’d trust him under any circumstance. Pup’s okay, though wound tight. Bam, however, is another story, entirely. They’re all rescues, and none had an easy time, growing up — but Bam was obviously beaten and tortured, regularly, and it shows. He’s bitten Bro a few times, and nipped me, as well. I was certain he’d eat Pamela Anderson! Thankfully, I was oh so wrong. He’s absotively, posilutely smitten. And who can blame him?!

Did I mention that Pamela lived in my cleavage, during the day? Unless for a bottle, or a quick trip to the litter box, there was nowhere she’d rather be…and when my chest began to itch, I just assumed it was from the heat of her body and breath, e’er beneath my shirt. Little did we expect the surprises she had in store for us. Stay tuned for the reveal!

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