In my long gone younger days, I was something of a neat freak. To an extent.
As long as I didn’t see muddle, I didn’t care where it might be hiding.
So really only half a neat freak.
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It was, I am certain, due to having no control over my life in general. At least I could keep my personal, immediate space tidy and organised.
Everything had it’s place so I could immediately find whatever I needed.
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Becoming a multi-cat person didn’t immediately ruin my standards.
Perhaps I laid down the law more firmly then.
Things began to erode when I moved to my first condo, out in Washington State.
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My little old Himlayan Yeti developed kidney problems and there were times when she peed outside the box.
When this happened I cleaned it up carefully and made a fuss of her, telling her it was alright!
No doubt it was more a matter of comforting myself, since I saw these accidents as evidence of her worsening condition.
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Moving very suddenly in 2000, from New York to Washington, my life underwent major changes and I resolved that I would become active in cat rescue or some such thing.
Before long I was in touch with a woman who needed funds and who needed a foster home for one of the cats she had taken in.
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This was not something I had been considering but the cat in question was traumatised and needed somewhere quiet to live.
Katy was a little grey cat. I placed her in a spare room which was fortunate since when I took her to my vet, she tested positive for FIV.
The woman who had brought her came to take her back as I couldn’t risk Yeti’s health.
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It was sad, not being able to help that cat, but she went to live with the woman’s mother which worked out well for both.
The experience made me slightly wary, but not long after I got a call asking if I would consider fostering a young cat that was living rough in a barn.
The cat was disabled and the woman was afraid he would get trampled by the horses.
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This time it was going to involve kidnapping!
I was persuaded that the cat in question did not really belong to anyone, that it was a stray which had attached himself to the barn.
In due course, I acquired a little black cat with foreshortened front legs. I named him Luca.
Luca was in good health but at night I wanted Yeti to sleep alone with me as she always had. So I closed Luca out.
His protestations were loud.
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As you can see, he did not consider himself disabled in any way.
“Furthermore,” he said,
“My name’s not Luca!”
No. Quite clearly not. This cat was a little black Panther.
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In no time Panther and Yeti had become friends which was good because Panther was staying.
And not long after that, we moved to the first condo.
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Panther was very helpful with packing and this kept him busy for some weeks.
Once installed in his new home, however, he became bored.
He was, afterall a young cat.
But Yeti did not want to play.
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After much deliberation I went to a local shelter, just to see.
And came home with Annie as a potential playmate for the boy.
At the shelter Annie had drooled over me copiously:
“Where have you been?”
She seemed to think I was her person, who’d come back.
She hated Panther on first sight.
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But I could not take her back to the shelter.
Somehow, we would cope.
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As we were settling down, I received a call from the cat lady. This time she had a kitten which had been savaged by another animal and lost its tail.
She took it to my vet and I agreed to pay the bill but then asked what would happen to the poor thing.
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Daft question.
In due course I went to pick the kitten up which is when I realised the scope of this woman’s rescue organisation.
It was a rented property but it was awash with cats of all descriptions and it reeked.
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She was trying to re-home some of the cats so I think she was not a true hoarder, but she was certainly over-subscribed.
Setting a limit is hard, but I only had to remember this place when later on I was faced with saying no.
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As I drove home, I was behind a Sysco truck.
“How about it, buddy?” I asked.
“Would you like to be Cisco?”
Panther and Cisco immediately became best buddies and that pleased Annie no end.
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Cisco grew to be huge.
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Yeti had always been a very laid back creature and she appeared untroubled by all these new companions.
At night I retreated with Yeti into my bedroom so it was just the two of us.
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Mea maxima culpa.
Yeti had been my only cat for most of her 16 years. I adored her and I dreaded losing her.
It was when I took in Grisabel that I realised what I was doing.
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Grisabel was a Main Coon cat with long soft hair.
One night I sat with her in my lap, running my fingers through her coat and it hit me. I was trying to build a defense against the time that was coming when Yeti would be gone.
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After Yeti developed kidney disease, I was able to keep her going but administering subcutaneous fluid which she tolerated stoically.
You never want an animal to suffer because you can’t let go. I tormented myself, but one day I knew it was time.
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It was November 19th. It may even have been Yeti’s 17th birthday.
I went home to all the others and having them helped but I was devastated.
For a long time.
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Thimphu was born two days before Yeti died.
My very kind colleagues at work gave him to me to help mend my heart.
He was beloved of everyone.
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Panther had established himself as the main man and I realised when he needed minor surgery how deeply he had burrowed into my heart.
He was not without bad habits.
When he was annoyed, he peed in bad places.
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I often wondered if he’d taken note the fuss I made of Yeti when she had accidents and whether his behaviour was related to that.
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But I don’t blame him for the erosion of my standards.
As well as the increasing number of cats, there were two bunnies with all their accoutrements and finally I moved to a house with a large basement where I established Yeti’s Kitty Suites, the foster home.
That’s when things began to slide….
Thank you, Carolyn, for your fascinating memories of how your rescue mission started.
The photo- portraits of the cats are brilliant!
Joanna
I enjoyed reading the history. I am off to Dublin for Christmas with my middle son and his family. Whee!
I think it’s the first time I’ve read how it all started Carolyn. And it’s a beautiful story of love between a human and their beloved pets – thank you for sharing it with us (and all your lovely photos of your very first cats).
You suggested I didn’t read this, but don’t worry. It was nice to read how much you loved and cared for the cats you lost, and I will take comfort from that when Ollie’s time comes.
Best wishes, Pete.