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At the end of two not very good days, I received a message late yesterday to let me know that one of my beloved foster-cats had died.
Oliver was quite old and he had been blind for some time.
His passing was not really a surprise but it made me so sad.
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Early in 2010, “M”, the black and white boy and Oliver, a beautiful Birman were among my first foster-cats.
Hiding in the box below was Emily.
Emily had come upstairs to meet my current permanent cats, but she’d said:
“No thank you, I’ll wait for something better.”
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While I was prepared to add one more to my upstairs group, two would have been pushing matters, especially two males, given the mix I had.
Oliver and “M” were bonded.
Chances are, it would not have worked for Oliver anyway and he deserved better than being part of a gang.
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Oliver reminded me a lot of Yeti who also had blue eyes and that little splash of white on her face.
No doubt that was part of why I fell so in love with him, but he was as sweet as he was beautiful. I knew it would hurt to give him up, but I was not going to become a hoarder. I had to find Oliver a good home.
What did I know about placing cats? It is not easy for shelters and sanctuaries and I was a single person running a foster home.
Technically, I was in violation of local zoning law, so I had to be discreet. It was a challenge.
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Something else I had never done was create a website, but somehow I managed to get Yeti’s Kitty Suites up and running.
Mostly I advertised on Petfinder.
Using sites like Craig’s list, you had to be even more careful with background checks.
Grant had used his skills to create three spacious cat rooms on the first level of the house which I had chosen specifically for such a purpose.
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He also helped with those background checks.
Home inspections were part of the adoption procedure and we travelled all around the Puget Sound area.
We had to see where the cat would be living, to be sure that there actually was a home and not a laboratory and to check for any likely problems such as potential escape routes.
Home inspections were actually a bit of a farce but there is only so much you can do.
We had a basic questionnaire too.
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At some point in all of this, you have to be able to trust enough to let go. It is not easy.
These cats were part of my every day and I loved them, but unless I gave them up I would not be able to take in other homeless cats and there was an endless queue of people with “rescues”.
Having had experience with at least two hoarders, I was very careful to avoid falling in that trap, but I can understand how it happens.
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We were never happy to give a cat up, but there were two occasions when we felt we had found really good homes. One was for Joey.
He was a love. Arriving with a seriously infected wound, he allowed us to medicate him with no drama.
He took a piece of our hearts when he left, but we were happy for him. A year later I was shocked to get a call asking if Joey could be returned.
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We always stressed emphatically, that we would take our cats back with no questions asked.
Joey returned and we were told he had developed food allergies which accounted for hair loss. Also that he had begun urinating out of the box.
We took him immediately to the vet whose opinion was that Joey had been kicked.
We were stunned and angry but I had sensed there was a story and I could see the wife felt bad. At least they had done the right thing.
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Joey recovered and went to live with a wonderful young couple who had a dog and another cat who became Joey’s good buddies.
Soon there were two little girls as well, but Joey lived out his life very happily, eventually moving with the family to somewhere outside Boston.
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We had been happy with Willow’s adoption too. It was a complete failure.
The people who adopted her retired and decided to go travelling, so instead of bringing Willow back, they gave her to their son who was getting divorced.
He departed, leaving Willow with his wife who in turn took off into the blue, leaving not only Willow but Penny and Muffin as well.
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(Willow surveyed an intake of kittens.)
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All our cats were chipped, so when the 3 abandonees were taken to a shelter, Grant got a call about them.
We were obliged to wait 10 days before we could collect Willow and of course we took the others as well.
13 days later Grant went in first thing and found Willow dead.
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Oliver had long since been adopted by then.
A nice lady had come to meet him and learning that he was bonded to “M”, agreed to take them both.
Because she lived in Bainbridge Island which involved a ferry ride, we decided to deliver Oliver as part of the home inspection.
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Oliver was one of the first adoptions and I think it was the *hardest. We were glad, though, that his buddy was going to be with him.
A day or so later, Grant got a call from the lady who had adopted the two. It seemed that “M” was freaking out. He had squashed himself behind her washing machine. It seemed he was unlikely to settle so Grant went off to get him.
In truth, we hoped both cats would return, but Oliver remained on Bainbridge Island where he has been ever since, much loved.
When I got the message that Oliver had died, it brought the whole sad experience back and inevitably the many others.
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“M” didn’t want to be adopted. He was devoted to Grant and he stayed to take charge of the Kitty Suites.
In about 2016, he began losing weight. Tests were inconclusive. We did everything possible to keep him happy but we couldn’t let him suffer and we lost him in 2017.
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*There was another adoption that broke my heart, in a different way, but that’s another story.
Always sad to lose such a friend but it sounds like Oliver had a great life thanks to you. 😻🧡
Thank you, Carolyn, for today’s sad memories.
Joanna
I can understand that it must have been very difficult to give up cats for adoption (I think I would have sucked at that). I’m surprised to learn that you still have contact with some of the people who have adopted cats from you (as in the case with Oliver). And it turns out that your gift to him was a long and happy life.
Oliver had such beautiful markings. I can understand your sense of loss of course.
Oliver is our Ollie’s real name. Oliver Cromwell Johnson, in full. Named by me, naturally.
Best wishes, Pete.
So sad, Carolyn. Oliver looks like a lovely soul.