Downgrade

You could say that moving here involved a significant downgrade from my previous situation.

A single person with one cat does not require much and the less you own, the less you have to look after. It makes for a simple life, right?

As much as I now yearn for simplicity, I cannot regret the complications I created for myself.

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For a very long time I lived in a one bedroom flat/apartment with a single cat.

Briefly, there were two. My dear Mohammed went out one day and did not return. I’d tried to persuade him to accept being an indoor cat, but he’d grown up with an open door policy and he was most unhappy about being kept in. I was crushed by his loss and generous colleagues got together to surprise me with a posh cat that I named Kina, after Mt Kinabalu in Borneo.

Kina was restless and it was decided, by close friends, that what he needed was a companion, so on December 23rd, 1986, I was presented with a 5-week-old Himalayan kitten, Yeti.

Most wonderful Christmas present ever.

Kina was bemused and for a few short months distracted, but it soon became clear that my beautiful Balinese did not fancy living with a single woman, and *he made arrangements to move in with a family where he was much pampered for the rest of his 21 years.

A few years after Kina abandoned us, I decided to accept the offer of a transfer to another airport, and Yeti and I moved to Seattle. It was one of those sudden, earth-shattering impulses I occasionally had that caused people to raise their eyebrows and exclaim: “Carolyn, you can’t”, which inevitably made me more determined.

*Oh yes, Kina manipulated the whole thing quite expertly.

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In Seattle, once again I settled into modest accommodation, although out there I was able to afford a two bedroom flat with built-in laundry room.

The former wasn’t necessary, but the latter – sheer luxury!

At a single-flight station, life was entirely different, beginning with my hours. No more rising at 0330! Strangely, that was one thing I missed, as I liked finishing work in early afternoon.

JFK is a huge airport where, back then, British Airways had their own terminal in which we handled many other carriers. SEATAC is busy but comparatively small. I retain some small fondness for it while at the same time regarding it as a bit of a dump. Aren’t most airports?

Perhaps airports are improved now. I doubt it. I avoid them.

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Our staffing was about 10% the number employed at JFK. We operated with minimum numbers, our hours coinciding with the arrival and departure of the flight, so when things went wrong, there was no other shift coming on duty to relieve us. We stayed for the duration, however long that was.

Working in a tiny office with a small number of staff is very different to being in a large terminal where you likely didn’t see many of your colleagues all day and if you had different shifts, you might not see them for months on end. Overtime was awarded to the senior applicant, based on accumulated hours and was almost never compulsory.

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Technically, overtime was never compulsory because we belonged to a union. The company could force us to stay in an emergency, in which case the shift manager had to catch up with you and press a letter into your hands before you clocked out. I suppose they may have occasionally succeeded, but most of us were hard to catch!

Under normal circumstances, there was always a long list of volunteers for overtime as the rate of pay was good and got better the longer you stayed.

In Seattle, no-one ever insisted on leaving if the flight was delayed and management did not attempt to detain anyone who had a particular problem staying. It was a close group that worked well together and was interested in getting the flight dispatched as a matter of pride.

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On the whole it was an improvement from the bedlam of multi-flight JFK, but with so few staff, it could be just as hectic, if not more so and it was more physically demanding.

It isn’t possible to know whether the extra activity at SEATAC is what eventually led to the collapse of my spine, although it certainly didn’t help. In my final year, I fell over a baggage cart and some months later, I could no longer stand or walk for more than 10 minutes without serious pain.

So then I had surgery and retired, but before we get to what I did next, I should go back to where I began complicating my life…

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Sitting in the waiting room to meet Yeti’s new doctor, I picked up a copy of what was called the Mutt Messenger, a local newspaper for people concerned with animals. There I found a list of charitable organisations and decided to support one.

This led to my agreeing to foster a little black cat with mal-formed front legs. I called him Luca but he soon set me straight about that, informing me that he was Panther.

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At the time I moved to Seattle, there was a great deal of construction in progress and the following year I had the lovely experience of moving into a brand new condominium.

Yeti, Panther and I quickly settled in our new home.

And then things began to get a little more complicated…..

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to be continued…

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