Meetings

Writing about Thimphu accelerated the story a few years which is likely a good thing, especially since that is when the most significant of “complications” came into being, though I must back up a little bit…

My father died in 2005, leaving me enough money to move once more. I liked the condo and was comfortable there, but what I had not realised was that I had purchased in a complex that was only the first of in a whole series of such constructions. The pleasant tree-covered hill were I lived was soon covered in identical box-like buildings and my place lost its charm.

So, in early 2006 I moved to a town home some distance away. The cats seemed delighted with the extra space and I was pleased to be able to hang a few more pictures, those being one of my greatest weaknesses.

.

Before long I was asked if I would consider adopting a bunny that was about to become homeless. I’d never even properly met a bunny before, but I decided I could probably figure out his needs, and Joely came to live with us. At first I kept him in a room by himself but deciding he needed to be part of the family, I created an enclosure for him in the kitchen which was a much better arrangement and there was no problem with the cats.

Whether a result of packing and carrying heavy boxes, a fall I had at work, a combination of the two, or just the result of aging, my troublesome spine began to hurt quite seriously and by the end of that year, I was off work on disability and scheduled for a multi-level fusion.

It was fortunate that I now had a home with a ground floor living space. It also had plenty of room for my friend Tim who flew from New York to help me when I came home from the hospital and once he left, Denise came by regularly to check on me and my furry family.

By then I had been with British Airways for 38 years and discontent for many of them. Once, I’d considered taking a buy-out, but with no firm idea of what I would do instead, I’d decided to make the best of it and, when many senior people accepted the offer and left the company, took a promotion instead.

.

In Seattle it had been a different sort of chaos, but I began to think of retirement, held back only by the daunting notion that once I became “ex-BA”, I would be nothing. A sorry sort of statement, but that was how I felt. I could stick it out and hope for another buy-out, but then my back fell to bits and the day I left to go on disability, I suspected that I would not return.

It was a cowardly way to leave, but much easier than enduring goodbyes I handle so badly. It made sense to leave the door open in case I was able to return and at a stretch I could have, but it would have meant my colleagues having to pick up the slack when I couldn’t run around or stand about for hours. It would not have been fair and I would have hated it. So I retired early on 1st March 2007 and having been away for weeks, there was no emotion in it.

Now I concentrated on what next. I’d entertained the idea of a part time job but wasn’t strong enough. I’d often thought of moving to Utah and volunteering at Best Friends Animal Society but that was out now too. Perhaps I could do a little minor volunteering locally.

.

Fate is truly fickle!

One thing always leads to another, or as it happened to a whole sequence.

Online, I found the name of a small cat rescue that operated out of the back of a pet shop in Des Moines (there is one in Washington too), which coincidentally was where Denise lived.

After making contact, I went over and decided not to be judgemental. Rescues can’t all be as clean, neat and organised as Best Friends. I agreed to spend an hour or two on Sunday afternoons. All I had to do was be there in case anyone came by.

Curiously, there was no mention of talking to or caring for the cats. When I cleaned litter boxes on my first day, I was told I shouldn’t.

Panther’s rescuer had had a lot of cats, but she was not a hoarder. It took me all of five minutes to work out that the owner of the pet shop was. Instinct urged me to leave and not go back, but by then I’d met the cats and a couple of other volunteers.

Not long after, Denise went away for a few days and I was going by her place to feed her cat. Her condo complex was adjacent to some woods and there were always strays running around, which of course I had to stop and say hello to.

.

It is what I was doing when I heard a voice call out:

“Are you talking to the cats?”

A tall man was standing on the deck of a ground floor unit. I said yes, I was on my way up to feed my girlfriend’s cat, but I talked to strays as well.

“You’re English!” he said.

“And you’re from South Africa!”

Having introduced ourselves and established that we both loved cats, I told Grant about the pet shop and next time I went over there, I found him busy at work doing repairs.

Before long, the volunteers were meeting up to discuss the improvements and the possibility of actually getting cats adopted, which is when most of us got locked out.

While it was a relief not to have to go there, it was sad because we had fallen in love with the cats. I had photographs of 39 and there were likely more living in the back of that small shop which was squalid and reeked. We had done our best to clean up a bit, but the place needed to be gutted. The owner said she was moving the cats to another property and a year or so later the shop was closed, so presumably she did.

Our hearts ached.

One of the volunteers that got locked happened to be the treasurer, so suddenly we were a rescue with money but without premises, – or cats, though that didn’t last long. The treasurer was a resourceful woman who happened to have an empty house available and finding cats to rescue is never a problem.

So that was fine until there was clash of opinions. Such things are common in any group, but in animal rescue more than others, I suspect because it attracts people who prefer animals and usually for the reason that they don’t get on with others of their kind. I include myself.

Animal rescuers are good-hearted but quirky and often set in their ways.

Although I avoided confrontation myself, I was uncomfortable with the arguments and in the end Grant and I decided to quit and figure out some other way.

Which was why, less than a year after major spine surgery I packed up to move yet again…

.