For a reason

Sunday was another of those days – all drama.

Visual drama, that is. Stormy as it seemed, there was no rumble of thunder, although we did lose our internet connection for a short while, but perhaps that was for some other reason.

Rain came at times in heavy downpours that did not last.

In my view, a perfectly acceptable day. As if we have a choice.

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Somewhere in my great inventory of photographs, I am hoping I will come across some pictures I took several years ago, before we’d been here long. That day, I could have believed a tornado was coming to rip the house from its foundations, yet instead of herding the cats down to the basement and barricading the door, I chose to take photographs.

It seemed to me that I would recognise a funnel cloud and the cats had already taken themselves below. Back then, we still had 13 cats and my main worry was always what to do in the face of disaster. We did have carriers for all those guys, but back in Washington, the number of foster cats had exceeded the carrier count. Added to which, getting numerous terrified cats contained would be – difficult.

Worrying about those cats sometimes kept me awake at night. There were so many “what ifs”.

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Caring for animals was something I’d always planned to do when I retired. After spending a week at Best Friends in Utah, I seriously thought of moving to the area to volunteer my time. The sanctuary is wonderful and the setting magical. Although it gets very hot in the summer, it is a dry heat which I could cope with.

Perhaps if my spine had remained intact, it’s what I would have done, but that’s life. Once I’d recovered from the surgery I needed, I set about to find a local animal shelter where I could help out. I’d read enough to realise that animal rescue draws people who are well-intentioned but not always terribly sensible.

And I’d not volunteered 5 minutes before I came upon one of those face-to-face.

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After a couple of not-so-good experiences, I decided that if I could find a suitable property, I would do my own thing. I’d met up with Grant who was like-minded and he used his skills to turn the huge basement of the chosen house into what I called The Suites, or Yeti’s Kitty Suites, after my beloved, departed Himalayan.

If I’d spent time considering the matter with all its implications and complications, I would probably have lost my nerve. It was risky, for sure, but I decided to put that all in a virtual box and place it on a shelf. Some things I could control and I knew it would be essential to be very strict in sticking to my rules.

The space available was limited, as were my resources, which meant I must limit my intake of cats. Accepting endless numbers of animals into a confined area does them no favour and it is irresponsible to have more animals that you can afford to care for, which means more than just food and litter. All of the cats I accepted went immediately to the vet where they got the full range of vaccinations. Some needed medical care.

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Apart from caring for all those animals, there was the not inconsiderable matter of maintaining the property, but that wasn’t what worried me. I was more concerned about what we would do if – Mt Rainier blew its stack, for example and in later years, when smoke became an annual concern, I began to worry about wildfires.

Before purchasing the house, I’d employed an engineer to evaluate the hill, How safe would it be in the event of an earthquake? Out there, this was something you had to consider. I was assured it was quite secure, but over the years the patio behind the house settled. Grant built a French drain to redirect runoff rainwater which was a help, but the problem loitered unnervingly in the back of my brain with those other worries.

Along with the vague anxiety that I’d be turned in for having more than the allowed 2 animals on my property. (How absurd!)

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Luckily, Cinder and Ella got a home together. We wanted to keep Toby with them, but the chances of finding someone who could take all three were remote. They had only come together at the Suites, but the two greys became immediately devoted to dear old Toby. It was heart breaking to separate them. The photograph still gets to me.

After ten years of all this, I’d had to stop accepting cats because I’d ended up with a considerable number that were un-adoptable for a variety of reasons. Behaviour issues, advanced age, health issues.

“Closing the door” however, did not stop the intake. Grant got a call one day from a shelter way up north of Seattle, to say someone had turned in his cat.

Every time we had a new arrival, it went to the vet and got micro-chipped. We recorded our information and asked the adopting family to have it amended appropriately. Some did.

Just as well Willow’s people didn’t, so it was Grant that got the call.

In any event, a cat we had entrusted to what we’d believed was a great home, had been abandoned again. Furthermore, she was in the company of two other cats that we would not consider leaving in the shelter, particularly because one was an elderly black girl with severe arthritis and the other was a Himalayan.

In no circumstance would I turn my back on a Himalayan.

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Giving a cat up for adoption, we emphasised that we would always take it back, no questions asked. One cat did get returned, for which we were very grateful and we placed him in a new home where he was happy for the rest of his life.

So we were furious that Willow had been abandoned. I had tried taking her to live upstairs with my gang but the dynamics hadn’t worked, so I let her go to a couple who seemed delighted to have her. Now, however, there had been losses in my household and there was no way we would ever let Willow go again. We were thrilled to get her back, despite the circumstances, but 12 days later, she died during the night.

It was a bleak period, with a whole series of heartbreak.

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But it was because Willow came back to us that we got Penny and Muffin, two very sweet cats that we fell deeply in love with. They lived out their days with us.

We often don’t like it, but everything happens for a reason.

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