Category: Rescue Stories – both Fiction and Non Fiction
Excerpts from my book of rescue adventures, Rescue Meez; other adventures during the 20+ years of Rescue; fictional adventures of some of the rescued cats we had.
18 years ago, in October of 2005, I adopted Alexander the Great from the VA Siamese Rescue. Yesterday, I had to make the difficult decision to let him go, to free his sweet soul from his old and failing body.
I wanted to write to thank you for everything you have done for cats over the years. Alex was truly one of the sweetest cats I’ve ever known, and I am so grateful to you for making it possible for me to adopt him and spend the last 18 years loving him. He grew into a confident cat, but he always maintained the sweetest and most laid back demeanor.
You and your team gave him his name because you wanted this sweet but shy guy to grow up into a strong brave cat. I couldn’t bear to change his name, because I had nothing better to offer, so “Alex” stuck. And it worked. He grew up to be a strong, confident, and adventurous cat. Many friends said he was like a puppy, because he would greet people at the door and follow people around the house. When I started taking him on adventures beyond his own back yard about 6 years ago, he was a welcome participant. And I loved it, because that meant he could go with me on my travels. He was truly one of a kind, and I hope he sends me another sweet kitty soul to fill his big adventurous paw prints.
Thank you again, for facilitating a perfect match for me and Alex 18 years ago. My heart is aching today, but I will be forever grateful to have had him fill my life with joy for so long. Thank you again for touching so many lives with your commitment to caring for rescue cats.
Hi Siri! I hope that you’re doing well! Just wanted to report that Gilda VA3840 was adopted by us 18 years ago today!! We do “mouse reiki” every night at bedtime – her request, of course! We love her too much!! Happy Holidays! Sandy & Whit
The papers I carried with me were longer than my tail. Descended from Seti I and Queen Tuya, well known by all, I sauntered into the Rescue Center waving my heritage high like an American Flag. Yeah, I know, they say there’s no such thing as finding a purebred in Rescue, but I was hell bent on disproving that theory.
The Director held open the door. You’re in Bank 2, Row 1, Cage 3. Need a paw up?
I looked at her disdainfully. Any Meezer with my family’s history of long lanky legs certainly didn’t need any help hopping up to a higher place. After all, we came from a higher place and responded to a higher calling. We were, after all, very Royal meezers.
The door clanged shut behind me. “Ummm, excuse me. HelloOOOO out there!!! Get back here please! Someone has slept in this Millie bed previously – I can smell them! Look, I’m paying good money for this place! I’d like some CLEAN bedding please!”
“It’s allllllright. Now quiet down. Dinner is at 5, breakfast at 7. Group playtime during the day, if you play nicely, evenings are individual cage time. It’s evening now, so get some shut eye, big day tomorrow when you’ll see the other cats.” And with that, she exited the room, scrubs swishing gently.
“Huh? Hey, bud, how do I request my chicken liver? There is room service in this third class hotel, right?” I extended my paw as far as I could through the cage bars and waived it in the direction of my neighbor.
“Yea right,” said Reuben. “Hear that Rosie? This guy thinks he’s going to get chicken liver. Geez. What do you think this is, the Ritz?”
“Well I did request first class accommodations from my reservationist. I’m sure there’s some mistake. Let me show you my papers, and you’ll see what I mean….”
“Aaaah, don’t bother chump. Don’t matter none anywho. You’re walking on the dark side here. Now if you don’t mind, time for some shut eye.” And with that, I heard a thunk followed by some fairly snarfly breathing sounds.
Hmmmph. This place had a lot to learn about royalty. Obviously I had my work cut out for me.
After a long night on what turned out to be a quite comfortable bed (despite having to keep my nose in a wrinkle so I didn’t smell the rugrats), I was awakened by the sounds of breakfast. Aha, here we go, I thought, here comes the Sevruga. “Oh dear, I’m sorry, that’s not what I ordered. And where’s my crystal dish? Everyone knows that the Setis only eat from the finest crystal. Would you have a word with the chef please and let him know that Ramesses is asking?” And Reuben, what is it with you and the snortling? For goodness sakes blow your nose, you sound like a complete inbred, it’s disgusting.”
“Listen, Prince Here & There,” snarfled Reuben. “You’re obviously got a thing or two to learn about Rescue. Your fancy diploma won’t do you any good here. We’re all in the same boat – left a bad situation and looking for a better one. Take Rosie for instance. Can’t look a human bean in the eye without breaking out in hives. Highly allergic to most of them, forced to leave her family because they were so irritating. And then there’s Phoebe. Lived in a family with tiny beans who had no idea how to use the litterbox and messed themselves all the time. What a stink, completely unacceptable for those of us who like to be clean. Needs a family already toilet trained. And Muffy. Her family redecorated. Everything wooden, not a thing left to scratch on. What did they expect her to do? So we packed our bags. Hit the road. And here we are, looking to better our situation.”
Harrumph. Not applicable at all. I came from a purrfect home with well trained beans. Very clean. Always flushed. Not an issue amongst them. No reason I couldn’t stay. I’m sure this is just temporary, after all, I was quite an investment.
Dublin gave a smirk. Perfect, huh? Then what’cha doing here anyway? Sounds a little hoakey to me, bud.
Rosie looked at me with those gentle, blue eyes. It’s alright, guy, don’t worry. They’re very good at finding the right home.
And so the days became weeks and the weeks, months. Reuben, Rosie, and even Dublin found their new families, but I remained at the Center. Not to worry, it was the slow time of the year, they said. And then, one Saturday……
They were nothing like I envisioned. A crinkle-ball face with grey scruff attached to a tiny little bean in pigtails came trotting towards me. “Oooh, let’s get this one, pappy, pullleeese!” Dangling like a ragdoll, I closed my eyes to a smell that was an interesting combination of fresh cut hay, tobacco, and early morning grits. A far cry from Sevruga, but it had a home-like smell to it.
I batted at the pigtails to squeals of delight. Small beans? What was the problem? I certainly didn’t have one. Wonder why my first family thought I would?
Good evening, this is The Howard Beakman at the Virginia Rescue Center in Locust Dale, enjoying some evening nibbles.
The food here is fancattic. You see, Meowm has become quite the kook. Every day it’s something deluscious. Tonite was the cat’s meow. Rum-tinged whipped cream. Yummmm. No one can say that life in the geeser ward is dull. We’re kared for well. Our needs re locked afta. Lyf s gud. Felin slippy.
I have just arrived at this Rescue place and am not quite sure which way is up, or down, but I know one thing – I’ve been booted out of my last place (guess I was a bit too squeaky) so my number one goal is to find me a new lap – asap.
I see they have a computer. As soon as these dang guardians give me a moment to myself (they keep saying something about “He needs to get to know us”) I will jump on and post a plea. The mouse is just waiting to be tapped.
(It wasn’t until about 3:30 am when I got a clear shot – from under the bed to stool to chair to desk to keyboard – whew, all that jumping, up came dinner – and then the gosh darn mouse refused to cooperate. Better luck tomorrow.)
Day 3:
I’ve had about enough of this, but am doing my best to fool them. I have to make sure that they don’t suspect my plan of escape. Some day soon my friends, my chariot will arrive! But for now – the food is pretty good here. I find that if I meow constantly I get what I want quicker – so I must continue to do this. These humans are pretty simple – easy to train, I must say. Life is not that bad.
Day 5:
They’ve wisened up to my computer tactics, so now I just lay on the keyboard every chance I get so they know who’s boss. Much easier to keep an eye on things, plus I’m purrfect level for scritches.
And the biggest news – I finally have privacy my friends – they purchased a hooded litter pan – and I just love it! No longer can anyone stare at me as I do my business. No idea as to what they were thinking with public toilet space; plus that awful woofer looking ever so interested in my productions. No wonder he has bad breath.
Day 6:
Meowmy heard from the next door neighbors today – I guess they liked the opera I was singing last night. This is something that I must continue to do because I thinks my singing is beautiful.
Day 7:
It’s been a week. Invitations are already rolling in; I will start interviewing prospective homes very soon. I will know immediately when the right Bean applies – must love the sunshine, taking naps, and have a solid girth so I know the chow is decent.
For 25+ years, our job has been to help the cat who needed a new situation find a new home. During those 25 years, we encountered every single reason imaginable for needing to find a new home. Some were unavoidable – the owner died with no family to take the cat. The new baby in the family had repeated allergic reactions that resulted in hospitalizations. The family lost their home and went to a homeless shelter that didn’t allow pets.
Others, not so understandable. One man told me his cat ‘purred too much’. Another lady said that the cat didn’t match the new sofa. And of course there was always the ‘we got a kitten and the older cat is unhappy.’
While at first our emotions bubbled over as we listened to the reasons, we quickly came to several big conclusions:
If the person wasn’t happy, and in particular wasn’t happy with the cat, then the cat wasn’t happy.
Cats are amazingly resilient. We’d like to think that no one is as great at being an owner as we are. But give them another excellent situation with enough love and adoration, and they can be happy again.
People tend to focus on themselves – what do “I” want that makes me happy. That is not always the same as what makes the cat happy. A person may have 12 cats and that fills their heart with joy. But for the one of those cats that is always hiding and tormented by the other cats, their heart may be filled with fear.
Social media allows just a snapshot of the real world. You see a beautiful garden, but not the rusty fence next door. You see a gorgeous beach, but not the pile of garbage washed up on the sand. We crop pictures, adjust backgrounds, frame our subject so that people ‘like’ our photo. You never see the whole story unless you are right there. And with rehoming of animals, there is always more to the story than what we see presented.
Each of us has X amount of energy to use each day. We can use it in any way we see fit – being helpful, being kind, being supportive, or we can use it being critical, throwing stones, casting blame. In the case of animals needing new homes, our focus should be on the animal itself. What can we do to help? Can we share the post? Do we know someone who might help? Can we donate to their cause? Or can we just offer some words of kindness to a stranger who is likely going through a lot tougher time than is presented?
The world needs more kindness and compassion. Not hatred and criticism. If you can’t say something nice and supportive, or help in some way, then scroll on by. Let’s strive to have our actions and words have positive reactions. There’s enough unhappiness as it is without any one of us contributing more.
They didn’t come by their nicknames “The Foghorns” without good reason. Ivan and Skipper had moved to the ports of Seattle, accepting positions as first mates on Omar’s fishing boat, the Fat Cat. From the time they got their ‘seal-legs’ at point of adoption, they’d start every day before the sun, headed out to sea with a shopping list that changed with the tides. Ivan would stand starboard and Skipper port, their whiskers glistening with salt spray as their noses twitched in anticipation. Ivan was the serious one, methodical in his approach, navigating by sound, smell and pure gut feeling. Skipper navigated by pure gut alone, sneaking snippets of bait when he thought Omar wasn’t looking.
By mid morning, when the majority of the world was looking at their watches to see if it was lunch time yet, the Fat Cat would be trolling into port, nets overflowing with the day’s catch. If they were lucky, vacationers out for their mid-morning stroll could hear the Foghorns relay the success of the morning. Wheelbarrows of salmon would make their way from the port to the fish market at Pike’s, where they’d be prepped for the crowds that flooded the Market to see what was fresh.
I was tickled at the thought of spending a full day with the boys, and my taste buds tingled at the thought of fresh salmon right from the ocean. It had been years since I’d visited with them, and I was looking forward to seeing them as full fledged shipmates aboard the Fat Cat.
Predawn came early – barely the faintest hint of light tickling the docks as I made my way to the boat. One would have expected everyone to be fast asleep, but the pier was bustling with activity as everyone readied their boats for the day. My ears perked up as whispers of the best locations were shared between crew members in a hush discernible only to the best trained ears. I made my way down to the end of the pier as instructed, scanning the decks for a recognizable face. It wasn’t long before a familiar sounding foghorn attached to quite a stout body greeted me. “Ahoy, matey! And welcome aboard!” Skipper came padding forward, all 18 pounds of him, his toothless grin stretching from ear to ear. “Hop skip, not a moment to be lost.” I clambered on board, nodding ever so slightly to Ivan who was busy surveying the equipment. “Right,” said Skipper. “Over here’s the bait. I’m in charge of the bait. Got to make sure it’s fresh. Anchovies and herring, that’s my favorite. Works great. Tastes great. Everyone’s happy.” And his head disappeared inside the bucket. “Yup, this’ll do, we’re all set” said he, smacking his lips, a suspicious looking silvery tail disappearing quickly. “I think we’re ready.”
Without another word, we were off. Ivan obviously had a plan, and he wasn’t to be swayed. He kept keen eyes on the horizon, sounding his foghorn as schools were spotted, barking orders to Skipper whose mouth remained suspiciously full. Having been a number of years since I’d sailed on a boat, I found it took the majority of my concentration to stay balanced, and it wasn’t long before I wondered whether I’d become the first ‘emerald point’ Siamese. Luckily, the weather cooperated, the ocean remained somewhat calm, and I didn’t toss my cat chow.
The morning was a success. The boys had it down to a science, and while it wasn’t any mystery how Skipper had become so portly, it did seem strange that there was enough bait left over to catch the amount of salmon we did. It was barely mid-morning when we swung back toward land, heading at quite a clip towards the market. “Got to be ready for the lunch crowd,” Ivan explained, “that’s where the action is.” I nodded in agreement, hoping whatever action there was at lunch was followed by a good, long siesta.
Yours Truly,
Howard Beakman (For more sealfaring stories, follow my blog)
Mother’s Day is coming up, you know. This is the day you give something to the mother you love. It’s the time to tell them how much they mean, how much you appreciate them. The gang has been thinking about this for some time – wanting to give Maw a gift for all she does. So we hatched a plan.
We realized we’re a few days early, but some things just can’t wait. You have to juggle your timing so the gift doesn’t get spoiled or anything. The Great Blue Hunter remembered we had something saved for just the occasion. Much as we all hated to relinquish it, it was pulled out from behind the bookcase where it had been carefully stored (https://siriouslysiri.com/2022/03/04/life-in-the-geezer-ward-episode-5/). Britney Beluga and Jazz carefully wrapped it carefully on Maw’s side of the bed. It would be a great surprise.
Too bad Maw has such a good nose. She knew something was up when she got into bed. It’s tough to hide that tantalizing smell, even though Jazz and Beluga had done such a good job of enfolding the present under several layers of pillow…..
Now, according to “Miss Manners’ Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior,” the first obligation, no matter how egregious a gift, is to respond with appropriate enthusiasm. That means “cries of surprise and joy,” and the placing of “hands over your face in the classic posture of one who is overwhelmed.”
Maw was REALLY good at this. Obviously she’s read these rules. I mean, there was no question about her being overwhelmed. I’d say we succeeded on every count.
This morning I iced the cake. She was complaining it still smelt like rotted mouse in the bedroom (personally, I thought it was quite pleasant). But just to make her feel better, I did what I do best on her pillow. Now it smells like home.
Can’t figure out, though, why she’s asked Paw for an Australian cookbook…..
I was feeling a bit down this evening, with all that’s going on in the world – and asked Maw & Paw for a story. They told me not to fret; they’d tell me about a special place – a place held close to their hearts, a place they never saw coming but one that grew into something beautiful. A place full of characters so rich with personalities, so interwoven with excitement, and drama and mystery. A place that is magical…..
A place where David is King. A king whose throne is a mound of cat food bags piled high as the eye could see, his responsibility to sample each bag as he sees fit to ensure quality control for all his subjects. His Queen, Claire, joining him in her choice of throne, surveying her entire kingdom with one sweep – and one swipe – of her paw. Mi Sama, the Queen Mother, always one to exercise her heights, spending several hours (or so she would bemoan) calling for her elevator to get her down from the top shelf in the bathroom. Mingo, the Court Jester, spending his day sniffing catnip as he tries to ooze all 14 pounds of his dog-frame into a teeny basket filled with Kay’s pillows. Then there is Shiena, the Warrior Princess, who beluga’s around to make sure there are no strangers on the horizon, while the Soldier in Arms, Titan, readies himself in case a Meezer of his stature is needed. Princess Sassette can be found sleeping soundly on her mattress while feeling for the pea, while Princess of TN spends her time stuck inside the waste bin bellowing up a storm.
On the other side of the castle, the Duke of Kenmore is packing his bags getting ready for his big day tomorrow to see his Lady in Waiting Maya, while Sulu, the Marchioness, continues nurturing her incision. Emma the Magician perfects her disappearing act, finally appearing in Teepee Bed Number 3; while Lady Chelsea (who descends from Islamic heritage) keeps her face, head and body completely covered by her cagepad. The Marquis Conundrum slinks through the ranks, attempting to take over the Queen’s throne when she isn’t looking, but is called out by Gobi, the Court Trumpeter. Baron Obie, new to the Royal Family, holds court with Lady Cheyenne in the upstairs lounge, while Baroness Buffy does her hair (regurgitating it as she goes). Viscountess Venus veers here and there and everywhere under everyone’s paws, and Prince Mel the Tennessee Mountain Man? He rests peacefully in his brand new bed…..
It was a year and a half ago when I left home to stay at ‘camp’, or so they called it. And camp out I did, in a cage, for seven months. Seven long months trusting it would be alright – and because I trusted, I waited, and I expected. I expected that the commitment that had been made to me would be honored. Yes, I had food and water, and yes, I had a roof over my head. It would be alright, they kept telling me. Someone would come back for me someday.
Well they didn’t. And just as well because obviously someone hadn’t explained to them about decency and responsibility. And so I lost that home, and spent seven months of caged life, and then came to the Rescue.
I can’t find my Dad …..
Here they know decency. And responsibility. Kindness and warm hearts and snuggles abound. And a commitment is made to each and every cat that enters the program – to do the very best by that cat that they can do. But these Rescue folks are up against tremendous odds. Because not only do they have to work to provide for the present and the future, but they work to overcome the past. These folks work to repair the damage done by countless other folks who don’t give a second thought to leaving us by a dumpster, closing us in the basement, kicking us down the stairs, or abandoning us in a kennel for seven months. The psychological damage can be overwhelming. The physical damage debilitating. The emotional scars long term.
Oh Dad, where are you…….
Some of us bounce back. Some of us, given the time and the patience, can conquer the demons – we can learn to trust again, to believe that we will have food and water, that we will be protected, that we are worthy of love. And with proper attention and care, some of us can also overcome the long term damage to our physical beings. And some of us can’t. Some of us will still bite, or swat, or pee inappropriately (mea culpa). Some of us will refuse to eat and some of us will eat until there’s no end in sight. And some of us, no matter what kind of intervention is taken, will lose the battle.
Dad?
The nice Rescue lady tells me there’s a new family for me, we just have to find them. While I look forward to that, I still wonder about Dad. I sure hope he’s okay, because I’ll miss him.
