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.
Well I looked. I looked and I couldn’t find him and I didn’t understand. Actually I don’t understand much of it at all. People may say that’s because I’m not as worldly, or experienced, or debonair as others. I don’t think that has much to do with it. It seems to be a pretty simple concept to me. A commitment made to care for someone who is dependent on you for that care should include a few basic things. Food and water for one thing. How can anyone who is purposefully closed up in a contraption built by another species with no way to escape be expected to find sustenance? I have to wonder what Chocolate thought at the close of the door and ne’er a goodbye glance as he was left alone in the apartment. And shelter. Shelter is defined as something that provides protection. Protection is not just from the elements. It is also from the BB gun that shot Kanoa and the hot oil that was dripped on Braveheart and the paint brush that turned Sherwin’s face white. And while a commitment may not ensure affection, it should. Or if not affection, consideration. Consideration that we too are sensitive, and that there are times where we may mourn, and we may be angry at the world, and we may be terrified. And there may be times where we too just don’t understand, and need reassurance.
Why are you sad? His head tilted ever so slightly to the left, a quizzical look in his eyes.
I have no idea, I thought. There is just so much pain wherever I look. The news of the world. The anger and hatred. The sadness and despair. It gets so overwhelming.
Look at the good you have done. At the kindness you have shared. At the empathy you have shown. You have made this world a better place. His eyes said it all.
It doesn’t feel like much I lamented. It’s just a drop in the bucket. There is so much pain in so many situations.
His gaze penetrated my heart. His whiskers twitched. And his motorboat purr gently rumbled: without you, I wouldn’t be here. I might have been on the streets, hungry, matted, fleabitten. Desperate for a gentle touch and a soft voice, yet met with a stout kick or a tossed rock. Always leery, always scrambling out of danger. But then you came along, giving the time, the energy, the compassion and the resources needed to help someone like me. No one person can fix the world. But if each of us reach out to help, just a little, the world becomes a better place. Thank you for that.
Hey you – you, with the greying muzzle. Can you still hear me? You look a little muddled. I’m over here – on the sofa – can you find me? Don’t fret – if not, I’ll come get you. I’m right here. You smell me, don’t you – your eyes are concerned. Don’t worry, buddy. I am right here every step of the way. We go back quite a ways, don’t we? Some days, things were good, some days, we struggled. But you were always there. When I was irritated, you soothed my nerves. When I was lonely, you snuggled up tight. When I was sulking, you gently pawed my leg. When I thought my world was falling apart, you held me together. I hurt, and you understood. You gave, and then gave some more. No matter how I felt, how I behaved, or what I did, you were there, watching, waiting, ready to comfort. Always accepting. And now you’re aging. Know that I will stand by you. While my heart will break into pieces as your body slowly tires, I will do my best to make every step of the way as comfortable as possible. I promise to watch carefully so you don’t suffer needlessly. And when the time has come, I will hold your paw and soothe your soul as you take your last sleep. We are connected, you and I; physically in this world, spiritually forever after. Thank you for choosing me, I have been honored to be yours.
Packing Circes up with all her belongings, I looked forward to seeing Katherine again. A woman in her 80’s, Katherine had contacted me several years ago when she was looking for a Siamese friend to join her family. An experienced ‘Meezer’ owner, Katherine came highly recommended from the Feline Foundation in Washington where she had originally applied.
The first Siamese we placed with her was my 24th rescue. Cleopatra had come to us from Manhattan, NY when her owner passed away, leaving no provisions for the cat. Luckily for Cleo, a neighbor jumped in when it became apparent the only option was the NYC pound and took Cleo in. The neighbor, discovering that she was highly allergic, contacted us shortly thereafter to see how we could help Cleo.
A mature Meezer of 10, Cleopatra came to us with a woeful wail but a wonderful personality. From the beginning she was a trooper, sharing her stories with us but never once really complaining. The stress of the move and the new environment had resulted in ringworm, a fairly common fungus in rescued cats; this unfortunately meant a 4-6 week isolation in an upstairs bathroom.
Meanwhile, the search continued for a new owner. Cleo became a popular kitty on the Rescue website, where many admirers followed her tale. As luck should have it, Katherine came along at just the right time, and following the 6 week isolation period, we drove Cleo to her new home, accompanied by many internet hurrahs.
Unfortunately, after several years in her new home, Cleo left us for the Rainbow Bridge. Swallowing her sorrow Katherine immediately contacted us, offering to provide a loving home for yet another needy Meezer. As circumstances would have it, Circes had just arrived from a family in Ohio where their child’s asthma forced a rehome. A beautiful wedgehead seal, Circes met all the requirements – loving, lap sitting, needy – they would be a perfect pair.
As I loaded Circes in the car, I remembered the warm, glowing feeling that came over me the first time as I watched Cleo and Katherine instantly form a bond of friendship. As they sat there, arm-in-arm, the tears of happiness fell from everyone’s eyes, and the true meaning of Rescue was more than apparent. The fact that Katherine was willing to open her heart to another needy cat, and on top of that, a mature cat, was a testimonial to her dedication to the many rescued cats looking for good homes.
Although Katherine lived a good two hours from me, I wanted to do this transport myself. Normally, we used members of our Meezer Express, a 900 volunteer-strong transport team that worked together to relay rescue cats between the shelters and their new homes. However, I was anxious to see Katherine again, remembering how touched I was during my last visit several years ago. I had convinced my daughter to come with me; at age 11, I had an ulterior motive wanting her to experience firsthand, as I had, the joy and satisfaction that Rescue can bring.
The two-hour drive passed uneventfully, with Circes complaining initially, but then settling down for remainder of the ride. I firmly believe these cats know much more than we give them credit for, and I had no doubt that Circes realized she was headed to her new home. When we arrived at the apartment, we were greeted in the lobby by Katherine who was so excited she was practically dancing on her toes. With a huge smile on her face, she gave us a quick glance and then looked expectantly at Circes. Circes meowled her hellos in return as we headed upstairs. Circes exited the carrier, did a once around, and immediately jumped on Katherine’s lap to make biscuits. The warmth that flooded me from head to toe – and I could see the same for my daughter, was amazing. Watching the two of them fall in immediate love – it was hard to tell who needed the other one more – we left grinning from ear to ear. This, I told my daughter, is the paycheck of Rescue.
Breakfast had been served: next on the agenda – catch that sunbeam. We had all found one, when an uninvited guest peaked his head around the bedroom door. Duke’s ears twitched, but not one to mouse, he kept his quiet. The food bowls had remnants, certainly, although with 12 of us, that was all there was. Mamagayo gave a blink, then went back to her catnap. Sapphire licked her lips, but couldn’t be bothered. Coffee was still in his muddle, and peering in the wrong direction. Seeing no reaction from the crowd he crept closer, inch by inch. With each step he became more assured. Crumbs in several shapes and flavors lay almost within reach. Just a few more inches. His nose twitched hungrily, his beady eyes twinkled. A little bit further, quiet as a mouse …
Leave it to Jasmine to introduce chaos. Careening wildly, she skittered sideways across the room, whacking in every direction with both paws. He scrambled for safety – under the bureau – hoping no one would see him. But the jig was up. Coffee sounded the alarm. Sapphire frumped over to one end of the bureau. Jasmine puddled at the other end. All exits were blocked. There was no escaping- it was only a matter of time.
(I would have helped, but someone had to take notes.)
Too bad we had all just eaten. Waste not, want not we all agreed. And so the delectable tidbit was placed at the very back of the bookcase so it could age properly for future use.
(To Be Continued, when that tidbit is good and ripe)
It was 1997 – Siamese Rescue still just a passing thought. Whiskers of all sorts were joining the ranks of those who had moved from old to new house: felines Beeky, Broadway, and Triscuit; woofers Solomon, Scout and Benji. Right after the move came felines Opi, Suki and Duke plus woofers Smutty and Pepper. And not to let a few acres go to waste, along came cottontail Flopsy, Nibbles and Gobbler, the Nubians, and quackers Donald and Jemima (who were short on whiskers but made up for it in feathers).
The woofers needed some work on sibling relationships, and it wasn’t long until Scout ate Flopsy and Pepper ate Donald and Jemima. Solomon munched on a foster child which bought him a ticket to ride; Nibbles and Gobbler escaped one too many times, earning them two seats in the back of a VW bug as they headed to a new home. Meowm worked hard to keep her numbers up – she knew that X + 1 was always better than just plain X. After Suki (strong seal diva female) and Duke (soft dim chocolate goof) failed to fill her need for a smart but snuggly soulmate, Sapphire, Mamagayo, Whitney, Coffee, Blue, Taraatini, Jasmine and Blupert all auditioned for the job. Let me tell you, that upstairs Geezer Ward was a little tight on pillow space. It was a good thing most everyone was a sealpoint; Hubby1 never caught on that when he was home, everyone went by the same name – Meowm’s attempt to whitewash how many of us were actually in the house.
If I were to ask Meowm what the most difficult lesson of rescue was, there would be no doubt as to her reply – while every cat deserves a chance, and in an ideal world there’s a place for everyone, when faced with a limited number of rescue spots, one has to invite cats in that can be adopted back out. This was a fluid number depending on a lot of different things – how many fosters there were, how many adopters were asking, what the bake sales were like, what time of year it was, and so on and so forth. It was muddling my brain to listen to all the criteria that had to be considered every step of the way. And there’s no doubt, Meowm’s heart got the best of her early on. As a consequence, some of us Geezer Ward residents had to find alternate arrangements when the facilities were occupied.
You’ve read about Sapphire (Episode 1) – the one who stayed simply because Meowm hadn’t made it clear to her owner that rehoming was gong to happen. Mamagayo (lucky #13) was ‘older than the wind’, and obviously someone that age had only one last move in her – to the upstairs heated bed. Whitney was next – Hubby1 fell in love with her and he had been such a sport, Meowm had to say yes. (While he did have second thoughts when she peed on him in bed on Valentine’s Day, by then it was too late.) Then there was Coffee who won the ‘most muddled’ award (and came the closest so far to soulmate material); the Blues Brothers – Blue (who was a seal) and Blupert (a blue) (don’t ask me how they secured those names or a spot, but they did); Jasmine (a medical curiousity that never got figured out) and Taraatini – such a crabby seal diva she refused to budge. A good thing that by this point the Rescue Center had been built, because if two is company, 13 was definitely a crowd.
As if this wasn’t enough, Meowm followed some crazy lady’s online advice and signed up to rescue an Italian Greyhound. (HELLO Meowm, did you even READ that they are close to impossible to house train?) She figured the wait list was long and it would be months before she had to say something to Hubby1. But it was her lucky week and within two days she was bumped to the top of the list (rescue experience and all that (HA!)) and before Hubby1 had even been informed not one but two Iggys showed up on her doorstep. Does it surprise anyone to learn there was not a spot left for Hubby1?
By the time Y2000 rolled around, Meowm had roped in some amazingly good Beans – Beans who would not only be adopters but who would morph into all different cogs of the wheels of Siamese Rescue. Fosters, transporters, interviewers, crafters and many others brought their compassion and skills to Team Meezer. A Team that – despite many mishaps yet to be told – would become a family of friends, a community of cat lovers, a history worth repeating – pooling their resources together to save Siamese.
I, for one, remain furever grateful.
Yours truly,
Howard Beakman (follow me and my adventures by subscribing to this blog!)
Sapphire, looking purrfectly at home, was not going anywhere
This is too lovely not to share – from one of our wonderful adopters, Elaine, to her soulmate kitty, Basil – an alumnae of Siamese Rescue. What a beautiful letter, and so perfect for a Valentine’s Day post.
Good day to you. I’m not sure we have been properly introduced? If you started at the beginning (https://siriouslysiri.com/2022/01/27/the-lessons-of-rescue-oh-my-part-1/) you probably caught my VA number (which was lucky 1000) – yup, I was the one thousandth cat to walk through the ‘doors’ of Siamese Rescue. But who am I anyway , and how did I come by such a distinguished nom de plume?
Life was not always as good as it was at the Rescue Center. You see, most of us came across hard times in one way or another, ending up here through no fault of our own. In hindsight, though, those hard times were the catalyst that led us here, and from here we ventured on to new adventures, new experiences and new furever homes. Since we can’t get there without having been here, and there turned out to be pretty good, I find that as a whole, we have few, if any, regrets. Change is hard – and particularly hard for us sensitive Meezers, but with the right recipe of TLC and a sprinkling of luck, it can be a positive experience.
The time frame immediately prior to Rescue is a bit mucky. Hunger was the driving force, for having had my claws removed by a woman who placed a higher value on her JC Penney couch than on my fingers (no comparison if you ask me), I was left to fend for my supper with some pretty old K-9’s and a few back teeth. The menu becomes extremely limited when you rule out fresh catch and are left with day-old donuts. My pawickies were sore from the hot pavement – the June sun baked the tar to tap dancing level. It hadn’t taken me long to figure I was going to be fending for myself when I saw all the suitcases and the hustle and bustle – particularly when my personal belongings were stacked in the corner. Because I’m an eldster, I don’t move as fast as I used to, and I suppose I slowed them down some, although my favorite Teen Bean never minded waiting for me to amble in for my morning visits. But ah, I digress.
Not being that spry has its good points, as does being older and wiser, and the swish of the early morning traffic stirred the smells emanating from the clock factory’s parking lot. I stopped to sniff the morning java, slightly acrid, mixed with the smoke, wrinkling my nose. A steady hum as the change in shifts passed each other to and from, and the rumbling in my gut convinced me to head towards the Bean stream. The stomp of boots muffled the rural Virginia accents and I nodded my head as I passed the factory men gathered for a morning smoke. Watching the gravel for a hint of crumbs, my eyes were drawn to a tin pail similar to what which Teen Bean took with her as she headed to the bus each morning. Figuring I had not much to lose, I ambled in that direction, studying the black leather bootstrings which rose towards the trees. The pail lay open at chest height and I caught the words “Suzy Q” on the edge of a clear, torn wrapper. My luck was holding out as I inched my beak towards what looked to be a delicious morning snack. The stream of rustic chatter continued uninterrupted. Not in a situation to be choosy, I sunk my mouth into a gooey but delightfully creamy substance, something akin to a vanilla custard I had once been offered on a Christmas Eve. Moving my mouth further forward, I found the edges to be of a soft but crumbly texture, not nearly as enjoyable as the first bite but certainly palatable. Suzy Q was obviously not bad in the kitchen.
Seize the moment, my Meowther used to say, and with that thought I made a somewhat feeble attempt to drag the remainder of Suzy’s breakfast production out of the tin pail to easier access.
“Hey!” The boot shifted as a gnarly old finger entered the tin pail’s arena. “Where’s my cheese Danish?” Time to get a move on, I reluctantly withdrew my mouth from the cellophane package and turned to leave. “Not so fast” boomed the boot. “You can’t just take someone’s breakfast without exchanging a word or two.” More gnarly fingers closed around my midriff. The ground faded away as I was hoisted into the air. Two chubby cheeks framed the curliest orange hair I had ever seen, topped by two piercing eyes. At least they’re blue, I thought quickly, wondering if a struggle would be worth it. “Why there ain’t nothing to you – you’se just a sack a bones,” Boots said. “No wonder you’re a beggin. Ya best not hang around here, my fellow, for them there neighborhood dogs ain’t going to take kindly to you, and heck, you’d not be more than an appetizer for one of them!” My stomach lurched as I swung trapeze-like through the air; Boots gathering up his tin pail in one hand, me in the other. I looked fondly at the remnants of the cheese Danish in the hopes that Boots would invite Suzy Q to join us, but his shift was done and we were headed out. I swallowed tightly, hoping the swinging back and forth would not result in the loss of Suzy’s carefully baked breakfast. Boots was whistling under his breath as he headed for the opened door of a faded blue cab. Plopped on the seat, I shifted my interest as a wide variety of cellophane packets in various stages of consumption came into view. Before I had a chance to jump down and investigate further, however, Boots had parked himself next to me and a horrible rumbling and crackling noise emanated from under the hood. Without claws and much anchoring it was all I could do to hold on, and I stumbled and staggered from side to side, occasionally bumping up against Boots as I tried to stay on my paws. Luckily this experience was short lived, and just as I began to think maybe hot pavement wasn’t so bad, we came to a lurching halt and the hood sputtered and died. “End of the road” mumbled Boots as the trapeze action began again and I swung helplessly back and forth. A clang and a clink and I was deposited on a cold steel desk where a female Bean with a face stressed beyond her years peered down at me. Boots and the Bean exchanged a few words as Boots scribbled some information on a form he was handed, gave me a quick scritch, and headed out the door.
The smells were overwhelming – many purrsonalities carried through the air. Lonely and mourning, confused, frightened, and plain old angry. More clinks, more trapeze action, and then my very own room. A bit small, 3×3, but it had the bare necessities – a soft towel, a cardboard box to do my business in, a dish of water, a bowl of kibbles. I wondered if by any chance Suzy Q sent her baked goods here. Something told me probably not.
Fortunately, those tiny quarters were only temporary. My handsome beak and warbling tenor secured me a quick audience with the CPS of Siamese Rescue. A few days and a number of miles later my accommodations were upgraded – first, to business class at the Center, and then to first class in the home. And that CPS lady? Not only was she the Chief Pooper Scooper, but she could make a mean cheese Danish. Life was good.
Yours truly,
Howard Beakman
(If you like my tails, and are curious as to how I got my Nom de Plume (which is some story, let me tell you), follow this blog to be notified when I next put paw to paper).
Like several of the significant steps in Meowm’s life, she didn’t do much research before taking the plunge. A rescue for Meezers, glamorous, right? Something she could do in her spare time – did she really think she had any, working a full-time job and raising a young daughter with a hubby home weekends only? Leave it to her to jump in with both feet and – as you have read – flip flops, no boots. And yes, the sh*t was deep!
First off, we were in the rural neverlands of Virginia. To get anywhere takes forever, including Meowm’s full time job – teaching – a good hour driving the back roads to and from. This meant leaving the house at O700, which, for me, meant morning nibbles happened about 6. A bit too early for Geezer Ward retirement – I was still deep in the throws of shuteye. I didn’t dare wait long, however, for that Mamagayo, older than the wind said the doc, could eat her weight times three. Crumbs left for the rest of us if we didn’t snap to Reveille, sounded by the slobbering woofers who thought every little movement deserved announcing. Spinning through the house and Center like a tornado, Meowm had bowls filled, pans emptied and mini-bean in the car, disappearing until dinner nibbles. I’d like to say calm ensued, but in reality, chaos was only beginning.
He was a real whippersnapper. I think Meowm labeled him as TB#1 and that stood for TroubleMaker Extraordinaire. A wild man from the get-go, he would hunker down at the window, peering through the slats until he saw that car leave the driveway and then, well, the cat was out of the bag. Since he was such a wild man, he was over here with us Geezers instead of at the Center; I guess there was hope he would learn some manners. While I’d like to say he kept us young, he mostly kept us crazy. People, he would have nothing to do with, but fellow felines, he loved to torment. There wasn’t a corner you could saunter around without that masked bandit making a play for the thigh and roll tackle. And the daily constitutional? Let’s just say you had to be one and done, and fast about it – otherwise, it was squirt and spurt.
Those woofers, however, thought he was the best thing since spilt milk. Actually, they didn’t care what he spilt, they were more than happy to lick it up, chew on it, swallow it – anything and everything Shammy batted to the ground, they disposed of in some form or another. Those six were in cohoots – the five dogzillas and Shammy – disasters in the making. Left the knitting out? Unraveled. That potted plant? Dirt everywhere. Pile of papers? Shredded. And the carrot cake? The one that Meowm worked on for hours getting the frosting and decorations just right? Needless to say, when four-thirty rolled around, Shammy was sucking the cream cheese from between his paws under the bed, us Geezers were innocently mid-afternoon nap, and the woofers were very busy working on who had the best ‘not-guilty’ expression.
Fortunately, our romper room times didn’t last for long – it only took Meowm one experience of falling asleep while sitting in her car at a railroad crossing to realize that something had to give. It was the students or us, and it wasn’t long before Meowm went from full time teaching to full time rescuing. As for Shammy? The beans were spilt. Caught red-pawed, he pled guilty.
It is Y2001. Siamese Rescue has been in operation for 3 years now. Oh, and what a learning experience we are having. One can never say that life here is dull. Ever watched someone on a trapeze? Up and down with a pit in their stomach, then butterflies, nervous yet excited, followed by that whoosh whoosh, back down and then up they climb again. So go our days.
There’s a bunch of us here. How many, people often ask. We lose count. Kind of like a revolving door most of the time, and you don’t bother with numbers. A few in, a few out. The home crew stays relatively steady, but the ones considered transient? So many new whiskers to twitch. Meowm and Paw do well. The cats we remember, they say. The adopters? They all look the same. I can see their point. I was never big on looks anyway. Now smells, that’s a different story. Specific looks don’t do much for us felines. Shapes, however, is another thing all together. Take Toko Thai for example. He likes tall blondes. And Annie? She likes wide people. Me? I’ll take anyone who has cheese danish.
Anyway, back to the Center. I’m never sure what to think about life at the Center. So many comings and goings. But compared with the previous digs, there is both comfort and variety.
We have two living facilities here now – the House, commonly known as the Geezer Ward, and the Rescue Center itself. Just a stone’s throw from each other, the House has the permanent residents – those of us who fit the mold of unadoptable for whatever reason. Then there’s the Rescue Center, hosting up to fifty furries at a time, all hoping for a new home. I live in the Geezer Ward.
In 1998, when Meowm opened the doors to nomad Meezers, they all stayed in the House. Meowm hadn’t quite grasped the concept of rescue and release, and the number of permanent residents increased within a few short weeks from two to six. Take Sapphire for example. She was VA0002. Her mom was moving to California and couldn’t take her. She came and visited with Meowm who did what she tends to do – rambled on and on about her idea of a rescue and all that was involved – without letting the poor lady get a word in edgewise. Hours later, the woman left, and Sapphire sprawled happily on the couch (she was happy just about anywhere provided there’s a food bowl within reach). It was only after the fact that Meowm realized she had been so busy yabbering that she had neglected to inform this lady she was going to find Sapphire a new home. And no, she had not gotten the lady’s address or forwarding number either (told you she was talking too much!) Feeling that it was not right to rehome her without the lady’s okay, Sapphire, the lump, stayed.
Who was VA0001 you might ask? No, not me I’m afraid – I waited to make my appearance until Meowm and Paw had this Rescue thing down pat (my name is Howard Beakman, and I am VA1000). Ming was the first. His family had gone through a divorce and left their trailer, and Ming, to do their own thing. By the time Ming had been found, however, he had gone so long without proper care that his glucose was off the charts. Meowm got two lessons for the price of one with him – Rescue wasn’t going to be cheap, and there weren’t always happy endings.
By the time we got to number 0003, she was getting the hang of it. JoJo, though a far cry for a Siamese, found a home not 45 minutes from here with a nice couple who weren’t allowed to leave until they promised to be on the Board of Directors – Meowm needed to create one so she could meet IRS requirements for a non-profit.
Ahh, those early lessons. The next three arrivals taught us that not every cat with a home lives comfortably, and not every cat is social. Responding to a phone call from a man whose wife had been hospitalized, it was a Meezer scavenger hunt in the wilds of the Virginia mountains. Windy roads led to what could be described as a goat path flooded by recent storms; the water cascading down the mountain sides. In sneakers and shorts, and with mini Bean (age 8) and Grandma Muddles in tow, what a picture of naivety as they were led to a sagging abandoned shed. It didn’t take a keen sense of smell to note that this would be a memorable experience. Forcing the door open, inches of cat feces blocking the way, the 6×8 room was a mass of flying fur – up the walls, across the ceiling, back down again. Other than furry ferals, the room was completely empty save some old French fry dishes with week old food. Waterbugs paddled happily in a bowl of pea green water. Any Meezers? Yes, quite a few, but it was impossible to get a count – every movement brought wild panic to their eyes as they launched like rubber band torpedoes off every surface. If you could have seen Meowm standing there with her mouth agape, carrier helplessly in hand – it was quite a sight. Last time she went anywhere questionable in shorts and flip flops, with her young daughter, elderly mother, no gloves or plan, let me tell you. I think humans call this behavior clueless.
Well anyway, after about 20 minutes of America’s Funniest Home Videos, as Meowm swooped the carrier through the air hoping one of the Meezers would land inside, one actually did. I’m not sure who was more surprised, the cat or Meowm. Luckily she thought to close the carrier door before the moment had passed, and she had it, her first real wild Siamese catch. His name was Shammy, and you’ll meet him in the next episode. https://siriouslysiri.com/2022/01/31/episode-2-shammy-takes-the-cake/
Yours Truly,
Howard Beakman
That’s me under the palm tree, soaking up the Sun.
