Rescue Stories – both Fiction and Non Fiction – Page 3

January 17, 2022January 17, 2022

Teyla’s Tail

It was 2004 and the Siamese Rescue Center (SCRC) had been in existence for six years. Initially a small Center in Virginia where all the cats were housed, SCRC had by this time expanded to numerous East Coast states, thanks to a myriad of fantastic volunteers who stepped up to help in a variety of ways. Whether it was pulling cats from a shelter, fostering them until they found a home, transporting them to that home, or interviewing applicants, SCRC was impacting the eastern third of the US, evaluating, rehabilitating and placing cats in homes throughout 15 states.

Enter Teyla.

Teyla came into our program in the Florida area and was fostered by a vet, a wonderful woman who not only vetted cats for us, but helped in many of the other ways listed above. Found as a stray kitten, she was adopted by an older couple after only a month in the program.

Fast forward to 2017; Teyla was 13 years old. The husband had passed away and the wife was entering a nursing home and was no longer able to care for Teyla. Without anyone to take her, SCRC’s safety net was activated and Teyla was brought back into the rescue program so that we could work our placement magic once more.

Teyla went to stay with one of our experienced foster moms, Rinn, where she could have a room to herself as she adjusted to a new environment. Having been an only cat her entire life, we knew it would take her some time to become accustomed to rescue life, and finding a foster spot for her where she didn’t need to be caged and could be housed by herself was key. Over the next 280 days Rinn worked hard with Teyla, but she was one angry mess. Swatting and hissing, she wanted no part of humans, let alone other animals. All possible medical causes for her anger were checked; Teyla just was a very unhappy camper at having lost her home and family.

After 9 months with Rinn, we decided that a change of venue might help the situation, and brought her here to the Center. Experience had shown us that if a foster cat was not doing well after a significant period of time with one foster, changing locations sometimes did the trick. In January of 2018 Teyla began her extended stay here at the Center. She was given an entire bank of cages (nine individual cubbies that connected with each other) where she had the option to stay sequestered if she wanted to be by herself. At the same time, one door was always open so that she could come out and interact if she felt like it. While it was clear she was not keen on other cats, the room was large, the population was small, and no one bothered her. She remained hissy and swatty, but by late summer I was able to get in several very quick head scritches when I put down her tray of wet food. I had to withdraw my hand quickly, however, or blood would be drawn. Progress was frustratingly slow. Teyla remained uninterested in making friends with humans or cats, and maintained what I would term a ‘semi-feral’ state of mind. In the 20+ years of having rescue cats, she was by far the angriest cat we had seen.

January of 2019 came around. Teyla had now been back with Siamese Rescue for 573 days and the progress was minimal. She certainly did not fall into the category of adoptable. It was time for another move, and this time we wondered whether she was really best suited for a sanctuary – a situation where she could live out her life without human interaction (unless she wanted it). The down side of sanctuary living was she would be around a lot of other cats. It was not ideal, but given we were making so little progress, the option had to be considered.

And then along came Chelsea, a cat whisperer. Chelsea had buckets of rescue experience and had been one of our fosters for quite some time. While she had a houseful of cats, she did have an empty finished basement where Teyla could stay. Certainly a better option than a sanctuary if she was willing to give Teyla a try. Why not, what could it hurt, she thought. We readily agreed.

From there, the progress was impressive:

Month one – Teyla sniffs hands but bats if Chelsea tries to pet her.

Month two – Teyla accepts pets on head, but gives a smack if you try to touch her body.

Month three – She is sleeping next to Chelsea when Chelsea sleeps in the basement.

Month six – Teyla can be picked up and moved, but will still smack unless she initiates the contact first.

Month seven – Teyla becomes a lap sitter.

And then, and continuing into present day, take a look at this picture. You just never know. It has to be the right situation – the right person, the right environment, and a good dose of time. But even those cats with a face of trauma https://siriouslysiri.com/2022/01/12/the-face-of-trauma, if you can find the magic scenario, and you can wait them out, their heart just may heal.

Teyla 2021, photo courtesy of Chelsea Willis

January 12, 2022

The Face of Trauma

Sammi! SAMMI! Come out from under that bed! Honestly, Sam, enough is enough. We’ve been through the same thing every day for the month and a half you’ve been here. It’s not going to get any better if you stay hidden 24/7. You really must get a hold of yourself.

Sammi was not an easy one. As a matter of fact, in all the residents we’d had here, she was one of the toughest nuts to crack. Couldn’t get her to open up one bit, could barely get her to share a snack. And look you right in the eyes? Forget it. Always staring away, eyes awash with terror. Fled if you approached. Daily therapy sessions were getting us nowhere. This gal was going to be here for the long haul.

Sammmm. It’s okay, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Honestly. It’s just that, well, I’m so frustrated. We walk down this path every day. Nothing changes. It’s still just me, trying to be your bud, and you’re so frightened of it all. Try to relax. Just give it a shot. You don’t even have to look me in the eyes, you can stay curled up in your ball with your eyes tight shut if you like. But talk to me. Tell me what’s up – or down – or any which way for that matter.

I was met with the same thing as yesterday – the day before – and the day before that. Every muscle tensed – ready to flee at a second’s notice. Yet I thought I saw a twitch – or was it just wishful thinking?

Come on, Sam. Start anywhere. Tell me about the day you were born. Your first home. Can you remember that far back?

Silence. But another twitch.

What about your parents? What were they like? I crouched down and peered under the bed, only to be met by the largest, saddest puddles of blue water I’d ever seen. My heart tore without having heard a word.

Sam? I shifted my bony hips into a more comfortable resting position. Sam? I’m here, I won’t hurt you. Share with me. I want to be your friend, but I can’t do it without knowing more about you.

And then it came. The Niagara Falls of stories. And the blue puddles spilled everywhere.

I was an unplanned pregnancy, resulting in an unwanted birth and then just plain unwanted. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my second go round was an after-thought, without much, if any, pre-thought, for I was one of many. Too many in a small place, and bottom of the totem pole. I spent my entire life, hour after hour, waiting, watching, perched carefully where I could see in all directions, for you never knew. You always had to watch your back – and your front for that matter. Unpredictable was putting it mildly. One moment all would be quiet, and you’d take a deep breath. The next, out of nowhere, screeches and screams, a blur of voices and bodies, of blood and urine, and things grew dim – hidden under the bed or in the closet, ears and eyes covered, searching for that internal safety net. Blankets over my body, eyes tightly shut, ears scrunched closed, I could be safe; safe from the unpredictability and irrationality of the world. There it was just me, and I could take care of me, I just had to stay strong, had to have faith in myself, had to keep protected. Never let anyone in, never trust anyone, for even those closest to you could erupt without a moment’s notice. You’re born alone, you die alone, you’ve got to watch your own back.

Flying through the air. Voices. Objects. Terrified. Hunkered down, blankets over my head. Can’t see you, you can’t see me. No one will know. Closed up inside, safe, safe inside my head. Don’t let anyone in. Don’t open your eyes. Don’t listen. Quiet. The quietest breaths possible. Not a move. Stay very still. No emotion. Nothing helped. Just shut down – shut tight – keep safe. Safe. Hold on for dear life. They’ll find you if you’re not careful. Better move. Find another spot. In the closet, in the very back. It’s dark. That’s good. Secret. Safe. Holding tight. But have to pee. Bathroom is far. Far across the chaotic terrain. Can’t hold it. Got to go. Will just go here. Shhhh. Don’t tell. Got to move. Wet and uncomfortable. Under the bed, quick, dash! Look out! They saw! They’re in pursuit. Angry, raging, grasping, ripping at you. Hold on, dig in, oh please please PLEASE! Stop! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, don’t hurt me, please! Curl tight in a ball. Protection, protection. The pain. The knives, they slash, they cut. Over and over I somersault. And then. The ground shakes. Heavy boots. Harsh voices, yelling, glass exploding by my head, shiny glistening fragmented spikes snowing everywhere. They disappear. I meld to the bedpost, becoming one, searching deep inside for the path of safety – the one that takes me away. There it is, I can just see it. Close those eyes and ears tight, sink down, down deep, look, look hard, reach out, you can just grasp it if you try. Reach, reach, and hold tight, don’t move, don’t breathe, it’s inside, you’re alright, you’re alright, hold on, you’re going to be alright…..

December 27, 2021February 7, 2022

Out of the Box Experiences – Part 1

Out of the box experiences! The bane of having a cat. The number one reason for cats being turned in to shelters or rescue groups. Without a doubt, the most frustrating, the most common, the most damaging issue with cat ownership.
Yes, believe it or not, one of the easier ones to solve, IF you can take the time and do the detective work. And herein lies the road to returns – too many people don’t want to take the time, or don’t have the patience to try to figure out what their cat is trying to tell them. As Director of the Siamese Cat Rescue Center for 20+ years, I have scooped and monitored litterboxes for thousands and thousands of cats. Were there some whose litterbox issues could not be solved? Sure, but the numbers were miniscule compared to how many we could solve. And I mean miniscule. 20 maybe, out of, literally, thousands of cats who came in with box issues.

They are speaking to you, you know. And if we could all understand those meows, resolving the issue might be easy. But since we don’t speak cat, we must learn to understand what they are saying by doing some puzzle solving.

1) Let’s start with the basic tenets: your cat is over six months of age and is spay/neutered. What? Your cat is not spay/neutered yet? Stop reading right now, take care of that, and then, if the issue continues, read on. Females or males, if not spayed or neutered, are highly likely to pee (urine is directed downwards from a squatting position) or spray (urine is directed horizontally from a standing position) if they are not spayed or neutered. Read that again. Females will spray as well.
2) You have been to the vet and had the cat checked for urinary tract issues. You could be wasting your time spending lots of energy trying all sorts of behavioral strategies when it could be something as simple as an infection. Both males and females can get UTIs (urinary tract infections), crystals in the urine, even bladder and kidney stones (though less common). Particularly if your cat has been fine in the box, nothing has changed in the household, and out-of-the-box experiences begin, it’s time to take a trip to the vet. No one likes to spend money unless necessary, but infections and crystals are easily treated once you know about them, so rule them out first.
3) There is an issue with the box itself. Now imagine yourself at the last restaurant, concert venue or other public place you have been, and you need to use the restroom. You find where it is (was it obvious?) and you look at the row of toilets. How many of us are going to choose one that has not been flushed? Or smells awful? Or has urine on the seat or the floor? You know the drill. We are walking down the row of toilets peering in each one to find one that looks halfway clean. Your cat is no different (and arguably cats are cleaner than most humans). They don’t want to use a toilet that is full, or filthy, or smells. They want one that is clean. Because they may need to go more than once during the day, hopefully (see below) they have more than one litterbox to choose from. The box they choose needs to be clean, which means not just keeping it scooped, but keeping it odor free. This may involve scrubbing the box on a weekly basis (or as needed). Remember that a cat’s sense of smell is much better than that of a human.
4) There is an issue with what’s inside the box, assuming we’re not talking feces and urine. In other words, what kind of litter are you using? It may be nice and fine that you prefer dust-free, flushable or some sort of organic litter, but is that what your cat likes? Cats have very sensitive noses, so not only can they detect long-term urine smells, but they are also often overwhelmed by the scented litters. While many times it is possible to convert a cat from one type of litter to another, cats with sensitive feet (in particular those that are declawed) are often averse to anything that feels too gravelly or rough on their paws (pelleted litter for example). Additionally, while it may make things easier for us, many cats absolutely hate plastic litterbox liners.
5) There is an issue with location. Flash back to the public venue you were last in when you needed to use the restroom. Was it clear where that restroom was? Was it down a dark hallway that was kind of intimidating? Did you have to go up or down flights of stairs when you were feeling a bit arthritic? Was the bathroom located where it was terribly smelly, or loud, or sketchy in any way shape or form? Ideally, all of us would like to have a pleasant and relaxing experience when we use the toilet, even if it’s a quick one, and your cat is no different. So rethink locations that are in closets, down the stairs to a dark corner in the basement, behind the noisy washing machine, etc.
6) What about the type of box? Is it hooded, because you don’t want to see or smell it, but your cat is afraid of tight spots or dark places? Is it big enough the cat can get in, turn around, dig to China, and use the box without going over the edge? Does it have a high lip they have to climb over when they are old and achy? Is it motorized and makes a scary noise if they linger too long?
7) Finally, let’s talk about the number of boxes you have. Keeping in mind what has been discussed above, unless you have nothing else to do with your time other than scoop litterboxes, you likely need more than one box. The general rule of thumb is one box per cat, plus one more. This will ensure that there is always a clean box available when the cat needs to go. If you don’t have room for more than one box, and you have litterbox issues, then rethink the number of cats you take on. If you won’t use a public restroom that hasn’t been flushed or cleaned, don’t expect your cat to be happy doing so.

Cats are very clean creatures, and they function primarily by smell. They also have good memories, so it only takes one or two negative experiences to turn a cat away from a particular box or location. If the box is uncomfortable in any way (where it’s located or what’s inside of it), they are likely to pick another place to go. How likely are you to return to a public venue where you had an awful experience?
In Part 1, we’ve touched on medical considerations, as well as talking about the location and the physical box components that are important. In Part 2, we’ll discuss the environmental, emotional and psychological issues which may affect litterbox behavior. (If you like this post and want to read more, please subscribe to the blog – you will be notified when there are new posts!)

Cats have a lot going on in their heads, but trying to understand what they are telling us is often a challenge. — Squeaks wants desperately to tell me what’s wrong…..

December 19, 2021February 2, 2022

Are You My Soulmate?

Suki. She was everything I said I wanted. Young, check. Healthy, check. Cute, check. Playful, yup. Never one to waste a minute, before my cat of 18 years had been in the ground 24 hours, I was scouring the internet for Siamese kittens. The best way to get over a heart break? For me, it was to give my love quickly to someone else. We always had multiples – several dogs, a number of cats – but Beeky had been my soulmate. He was the one who kept me sane during tumultuous teenage years; the one I snuck into the college dorm; the one who moved with me to the big city and was with me through the start of both married life and motherhood. While we had other cats, no one was able to read me like Beeky, and when he passed, I was anxious to find his replacement.
Suki came from a family breeder – not registered, nothing fancy, but certainly a decent upbringing. There were six siblings, but several had already been claimed, so I had a choice of two females – both so cute – how can you go wrong with a Siamese kitten? After careful consideration, I went for the one that appeared to be deep in thought, surely a sign that she was soulmate material. While she was young, only 8 weeks, and tiny, only 4 pounds, I figured this would give us a great start on the bonding process. Plus it was May, and as a teacher, my summer stretched in front of me with nothing much to do but focus on my new best feline friend.
It was, and was not, a busy household. I was married, but my husband worked out of state, so was only home on weekends. I had one daughter, aged 7, who was on the quieter side; while involved in plenty of extracurricular activities and friendships, very few of them happened at our home, a six acre spread out in the country. The busiest part about it was the other animals – at the time we had three dogs, a rabbit, two goats and several ducks. Plus we had several cats who had always been indoor-outdoor and were not about to convert to indoor only; with Suki, however, I was heading towards the mindset of indoor only.
So how to raise her as my soulmate cat? Well, it only made sense that some of her personality would come from genetics; I had met the parents and they certainly seemed like nice cats – no skitziness, raised underfoot, busy but involved family. I figured the rest was up to me – I needed her to bond tightly with me, and being not one to sit around much, I fashioned a sling-like pocket that I put her in while I trapsed around the house doing whatever it was a somewhat ‘single’ parent did while caring for a seven-year-old child, three in-house dogs, four cats, the rabbit, goats and ducks. Day in and day out I worked to make sure we spent as much waking (and sleeping) time together as possible. I would be her favorite person, and she my favorite cat.
And so it went for those formative three months – we were together day and night (to the best of my ability). Did you know that seal females are very smart, but also typically very independent? They can be quite opinionated and determined, and often don’t like to be told what to do. They also, in general, will fill the role of queen bee, choosing their companions – both human and feline – and blossom with routine and predictability. Despite all my efforts – and my determination to have Suki fill the role of Siri’s soulmate, she was not having it. She liked to do her own thing and was certainly not going to be told who she should bond with. She was not much of a snuggle bug, and I had wanted an ‘in your arms’ type cat. She definitely was not going to be molded into something she was not, and the ‘carry around in the sling idea’ expired the minute she figured out how to jump out of it. The other felines were tolerated, but were clearly below her. As time went on, and yes, the animals continued to accumulate (three dogs became six, four cats crept up to seven), Suki made it perfectly clear that she was one unhappy camper. Not only did she dislike all the animals, she was also not that keen on me, despite all that early together time I had manufactured.
The lesson here? Soulmates only happen once in a great while. You can’t force them, you can’t finesse them, you should consider yourself lucky if you do find one. At one point after we stopped intaking cats into the Rescue program I counted how many personal cats we had over the years, and came up with some crazy number – I think it was in the 60’s. (This is because we typically took in the older cats who only had a few years, so while we had a great many, we also lost a great many.) But in all of those family members, while there were many cats that I absolutely adored, and there were many that fell into the ‘pretty good’ category, there were only four that made it to soulmate status. Suki? She was a nice cat. But my take-away from the experience with her was the lesson, not the cat.

December 17, 2021December 17, 2021

Dear Sebastian:

You came to me on December 22, 1998, just three days before Christmas. Your step-grandmom had adopted a new sibling from me, Celeste, whom she loved dearly. But you just hated Celeste. You had never asked to live with your step-grandmom; your dad had left for the Rainbow Bridge and she was kind enough to take you in. While she provided you with a loving home, the two of you never connected, and it was clear you were an unhappy cat, which translated into an unhappy owner. Adding a sibling made matters worse. I told your step-grandmom that this was not the usual procedure – that I did not place a cat and take a cat in return – but I could tell from her voice, and from yours, it was the right thing to do. So I did.

Down you came to the Virginia Rescue Center. And, as is custom, off we went to the vet to get you checked out. So extremely agitated were you, throwing yourself against the sides of the carrier, yowling up a storm beyond anything any of us had ever heard, that the vet suggested something I never told you, but I refused to listen to her. They had to physically restrain you and heavily sedate you in order to be able to even get close.

Turned out your mouth was a shambles! No wonder you were so crabby, most of your teeth were rotten or falling out. A dental certainly was in order. And so we did one, removing most of your teeth. Surely this would make you happier, and to a very small extent, it did. You came back to the Center to settle in and build a reputation as the “Halloween Hisser”. Adopter after adopter that came through the house was taken aback by your attitude, something unparalleled in my cat experience. You certainly came across as one crabby cat.

Then along came a family in Chicago. Everyone involved felt certain you would be the appropriate fit, except perhaps you. Off you went, complaining loudly, to your new home, and back you came, just a few days later, having protested enough to terrify the family and alert the neighbors. Despite all the in-depth screening and conversations we’d had in advance, this clearly wasn’t the right fit. We were all disappointed; you were extra stressed after enduring several plane rides, and we were back to square one. After some time you settled back into your Virginia routine, still determined not to like anything about anyone.

Determined not to be a loving cat, yet looking at me with those adoring eyes. Determined not to be affectionate, yet rubbing against my legs every time I stood up. Determined not to purr, yet giving small sounds when I kissed your head. Determined not to belong to anyone, yet laying contentedly on the pillow every night. And I, determined not to fall head over heels, did. I thought you would have to stay. I knew you wanted to stay. I kissed your soft head, dodged your clawless paws, ignored your constantly crabby voice, and loved you regardless. I gazed into your big eyes, avoided your territorial stances, shared the bad and the ugly with potential adopters, and loved you even more.

Then, one day, along came two angels. They visited you many times. They listened to your rude words. They endured your angry swats and your toothless hiss. They left, but visited again. They talked – we talked – you hissed. They coaxed – we considered – you grumbled. They cajoled, you lunged, they loved you more.

Tonight you have gone with them to your new home. While you don’t believe it now, thrashing and swearing inside the carrier, they are taking you to a wonderful new life. They are earth angels, and you will go on to live out an amazing life with them and their cats. They will adore your crabbiness, your angry voice, your hissy fits, and your big blue eyes. They will kiss your head, avoid your swats, talk soothingly over your yowls, and love you forever. They will give you warmth, comfort, security, safety, and most importantly, unconditional love.

Many cats have come and gone. Each one is special, and a certain sadness accompanies the wonderful feeling of sending each off to their new home. But for you, Sebastian, for you who was crabbier beyond belief, I sit here and weep, for I will miss you deeply. With your departure has gone a piece of my heart.

Be happy, my friend. Live long and well, and learn to love Kristin and Josh, the rescue angels who could see through your exterior to the frightened insecure boy underneath. I will love you forever.

“Aunt” Siri

(Post adoption note – Sebastian went on to live a long, full and happy life with these two adopters, successfully adjusting through a number of moves and life changes. In 20+ years, this was the only time we actually did a ‘trade’ – taking a cat and adopting out a cat to the same person. In this case, it was the right thing to do, and just goes to show you, nothing about Rescue is black and white.)

Sebasitan was one Angry cat! But oh did I love him!

December 15, 2021December 15, 2021

It’s All In Your Head

When Siamese Rescue began (1998), there was so much I didn’t know – not only about the business of rescue itself, but also about cats and cat care in general. Sure, I had owned cats my entire life, and yes, many of them happened to be Siamese, but I was totally unprepared for the challenges that rescue would bring and the experiences it would provide. Every cat left us with something, and those lessons would serve us well, as the Rescue grew to help over 13,000 cats in 20+ years. Tiki, one of our earliest guests, showed us that rescuing cats went a lot further than managing their physical needs.

The call came on a Thursday evening; I had just collapsed at home after a full day in the special ed classroom. Having gotten my name from the local shelter, Mrs. B. had been watching a large male Siamese cat rambling around her back yard over the past few days. Assuming he belonged to a neighbor, she had watched his health slowly decline as she waited for his owner to take action. By Thursday morning, the cat was clearly struggling, his breathing labored. Realizing the neighbor was not going to take action, Mrs. B. insisted that I get there straight away.

When I arrived, I found all nine saggy pounds of “Tiki” hunched in a corner of a makeshift crate, looking very miserable. His lips hung in a rumpled fashion on his face; his eyes streamed water. Gathering him up, I called the vet, catching him just before closing and begging him to wait until I got there.

Ushering us in right away, the vet hummed and hawed, poked and prodded, examined and injected. Unable to either afford or get to the closest 24-hour emergency hospital, I headed home armed with a small pharmacy and with the understanding that there really was little hope for this lad unless I could convince him to eat. His fractured pelvis would heal itself, the extensive dental he desperately needed could be done at a later date. The immediate concern was getting him some nourishment. Without their sense of smell, many cats go into a slump and literally starve themselves to death, and Tiki was well on his way. A large-boned cat, his skin fell in folds and his expression held the look of a defeated soldier. A likely throw or fall from a moving car, said the vet; the human rejection and physical trauma painfully obvious.

Working out of my home and knowing he needed to be isolated from any other cats, Tiki got the upstairs bathroom. Covering the floor with soft towels, I was confident in my ability to provide an appetizing cuisine. Having done rescue now for a month or so, I had all the mainstays in the cupboard: various gourmet cat foods, both wet and dry, baby foods, tuna, canned shrimp, sardines, cottage cheese and so forth.

Over the next 24 hours I exhausted all these possibilities and then some. Tiki lay in a crumpled heap, showing not the slightest interest in anything put in front of him. His breathing was so loud and labored it could be heard through the door, putting my husband’s snoring to shame. Humidifiers, Eucalyptus oil, Vicks – nothing seemed to make the slightest bit of difference.

By Sunday, I realized I was very close to losing him and really needed to step up my game. But what to do? He was so depressed, completely closed to the world. Attempts to play had been futile, petting and brushing him evoked little response. A fishy calorie supplement on my finger inserted into his mouth dribbled out with no interest. (I was not yet versed in sub-q fluids). The situation was definitely a bleak one.

Figuring it was close to impossible to make things much worse, I decided to give up worrying about his physical ailments and instead concentrate on his psyche. Armed with towels, heaters, a blow dryer, shampoo, and nail clippers, I drew a long warm bath. Very slowly I lowered him in. Tiki lay like a rag doll, not having the strength to give even the slightest protest. I scrubbed and rinsed, soaped and soaked. The sweat trickled down my neck as the heater warmed the air to a steamy 95 degrees. Tiki molded to my hands in whatever form I needed, barely flicking a whisker as the bubbles enveloped his body. He was so relaxed, I wondered if I was going to lose him right then and there. And yet, as I continued to scrub, a light began to glow in Tiki’s eyes. Slowly stretching his neck, his tongue raked weakly across my hand. A muffled sound came from his throat, a very sorry attempt at a purr. With his eyes half closed, a look of sheer contentment crossed his face.

Fifteen minutes later, after soaping him ears to paws, I lifted him onto the softest towel I could find. Rubbing him briskly, I told him all about his future. Listening closely, he purred and stretched, arched and yawned, and when he couldn’t stand it any longer, took a paw in helping with the clean-up. Licking briskly himself, as well as me, he began to purr full throttle.

Next came the blow dryer. Tiki stood stock still with a very pleased look on his face while I blew and brushed and fluffed him clean. We finished with a nail trim and ear cleaning, and the once sad-looking Meezer was now a silky, handsome (saggy) bundle of contentness. I could almost see the positive energy flow through his limbs as to my delight, he lumbered over to the food bowl and began eating like there was no end in sight.

Six weeks later, I was packing Tiki’s belongings for his trip up north. He had made a remarkable recovery; sleeping in my daughter’s arms every night, crawling into our laps while we watched TV, smiling at us with that silly toothless grin he had. Still needing help up and down the stairs, Tiki had filled out most of his folds and blossomed into a handsome, distinguished gentleman. While a look of disapproval flickered across the vet’s face as I described the bath episode, he was astonished at the change and improvement he saw.

Tiki went on to live happily ever after in upstate New York, settling in with his new family and his best friend, Pippin. His teeth were fixed, his pelvis healed, and he got his second chance at life in a wonderful home. His personality was just like a marshmallow, said his owner, molding to whatever lap presented itself and taking whatever came his way in stride.

From that point forward, we spent an equal amount of time fixating on the cats’ mental baggage as we did addressing their physical issues. While we could fight for them, they had to fight for themselves as well, and they weren’t going to do that unless they felt safe and secure, loved and hopeful. If they didn’t feel loved, they didn’t want to live, and if they didn’t want to live, we were very likely to lose them, regardless of any physical interventions.

Tiki taught us that the psychological aspect of rescue is equally as important as the physical.

December 13, 2021

A Leap of Faith

I knew he didn’t have long to live. And he was nothing like I wanted. I wanted someone I could mold – someone I could grow with, who could grow with me. I was going to shape their personality – going to make them just like my last one – going to create a replica of my first soulmate I had growing up. I had to have a kitten.

I had searched everywhere. Watched the classified ads. Scanned the bulletin boards. Even posted a few “Wanted” ads. Nowhere could I find that perfectly pointed, bat-eared complainer to be my bud. True, it wasn’t the heart of kitten season. But they were still being born, I knew it. The neighbor down the road had a slew of them – black, orange, tabbies, calicos – but no Siamese. The dumpster at the Landfill was overflowing with them – and I even saw one that mimicked a tortie – but they were feral. I had never imagined it could be this hard.

And then I came of age. The internet. But of course. They had everything, or at least, a way to find it. And so I did my search.

Low and behold, there it was. A goldmine. The candy shop of all candy shops. One stop shopping. I scanned the pictures, all 115 of them. Available in every color, shape and size. My eyes glistened. I could feel him calling to me. Just a click away, the address loomed larger than life. There was a local rescue that was jam packed with cats – who knew?

The tips of my fingers tingled as I scanned the photos. Would he be there waiting for me? Would I know when I saw him? Would I see it in his eyes?

My heart sank. “Left in a basement for 8 years, I nip for attention.” “Got given up for eating the dog’s food and throwing up everywhere.” “Sensitive stomach, special diet needed.” Oh no. None of these sounded right. They were too old. Too encumbered with issues. Too behaviorally involved. I had just lost one, the heartache had been so deep. I just couldn’t go there again. Besides, they would never bond with me. They had loved someone else – I could never be the apple of their eye.

Maybe if I called. Maybe there were other cats not yet on the website. Maybe they had my soulmate waiting in the wings. Maybe I could explain just what I needed and someone would understand. What did I have to lose?

“… an application process. We don’t get kittens that often…..We concentrate on matchmaking of personalities….. 3-5 days to get approved….. You’ll be assigned an Interviewer….You should be approved before visiting…..” Goodness. I wasn’t adopting a child. This sounded like an incredible amount of work. Since none of the other adoption avenues were fruitful, I guess I didn’t have much to lose. Might as well start the process, though it certainly seemed more tedious than necessary.

(Five days pass by…….)

So I’m finally approved. While I know they are only concerned I provide a good home, I feel as if they have checked me inside, outside and upside down. I’m on my way to the Rescue Center where I’m hoping the cat of my dreams will be waiting. Someone small, cute, bouncy, silly and mischievous, all wrapped up into one. Someone who will pounce on my shoelace and climb on my shoulder and snuggle in my hair. He’s out there, I just know it……

The cats know why I’m here. Some of them come running, having mastered Adoption 101. A few amble nonchalantly in my direction. Several peer from atop perches scattered around the room. My heart beats fast. I talk with each one, and we carefully size each other up. Introductions are made. I wait for that moment – that clicking of souls as we search each other’s eyes for the sign. An edge of panic creeps in. What if he’s not here? What if, of all these cats, my soulmate hasn’t yet arrived?

The Director is patient. She discusses each cat in depth – their likes and dislikes, their quirks and idiosyncrasies. They all seem nice, but no one fits quite right. Just as I was afraid – they’re all too much of this, too little of that. I try to squelch my disappointment. I can wait, there’ll be another time. I have to work hard to keep my tears in check, as I listen bravely to the Director telling me not to worry, that someone will come along….

As I turn to leave, a twitching ear poking from under a blanket-covered lump catches the corner of my eye. Not holding out much hope, I figure ‘what the heck’ and point to the lump. “Not the best candidate,” says the Director. “An older gentleman, medically involved and behaviorally challenged, he’s on his umpteenth home in the same number of years. We figure he’s probably here to stay, which is fine, but he will be close to impossible to place.” My curiosity is peaked. I lower myself to ear level and gently lift the corner of the blanket…………

Three years later, and I still haven’t gotten the kitten who will pounce on my shoelace and climb on my shoulder and snuggle in my hair. Instead, I got a cat who upchucks when he’s bothered, who pulls his hair out when he gets nervous, and who often doesn’t make it to the litterbox. I got an old guy who sits on the side of the tub and holds deep, meaningful conversations with me, who snuggles in my arm with his head on my pillow every night, and who, without reservation, adores me for me. While he looks nothing like what I expected, I truly have found my soulmate.

December 11, 2021

Get Me Outta Here (or the Lament of a Shelter Cat)

Lies lies lies….she waltzes in here half-dressed – hasn’t even brushed her teeth some mornings! LATE for breakfast no less. I mean, we expect to eat by at least 9am and sometimes, SOMETIMES on Sunday mornings we don’t eat until 9:01!!! She IGNORES our constant requests for FRESH tuna and scallops and instead has the NERVE to feed us canned junk. On warm days we PROMISE to stay on the black top and not venture off onto the grass and she REFUSES to even let us peek out the door. We tell her again AND AGAIN we are just FINE and to quit poking and prodding us and she INSISTS we get back into that d**n carrier and go see Dr. So and So when we just want to be left alone to snooze. She interrupts our afternoon naps with Beethoven sonatas and she tells us we have to smile and purr and kiss up to the gobs of beans who troop through here every weekend. She is downright MEAN AND AWFUL! Get us OUT OF HERE SOON and into a REAL home!!!!

Ivan and Skipper (2005) complaining about the accomodations at Siamese Rescue

December 10, 2021

The Rescuer’s Promise

Day in and day out I trapse through the crowds of animals in our shelter, but it is one night, after midnight, when it hits me. The expressions on all those furry faces as they look at me, ever so expectantly, stop me in my tracks. There they sit, on the cat tree, inside the condo, behind the bag of food, inside the open carrier. Under the blanket peeking out; standing right in front of me. Umpteen eyes watching, waiting, and hoping.
There are big eyes, small eyes, all sorts of colors, beaming their innermost thoughts at me. Sure, some of it is ‘did you bring treats’, but on a deeper level, I see hope, trust, belief in my ability. How can they have so much faith? How can their history tinged with reality translate into such a magnitude of confidence?
Yet they have it. You can see it. And the pressure can be overwhelming.
For we, as Rescuers, have made a commitment. We have promised each one of them that there is hope. We have worked to overcome their past and told them we could brighten their future. They accept our promises. They have faith in us, even as we struggle to recreate their story.
Trusting us with their lives, they take it day by day, confident we will fix things. They have learned that the hands here are good ones, whether they bring breakfast or antibiotics. It matters not, for we have given them reason to believe.
And we walk in that door, early in the morning, late at night, and there they are. Ready. Waiting. Wondering if the promise we made them is about to come true. Doesn’t matter that it’s nearly midnight, or that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. Maybe. Just maybe it will be their turn to walk into a carrier and go to a furever home. They wait patiently, relying on us to rebuild their future.
I want to give them my heart. My soul. To lay down with each one of them in my arms. To show them what it will be like again one day. I want, more than anything, to bring their dreams to reality, tonight.
Another day comes and goes. An extra scritch here, a soft word there. But it’s not the same as a home. It’s not what they dream about, what they hope for, what we promised. Not yet.
We’ve done good, but we are far from finished. We will get there – because they believe in us, and we won’t let them down.

Koda was in the program for 1175 days before the purrfect adopter came around.

December 8, 2021

The Geezer Pledge

You’re getting slower my friend, but that’s okay. You look a bit confused, a bit dazzled at times by the same environment. The light in your eyes is there, yet it is blurred. Your voice is raspy – you ramble on and on about things that were, and are, and should have been. You look up, ever so loving, ever so needing, yet ever so confused. Your daily sojourns become residences; your historical curiosity becomes confusion. You enjoy, and appreciate, and bask in the warmth of a kind hand, a warm heart, a soft voice – yet you are bewildered. Each visit is a trek of immense proportions; a journey with destination unknown. You appreciate yet question, determine yet query, navigate yet search the horizons. A soft touch, a reassuring sound, a gentle whisper, and all is calm.

You may question; I will answer. You may be lost; I will find you. You may search for dinner; I will bring it to you. If you can’t find the litter, I will show you, and if I can’t, I will clean up for you. I have made a commitment to you – I will honor that commitment; I will encourage, protect, provide for and support your needs. I am there for you, because you are you, and I love you.

If you have a Geezer, you can hear me. — Whiskey