One can never say that life here is dull. Ever watched someone on a trapeze? Up and down with a pit in your stomach, then butterflies, nervous yet excited, followed by that whoosh whoosh, back down and then up you climb again. So goes 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 to count. A few in, a few out. The home crew stays relatively steady, but the ones considered transient? So many new whiskers to twitch. Maw 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, at least there is 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 us permanent residents – those of us who fit the mold of unadoptable for whatever reason. Then 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 short few weeks from two to six. Take Sapphire for example. She was VA0002. Her mom was moving to California and couldn’t take her with. 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’s 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 aldy’s address or forwarding number either (told you she was talking too much!) Feeling 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 (yours truly is VA1000). Ming was the first. His family has gone through a divorce and left the trailer, and Ming, to their own devices. By the time he had been found, however, he had been so long without proper care that his borderline diabetes had gone 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 that Meowm needed to create so she could meet IRS requirements.
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, we went on a Meezer hunt in the wilds of the Virginia mountains. Windy roads led to what could be described as not much more than a goat path, flooded by recent storms – water cascading down the mountain sides. In sneakers and shorts, mini Bean (age 8), Grandma Muddles and Meowm were the 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. The room was completely empty except for some old French fry dishes with week old food. Waterbugs paddled happily in a bowl of pea green water. Were there Meezers? Yes, quite a few, but it was impossible to get a count – every movement brought wild panic to their eyes and 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, with her young daughter, elderly mother, without gloves or plan, let me tell you. I think humans call this behavior clueless.
