Tag: siameserescue

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The Love of Rescue

This was the paycheck of Rescue.

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.

Circes, ready for her new home

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The Revolving Door Gets Stuck (Episode 4)

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
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Where is My Cheese Danish (aka Who is Howard Beakman) – Episode 3

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).

My handsome mug

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Don’t Bite the Hand That Feeds You (Part 1)

Throughout our twenty some years running a rescue, the two issues that repeatedly came up as causing an issue within the household were litterbox misbehavior and aggression, or biting. We’ve spent some time talking about the litterbox https://siriouslysiri.com/2021/12/27/out-of-the-box-experiences-part-1/ and https://siriouslysiri.com/2022/01/04/out-of-the-box-experiences-part-2/; let’s look at some of the reasons for biting behaviors.

While there are some cats who have learned, overtime, that humans are awful and scary and therefore may be proactively aggressive with you, typically you see a cat bite or nip in reaction to something you are doing, or not doing – bringing some of the onus back to the owner.

Some of the more common reasons cats nip:

  • We have taught them to do this by our own behavior
  • They are frightened
  • They are seeking attention, albeit inappropriately
  • They are overstimulated
  • They are vying for Top Cat Position
  • They are declawed*

As a kitten, many people (and sorry, guys, but a heavy portion of the blame may fall on you) have actually taught the cat to pounce on hands. Think about the all-too-common scenarios – the kitten is on the bed, and you are wiggling your fingers (or toes) under the sheet, encouraging the cat to pounce. Alternatively, there is no sheet or blanket, and you are using your fingers to tempt the kitten to play. A pouncing kitten is often followed by a full hand-on grab around the belly, perhaps rocking or jiggling the kitten back and forth as a tease. While this behavior may seem like harmless fun, and yes, many of us did it for years, what we are teaching the cat via this behavior is that hands and fingers are toys. When that kitten goes from a 2 pound jumping bean to 10 pounds of solid muscle, it’s no longer funny – yet too often, we were the ones who taught the cat to behave this way. From the beginning, never ever use your hands as play toys – always use a cat toy as you encourage the very normal kitten behaviors of pouncing, chewing and ‘bunny kicking.’ Hands should be kept for soft movements, such as petting.

Cats who respond with biting behaviors when frightened, are, well, frightened of something, and often that may be you. It’s pretty simple. Stop whatever you are doing that is triggering the fear. Along these lines, realize that picking up and cuddling a cat is a human need – it’s not necessarily something the cat wants until they are comfortable with you, and maybe not even then. Just like you don’t force yourself on another person, do not force yourself on the cat until the cat is ready. And yes, some cats may never be ready for the level of interaction you are attempting. (One of our cats has been with us in a quiet loving household for ten years, and we still can’t pick her up).

As far as seeking attention, cats are not much different than children in that if they feel lacking in the attention department, they are going to seek you out, even if the interaction results in negative attention. While there are some cats who may by nature be standoffish and want to be left alone, cats in general are social creatures, and your typical house cat will, at some point, appreciate your attention – whether it’s playing with them, petting them, or just feeding them. If you continue to ignore them, some cats may revert to nipping or grabbing at your hands in an attempt to get you to recognize their need for interaction. While we will discuss ways to curb this behavior in a separate post, keep in mind that if you have taken on the responsibility of a pet, that responsibility includes paying it some attention, regardless of how busy your day was or how exhausted you may feel. This could be petting, if that’s what the cat wants, or it could be playing (feather wands are great for this).

Overstimulation can happen as a result of how you are interacting with the cat; it may also happen as a result of something external that is in the environment. If you are in the middle of an intense brushing session, for example, you may notice your cat’s tail begin to twitch, or the skin to ripple – and because cats can’t talk to you and say ‘ouch, you’re too rough’ or ‘that’s enough thank you’ they may overreact if you continue the behavior. Just as you might ask someone to stop if they were getting too intense with a neck massage, your cat may simply be asking you to cool it. Pay attention to those body signs.

There may be external forces at work as well that are causing overstimulation. If you’ve ever watched your cat at the window eyeing the birds, or perhaps another cat that’s outside, you are likely to notice some tail twitching and vocalizations of some sort. Should you choose this inopportune time to focus on petting your cat, or even just picking it up, you may find you get a smack or a nip. External overstimulation, or redirected aggression, requires you to pay attention to the environment and to selectively choose the times you are going to interact with your cat. It’s a two way street – when you want to give attention, your cat should indicate they are ready for your interaction, either by seeking you out or by demonstrating positive responses when you begin to touch them.

Finally, nipping can occur when the cat is challenging you for Top Cat. This is a bit more difficult to address and we see it a lot when a very smart cat is owned by a very ‘gentle-natured’ person:

Cats tend to live in hieararchies. Whether it be lions in the wild or multiple domestic cats in the home, there is almost always a Top Cat. Sometimes it’s obvious which one is dominant (they usually eat first, they are never usurped for the best sleeping spot, etc.), sometimes it’s very subtle and hard to tell. When you have just one cat and one owner, it’s clearly the owner who is supposed to be dominant. However, when the owner a) caters to every whim of the cat (you want to get up at 4am and play? Sure! You want to have a snack at midnight? Absolutely!) or when the owner is intimidated by the cat, the cat may take that as an indication that the position of Top Cat is available. This results in the cat expecting you to bow to their every desire, and if you don’t, reaping the consequences. If this is you, giving in to excessive whims of your cat, you may need to work to adjust that. You are the boss, you choose the rules. Sure, we accommodate and spoil our cats in many ways, but you can’t sacrifice your health and welfare to do so. And if you’re intimidated by your cat, (and I’m surprised at the number of people who are), you need to work to get over that, taking up the lead position in the relationship. You are bigger, stronger, and in charge, so while it’s important you are compassionate, kind and sympathetic to the cat’s needs, you can’t be frightened of the cat, or the relationship is not going to work.

*Finally, we should mention cats that have been declawed. In rescue and shelter situations, where cats have been traumatized at some point for some reason (abuse, abandonment, etc.) and then find themselves in a situation where they feel threatened, declawed cats are very likely to use their teeth as a defense weapon. Makes total sense when you realize that they no longer have their claws, so the warning swat no longer holds any weight. We won’t talk about the cons of declawing in this post; suffice it to say it pays to be aware that those cats who have been declawed may well become biters.

In Part 2, we’ll talk about different ways to address nipping and biting behaviors, so stay tuned. (If you enjoy these posts, please consider subscribing to the blog, and thank you!)

Bunny has been with us for 11 years now. If we were to try to pick her up, we would bleed, for sure! Yet she can be super friendly on her own terms.
Bunny, after 10 years with us, will still not allow us to pick her up.
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Episode 2 – Shammy Takes The Cake

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.

By now you have heard about Shammy …  https://siriouslysiri.com/2022/01/27/the-lessons-of-rescue-oh-my-part-1/

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.

Yours truly,

Howard Beakman

Shammy: Is that a guilty face or what?

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The Lessons of Rescue – Oh My! (Part 1)

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.
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Integrating a New Cat (Will You Be My Friend?)

So you’re getting a new cat! How very exciting! Once upon a time, I combined households with hubby #1, bringing his cat, Broadway, over to my house and plopping her down in a room with my two cats. All three were laid back; I figured they’d sniff each other and be wonderful friends from there on in. What ensued was a fur-flinging, pee-spraying fight that lasted almost 10 years. They never got over that (WRONG) introduction and poor Broadway lived out her life in misery because we didn’t introduce them the right way. Don’t make that mistake!

Whether or not you have other animals, it is highly likely that your new cat may be a bit overwhelmed by the change of scenery, particularly if it’s past kittenhood. Cats like small places, so before bringing your new family member home, set up a room that can be the ‘safe room’ for your cat. A place to hide (under the bed is fine), food and water, and of course the litterbox are the main components. The chosen room should be a quiet one; ideally a space where you can easily spend time (even if it’s sleeping) – so a bedroom, den, study or home office works well. Make sure that the food, water and litterbox* are fairly close to wherever you suspect the cat may hide and that they don’t have to cross an enormous spanse of scary space to get to them. Ideal isolation time (if you have other animals) is 10-14 days, just in case your new cat breaks with a sniffle or a bout of loose stools from the stress of the new environment (you don’t want any existing animals to catch anything). If you do need a vet visit (and it’s always a good idea with a new family member), it’s ideal to make your appointment at or around the ten day mark, allowing you an opportunity to observe and get to know your cat. This way you can provide information on eating, drinking and litter habits to the vet. (You definitely want a vet visit in place before your cat meets any existing pets). Rushing off to the vet on day one can be done, but doesn’t allow you to provide any feedback as to how the cat is adjusting. Obviously if your cat is sickly or comes from a situation where it hasn’t been vetted, an early vet visit will be prudent.

Even if you don’t have other animals, you will know your cat is ready to explore when you walk into the safe room and your cat is standing there looking at you expectantly, as if, surely, there must be more to your home than this small space. Don’t rush this, there’s no hurry, ensuring your cat is good and comfortable with you as well as with the smells and sounds of your home is key before giving them the entire house to explore. I always liken this time to a person’s first ever visit to a large city: New York City for example. Imagine you are a country person with no experience in a metropolitan area – you could easily be overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and even smells of such a large place. For a cat, your home may be similarly overwhelming, so take it slow.

If you have other animals, you can help the integration process during the 10 days by exchanging bedding, the litterbox, even by placing the carrier your cat used out in the general population so that it can be inspected. Remember that animals and particularly cats work by smell, so providing every opportunity to smell the new member without actually interacting with them is ideal. Basically you want to wait for two things – first, existing pets appear bored by the fact there is a new addition behind closed doors, and secondly, the new pet is showing comfort within their safe space – laying on the bed, acting relaxed, interacting with you, etc.

When it’s time to integrate, depending on how many other pets you have, you may want to introduce them one at a time, rather than the entire slew, so that there is no opportunity for gang behavior. I have always been a fan of simply leaving the door to the safe room open, as if I did it by mistake, and letting nature take its course. Again, depending on the size of your home, you’re not going to do this if you live in a massive place and your new cat is spooked. You may need to gradually increase their comfort zone by closing off extraneous doors as you allow your cat the opportunity to explore the new digs.

Patience is really key. You are working here to build a long-term relationship between you and your new cat and your new cat and the existing family members, both furry and human. Cats who are overwhelmed need time to decompress – they are unlikely to want to be held, cuddled, carried around until they trust you – no kissing on that first date. If you rush things, forcing yourself or others on the cat before they are ready, establishing trust and bonding between family members is going to be so much more difficult to attain. There is no hurry – relationships are not built overnight. Failure to integrate properly often results in rivalries that cannot be overcome, as was true for poor Broadway. She spent her entire life tormented by the other cats in the household and, in hindsight, would have been a much happier cat if we had found her a quieter home. But that’s a blog entry for another time.

Building a strong relationship between cats takes time - just as it does with humans. Patience is key.
Kokomo and Gummy became good friends, but it took some time

*Cats should eat and drink within the first 48 hours of getting home. Remember that production in the litterbox means something is going in. If they are so frightened they are not eating or drinking, it’s time for a vet visit asap.

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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…..