The Great Cat Compromise
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THE MID-1990S found me in my mid-30s living with many cats in a converted chicken house on mom and dad's property. We'd lived there off and on over the years. During this latest stint, I was recovering from tough life lessons, heart-broken, disillusioned and financially, mentally ¬and spiritually bankrupt. We lived an idyllic, if rustic life there for a couple years. Mom helped me care for the cats. With her typical open-arm policy, she embraced and loved them wholeheartedly, in lieu of any grandchildr¬en I might have owed her.
     In the late 1990s, her health began a downward spiral and I felt the winds of change. I asked myself, "What will I do with all these cats if I have to move?" Finding a landlord to rent to someone with even one cat is impossible enough, let alone a houseful. Getting rid of them was out of the question. Each is a beloved friend and irreplaceable member of my family.

1 - THE HOUSE / 2 - The Compromise / 3 - MULTI-TASKING / 4 - UPS and DOWNS


Part 5 - 911

     Living with so many cats can be overwhelming, especially on a limited income. In September, I became very overwhelmed, baby-sitting four adult females for a friend who refused to have them spayed. Three were pregnant with 11 kittens. With my own cats, three mom left at her death in 2000 and a half-grown kitten abandoned and injured in my yard on Aug. 26 (Angela), I was caring for 40+ cats.
     Something had to give. My friend took two of his adult cats and four kittens back. Other friends took two of his remaining adults and one kitten to their farm. I placed ads to find homes for six remaining kittens, their mother and three of my adult cats (Peaches and Casanova, two psychotic but lovable alpha males who caused me untold grief and Angela). No one responded. I called all over Kansas seeking no-kill shelters and was told, "no more room" or "we only help local animals."
     A shelter director in Lawrence, four hours away, told me they were not yet a no-kill facility but were striving for it and kept animals as long as possible, up to a year or more. On Friday, Sept. 7, my friend Shon and I took Peaches, Casanova, Angela and six of my friend's just-weaned kittens to this shelter.
     On the drive home, I became sick with worry. I was confident the kittens would find homes, but knew two gigantic, aggressive males and an injured, half-grown female would probably not. I'd had Peaches and Casanova for two years and kept them shut in separate rooms, to protect the others. It didn't seem like much of a life, like I was able to provide for them the way they needed. I wanted something better for them.
     But the panic in Peaches' eyes when I let him go to the shelter employee, and the way his front legs kept grabbing for me, just about did me in. He knew I wasn't coming back. Casanova was calm and trusting. He never stopped purring, with that serene, trusting look in his eyes. That was just as bad. And Angela, that sweet, playful little lady, was abandoned twice in one week. I couldn't stop thinking about them.
     I felt no guilt, because I'd done my best. But the intense worry about their well-being was a different matter! I couldn't just shut off the love that had grown with each day of caring for them; couldn't stop thinking about how frightened and helpless they were. All they wanted was to be back home, to what was familiar. We didn't really have any problems that couldn't be dealt with. I realized I'd put these creatures whom I love dearly and had cared for daily, directly in harm's way, that I had no control over what happened to them at the shelter or beyond. Anything could happen. My mind imagined all sorts of atrocities.
     A few miles outside Lawrence I called the shelter and asked if they had a policy regarding people who drop cats off, then have a change of heart. The supervisor advised me to give them two weeks, and if homes weren't found, I could pick them up for a $25 fee. My mind was eased a little, but not much. But I told myself sternly it was the wise choice. The Zen of Non-Attachment and blah, blah, blah ...
     On Tuesday, Sept. 11, driving to work, reports of the terrible events un¬folding in the East came over the radio. The world seemed to be turning upside down. I felt for the people who were suffering and dying. My heart went out to their families and friends. I counted my blessings that everyone I loved was safe. Then a nagging little voice said, "But not everyone you love is safe ..." From work, I called the shelter. No one remembered my dropping the cats off or our phone conversation.
     Well, of course I panicked, left work early (noon) and got Shon to drive me to Lawrence. We listened to the radio as the frightening and dev¬astating events of that day unfolded.
     Outside Topeka, Shon's Tracker was low on gas and we decided to fill up. We didn't know about the gas panic. On the Interstate, every gas pump had lines 10 cars long. In Topeka, lines reached into the streets for two blocks! On empty, we decided to try going 23 miles on into Lawrence. It just as bad there. We rolled into the shelter's parking lot 15 minutes before closing time, on rock-bottom empty.
     At first, they couldn't find my three cats. Eventually, they were found in an isolation room, and I paid $75, instead of $25, but didn't care. I was so relieved to see those furry little faces I could have busted out crying. Shon found a gas station around the corner from the shelter with no lines and we were on our way home. The headache I'd had since the day we dropped them off vanished.
     At home, it felt so right to restore these three cats to their rightful places in my home. Angela fit right in with the others and never missed a beat. I resolved to spend more time with the two shut-ins, to give them more time in the pen. It was a hard lesson, but there are worse things for a cat than having a room to himself, with all the food and water he needs and someone who truly loves and cares for him. I'm only sorry Peaches, Casanova and Angela had to suffer during those five days it took me to figure it out.

next: conclusion - Letting Go

 
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