I’ve always been a sucker for the underdog. Or cat, as the case may be.
All of my cats have been rescues since I was a kid. The family mythology goes that smuggled a stray kitten in my coat when I was five when we were out of town on a trip. My parents didn’t discover this until we were halfway home. So began my life of rescue and inadvertent cat-herding.
One became two, became three. We were a little gang of trouble and imaginary capers. When I moved away from home I took the youngest cat – a deaf, fluffy, elegant mess of a white longhair named Maggie Mae (after the Rod Stewart song). I’d gone to Soulard Farmer’s market for zucchini and came home with a tiny puff of white fur and big blue eyes instead. She had a penchant for eating her own fur rather than coughing up hairballs, was dumb as a rock, and her best friend was a gerbil. She was an absolute disaster on wheels and I wouldn’t have changed her.
When my ancient, crotchety old Maggie died on Valentine’s Day in 2012 at the ripe age of 18, I was lost. I had never been without a furry familiar but it hurt too much to consider “replacing” her; she was my best friend.
The healing process is the hardest part. It sounds hyperbolic, but the feeling is real – how do you get over this personality that was with you day and night, every day, for nearly two decades? One morning you wake up and say hello and the next day, you’re talking to a void. Your routine is gone and you’re dancing alone. It was like losing a limb. I didn’t know how to function. I fought the urge to get a “rebound” pet because I knew that wasn’t fair to either of us. The collar was too big to fill.
A few months later I caught one of those throwaway human interest stories on the local TV news. When a man went to take his trash to the dumpster behind his building, he noticed one bag on top was squirming. Tied up inside the bag to suffocate were five neonate (just a few days old) kittens. He plucked them from the bin and kept them warm until a local rescue group could take over their care. It was the depth of human cruelty and the warm heart of human kindness in a 90 second clip. I found out later (from the rescuer himself) that he literally stood between the kittens and a couple scum of humanity who wanted to use them as bait for their underground dogfight training. People, basically, are the worst. But also the best.
Sometimes, the path you’re meant to take is perfectly, undeniably, clear. To do anything different would be to upset the natural balance. When you know, you just know. When I saw those tiny, terrified, squeaking kittens, there was no other option. I was supposed to take care of these little nuggets and try to show them we’re not all bad. I tracked down Tenth Life Cat Rescue, the local rescue group who took them in, and applied on the spot to be their temporary mom. I may not have been ready to welcome a new pet, but I could still care for someone else’s pet-to-be.
It’s probably obvious where this is going. I ended up keeping three of them forever. Stormy, the petite, slightly feral and completely insane dilute tortie girl with a little bit of asthma. Vinny, a suave little ginger who always tries to sneak a sip of beer and loves perching on your shoulder like a parrot. And Rory, a gentlemanly mamma’s boy who’s always party ready in a tux and permanent jazz hands.
Two years later I still foster for the rescue group, but these three are mine. I promised to protect them and they reward me with snuggles and many prizes of “dead” twist ties and bottlecaps. At any given point, I have between three and seven cats and kittens in my house. I tend to get the tiny babies who don’t have moms and need regular bottle feedings. My cats treat each and every one of these temporary guests like their own kittens. I keep them fed and my trio of problem children teach them how to “cat”. So many of the rescues come in with stories like mine, or worse. They break my heart and heal it all over again. All are lucky and all get homed with loving humans who redeem their, and my, faith in people. In 2013, Tenth Life homed a cat for nearly every day of the year – all through a network of volunteer foster homes and the unwavering dedication of the lovely woman who runs the place.
Each cat is a distinct, huge personality, and all come together as a little roving herd of chaos that makes my home richer for having them. It’s hard to believe that someone would ever, literally, throw something so precious away, but this is why we rescue. These little lives and big loves. Because when we know, we just KNOW. And you can’t help but help them.
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If you’re in St. Louis and want to be involved with pet rescue, I’d encourage you to check out the wonderful work that Tenth Life Cat Rescue does for kitties that would be given up on through other shelters. They resocialize feral cats, take in strays, and work to rehabilitate cats with special needs so that no one is put down because they’re “inconvenient”. They’ve had some remarkable success stories. All their cats are adoptable. All their adopters (and fosters) are rigorously screened. Follow Tenth Life on Facebook and Twitter or apply to be a foster. If you have any questions, I’m happy to answer (or put you in touch with someone who can).