The faces that make it worth it

I haven’t posted in months, but summer and fall are not only my busiest times of year for work, they’re also prime time for rescue. I’ve lost track of how many requests for help I’ve gotten in recent months, but it’s probably a dozen. And with each request comes a series of steps to take and problems to solve. Is the cat already fixed? If not, where on earth can we take it since appointments are booking a month or more out? Is it social? Maybe even adoptable? Does it have access to food? Will it go in a trap? Where can it be kept while waiting for an appointment?

It’s such a time investment that rescue activists can’t be blamed if they have to say no or turn away from a situation. Turning away used to be impossible for me – as evidenced by my one-time household of six cats. I thought I could rescue them all, and the ones I couldn’t adopt out, I made room for. The three I still have were unadoptable because of physical challenges and ailments, so right now I have all the vets in town on speed dial. I have gotten better at this whole “seeing the future thing” and as a result, I do say no occasionally when already feeling overwhelmed.

And then sometimes, all it takes is one look for my “rescue in moderation” rule to go out the window. This happened a couple of months ago when I was told about a situation in the senior housing development in town, with several cats running loose, being fed and not being fixed. I went over to investigate, and within moments heard crying on one resident’s patio. I called out, and this face peeked out at me.

I called to him with a bowl of food, he came running, ate three entire cans, and then rolled on his back with gratitude and joy.

When I asked a resident if there was anyone helping this boy, the answer was no. “He gets fed… sometimes. But he doesn’t have a place to sleep.” He was dirty and rail-thin, and my resolve dissolved. How could I not immediately swear to make his life better?

In a now-comical series of misadventures, Jasper (my designated name) was trapped and  fixed, much to his chagrin.

I then took him to a temporary foster situation offered by a kind woman I know, where he seemed very happy to be adjusting to indoor life… right before he tore through a screen and escaped. Thankfully he was close to “home” and ended up back in the housing complex, where he was trapped a second time and taken to a second foster home. This time he adapted well – no Houdini-like escape attempts – while I sought him a forever home (one with strong screens).

Thankfully, the perfect one appeared on Next Door: a couple of empty-nesters who had been yearning for an orange tabby, and kept their existing cat 100% indoors. When I transferred Jasper, they had set up deluxe quarters for him in their dining room, where he could adjust slowly and learn to trust, after his harrowing and neglectful first couple of years on the planet.

I got this recently, and is this not the epitome of bliss?

I choke up when I look at it. Two months ago Jasper (now Gimli) was living by his wits and trying to stay alive. And yes, it took time, effort and commitment to see his story through to a happy ending. But it was worth it. Stories like these are what keep me going despite frequent tragedies; keep me taking on new efforts, even as I feel overwhelmed sometimes.

Now, if I could only un-see this little face in the bushes, I’d sleep better at night. Here I go again?  😉