{"id":762,"date":"2017-07-03T03:26:16","date_gmt":"2017-07-03T03:26:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/?p=762"},"modified":"2017-07-03T03:26:16","modified_gmt":"2017-07-03T03:26:16","slug":"when-failure-can-lead-to-peace","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/2017\/07\/03\/when-failure-can-lead-to-peace\/","title":{"rendered":"When failure can lead to peace"},"content":{"rendered":"

For four weeks Bandita was in my care, after a crippling accident left her back legs badly broken. After bringing her home from the vet, she flattened her ears, hissed, and knocked the long wooden spoon out of my hands – the spoon that has worked miracles for years now in taming the fiercest of ferals. She was having none of me.<\/p>\n

And her eyes: they were hardened by fear, pain and anger at her capture. I would look in those eyes and promise her that I would do right by her. That her crummy life would be better… though I wasn’t sure how.<\/p>\n

Over the course of the next four weeks I agonized about what to do with Bandita. If I put her back on the farm, she could easily become coyote bait. And my investigations into sanctuaries that might take a handicapped cat proved fruitless. It seems feral cats are not really welcome at such places.<\/p>\n

I consulted with veterinarians, who were also flummoxed at what to do with a feral cat who now had one leg a full 3-4 inches shorter than the other and would likely always walk with a lopsided hobble. One suggested amputation, another euthanasia. But after doing this work long enough, you learn to trust your own instincts, and I just could not give up on her.<\/p>\n

I was also haunted by something I’d seen before her accident: Bandita nuzzling with Tommy, the mean old tomcat who ruled the colony. He had a soft spot for the little tortie (probably his offspring) and she for him. Could he protect her if I returned her to the farm? Could she take care of herself?<\/p>\n

Heartsick and fearful, I nonetheless made the decision. After one month, during which her bones would hopefully settle and she could regain some of the weight she’d lost, I would let her go.<\/p>\n

The day came, and I put up a crate near the ravine at the farm and rested her carrier inside it. (The last thing I wanted was for my crippled kitty to be disoriented and run headlong into the dangers of the creek area.) And I waited, thinking it could take her a few hours before she felt brave enough to leave the protective cocoon of her carrier. It only took minutes.<\/p>\n

As her family members gathered around, she rather boldly emerged from the carrier and took a deep breath.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

She seemed to remember immediately where she was. I still hesitated to open the crate door – perhaps because I feared it would be the last time I saw her. So I paused and we connected eyes. This time her eyes were soft, unafraid… maybe even grateful.<\/p>\n

“See?” I smiled as I felt the lump in my throat growing. “I told you I would do right by you. Now you just have to stay alive.”<\/p>\n

I opened the crate door and in a flash she was gone, diving into the thicket on the edge of the farm. It was so fast I could barely see how she walked – it had been a month since she was free and I was anxious about the extent of her limp.<\/p>\n

Two anxious days went by and I didn’t see Bandita for the morning meal. Then on day three, this:\u00a0Bandita after<\/a><\/p>\n

I was so thrilled. She was walking. Not perfectly, but efficiently, despite the terribly broken legs that bore her up.<\/p>\n

Sometimes, even when I fail, things have a way of turning out alright. Thanks, Saint Francis, for the reminder that my instincts are usually trustworthy. Watch over my erstwhile angry girl and keep her safe.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

For four weeks Bandita was in my care, after a crippling accident left her back legs badly broken. After bringing her home from the vet, she flattened her ears, hissed, and knocked the long wooden spoon out of my hands … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","_s2mail":"yes","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-762","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/762","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=762"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/762\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":766,"href":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/762\/revisions\/766"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=762"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=762"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/janeganahl.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=762"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}