Long before I became involved with cat rescue, I naively attempted to rescue some humans. Not that I had any grandiose ambitions of becoming the next Sigmund Freud, Dr. Ruth, or Albert Schweitzer - far from it! Nevertheless, the troubled, the addicted, and/or the depressed, figuratively materialized on my doorstep, as if beamed down from the Starship Enterprise, on a rather consistent basis. It was more like having been volunteered by insistent Universal Forces, rather than choosing to volunteer. Who am I, a mere mortal, to deny UFs? Trial and error (emphasis on the "error" part) proved that humans who NEED help but don't really WANT help, CAN'T be helped, at least not by me (indicating Universal Forces can make mistakes too!).
Aside from the absence of any formal psychological training, I also lack the "tough love" gene, which often comes in handy in such situations. Trying to help humans involves sorting through myriad tangled strands of lies, deceptions, and denials. Therefore, I have a high respect for those professionals who have the strength and fortitude to take on this formidable human challenge.
Cats are much simpler. They aren't into lies, deception, or denial. They know what they want and need, though in some cases it may take some intensive observation and detective work to figure out just what that is. Most domestic cats though, are content with a home and family to call their own who will love them unconditionally, respect them, feed them filet mignon, and treat them like royalty. I'd be cool with that (well, make mine shrimp - I don't eat beef)!
Given there's tons of professional human rescuers out there, and my success rate wasn't so hot anyway, I wisely decided to leave homo sapiens to the experts and concentrate on felines. Not that cat rescue doesn't come with its share of failures. If you've been in the biz long enough, you've been through those heartbreaks more times than you care to remember.
One day this past Spring though, my past and present worlds found themselves on an unavoidable collision course, like two rogue meteors destined to crash.
It began with an all too familiar call in these times of economic distress. A 60-something lady being evicted for inability to pay rent begged my rescue group, Howard County Cat Club, to take in her six cats - momma cat and her five one-year-old kits.
Even when our shelter is full and MORE CATS just isn't an option, it's still tough for me to turn anyone down. That part of my volunteer job sucks! "No" is a simple, one syllable, teeny tiny word every human child latches onto (generally with great enthusiasm) when they first discover speech. People who don't even speak English understand a shake of the head and "No". It shouldn't be that difficult to say!
In this case, it proved to be impossible. Not only were six feline lives at stake, but one human life as well.
The Raz - spokescat for The Fab Five - is in charge of assigning pseudonyms when desired and insisted I call her Amelia Earhart II. Amelia Earhart II, though technically alive and viable, was as lost in her existing world as her mysterious counterpart who went missing 72 years ago. Amelia II was also "lost" - but in plain sight.
It was a classic "catch-22" situation. Amelia II was being evicted and had no place, no people, to go to. No job, no money, and more mental and physical health issues than any one person should have. Her cats WERE her only loves and family and she desperately wanted them to be safe. She claimed once they were in our care, she was going to "go gently into that dark night" [my euphemism for her more blunt statement]. She had tons of prescription drugs she planned to combine with alcohol. On the other paw, if we didn't rescue the cats and they were taken by Animal Control and euthanized - she would still "go gently into that dark night" - but with more anguish.
After many frantic phone consultations (all in the space of a few desperate hours late one evening in May), HCCC's president and I made our decision. We called the police to alert a possible suicide attempt; called the apartment management to gain permissive entry to Amelia's home to rescue the cats; and with Amelia taken into protective custody, we removed the cats and brought them to our shelter. The cats are now fostering contentedly with one of our volunteers, snoozing on sunny windowsills and plush cushions.
Naturally, it wasn't that easy or simplistic as my few sentences might infer. It was scary; it was intense; it was hell for all involved, especially Amelia Earhart II. Along with "tough love", I also lack the "Drama Queen" gene - so I'm leaving out a lot of the more painful details I wish I could forget, but probably never will.
Amelia was a woman who fell through society's cracks many, many times - and was never able to climb out. There are many organizations out there designed to help folks like her - but they're often understaffed and on overload - just like cat rescues. I cast no stones…
Amelia Earhart II contacted me about a month and a half after we rescued her cats, just to ask if they were all right. Relieved to know she was alive, I told her the cats were fine. I asked if SHE was all right. There was no hesitation - she said "no". For her, that teeny tiny little word wasn't at all difficult to say…
From an on-line biography of Albert Schweitzer, I found this quote from the Nobel Peace Prize winner: "There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats."
The Raz says to end it here…
Visit The Fab Five and diana at http://www.geocities.com/newagecatcare. diana is a pet sitter in Carroll County, MD; Vice President of the Howard County Cat Club, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, no-kill cat rescue/adoption agency http://www.howardcountycatclub.org; freelance pet photographer, and Catnip Chronicles columnist and consultant.
