The Lessons of Rescue

Hi everyone,

This morning I received an email from a friend whose cat was struck by a car and killed yesterday. She was seeking my advice on further protection of her other cats and expressing her frustration with the fact that there are good-for-nothing, wastes of flesh out there that will purposely hit an animal, especially a cat.

Here's the thing...I can't explain that. I don't know why there are people out there like that and I don't know who raises them to be the scum that they are. I am not talking about people who dislike cats. Those who know me, know that I have a firm belief in your right as an American to believe in whatever you want. As they say, "I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." However, I am deeply concerned with the portion of our population that ACT on those beliefs in a way that is destructive and hurtful, without provocation. I can't answer the question, "why" when it comes to that, other than to theorize that it is a mentality they are born into and taught from a very early age...a mentality that has carried on through generations within their family and a train of thought that will not easily be changed.

When you are a lover of animals, the pain of losing one is profound, especially if you otherwise do not have human children. My animals ARE my children. Maybe that is not an easy thing to understand for those who have human children, but for those who get it, it makes perfect sense. I don't try to explain it to people. I simply ask for respect for my feelings. Again, you may not agree with what I say, but I have a right to say it. I have worked with cat-haters who went out of their way to tell horrible dead-cat jokes and stories whenever I entered the room. I learned to be tougher than them and let it go, but, on a basic level, it was disturbing. There was no getting them to stop. This hatred for these animals and desire to make themselves feel superior by trying to "get my goat" is ingrained in them on a level that I alone cannot combat. I win by not giving them the feedback they are seeking.

In the 6+ years that I have been officially rescuing cats (I believe I was a rescuer of cats the day I was born), I have learned many hard lessons. The toughest of them has been handling the death of one of my children. When I started rescue, I honestly thought I could save them all. I thought I was a superhero and every cat that came through my door would become healthy, be happy and live a long and productive life. And then, in 2004, shortly after I rescued my first 2 litters of kittens, my Dory appeared ill, drooling with a terrible smell coming from his mouth. I rushed him to the vet and was given traumatic and devastating news. It was distemper. The kittens had been too young to vaccinate and one of the adults must have been a carrier. Through the weekend, three of the kittens died. Dory and three others who contracted the virus survived and are now carriers of the virus. Malachai, Tater and Frasier were not so lucky and, for the rest, of my life, I will never forget them. However, I didn't get the sign. I thought of it as a terrible set-back and moved on because I thought that is what I must do.

Through the course of things, I acquired a cat named Clint who had been severly injured in a tractor engine. I rehabilitated him and took care of his wounds, learning along the way that he was an incredibly sweet and grateful boy. And one day, when I was cleaning the kitten room, I allowed the 5 week old kittens to roam free to keep them from being under-foot. Sweet Clint killed two of them, right there in the middle of my kitchen. His only provocation was his instincts. The guilt was overwhelming.

In the summer of 2007, I was forced by people I no longer consider family to move to a friend's barn. I lived in the cow barn with the cats because it was the only way I could ensure their safety. Little did I know that the barn harbored a very strong strain of my worst fear...distemper. This time, the kittens had been vaccinated but the overpowering strength of the virus began to pick them off, one by one. I sat there, helpless, for a four day stretch, doing 24 hour nursing care to try to help them. I didn't go to work. I didn't eat or sleep. I could do nothing to get them into a different living situation. I could do nothing but hold them, medicate them, give them fluids and love them. There were too many of them to euthanize. The costs for that alone were astounding and I had to choose between investing the money to save those I could and euthanizing the entire batch. Thirteen kittens died in those 4 horrible days. Eight survived. The emotional and physical toll was staggering, but the lesson was an epiphany. In the consuming loneliness of that moment in time, I knew that my dreams of saving them all were fleeting.

Throughout the years since that horrible weekend, I have lost many. It comes with the territory. First, I am a rescue. Sometimes the condition of the cat when it arrives is not reversible. I have been blessed with the most honest, trustworthy and amazing veterinary staff on the planet and they have been very patient with me as I learned this tough lesson. Secondly, when the population is near 100 and the cats are of all backgrounds and ages, there will be a death rate. It is just a fact of life. They don't live forever. There are things like cancer, Feline Leukemia, FIV and FIP that I cannot control. I now know that the single greatest drawback of doing what I do is that I will probably outlive all my children. Acceptance of that fact has been one of the greatest releases to my heart and has helped me get through the toughest of times.

So what is my point in all of this? It is simple. I believe as a lover and rescuer of animals, that I was put on Earth to do the absolute best for them that I possibly can for however long I am meant to do it. Yes, sometimes their deaths seem senseless and avoidable, as was the case when my beloved soulmate, Riley, was killed by a car on July 17, 2008. But the bottom line is, that in the 6 years I had Riley, from the time he was 8 weeks old, I gave him the best of me each and every day. He died too soon, yes, but he died knowing without a doubt that he was the most loved cat on the planet. He had love and food and comfort...all things that all-too-many animals never experience. He got to spend 6 years of his life being MY boy and I got to spend 6 years of my life being his mom. That is an honor and a privilege for which I will always be grateful.

Last month, my cat, Ace, curled up at the foot of my bed to go to sleep as he did every night for the last 3 years. At some point during the night, his heart ceased to beat. Medically, I don't know why. I don't know anything about Ace except that he had lived an extremely rough life before I rescued him in 2007. He looked terrible when he arrived...emaciated and flea-ridden. His ear was deformed from earmites. His teeth were rotten and falling out. He had a terrible upper respiratory infection. He was one of the saddest sights I had ever seen. But when Ace died that night, he had weight on his old bones, food in his belly, a soft bed beneath him, and freedom from illness, fleas and earmites. And I gave that to him. I stand proudly, in my grief of losing this incredible boy, knowing that the three years that I gave him were good. THAT is what keeps me going.

After 6 years, the lessons of rescue are now clear. I cannot save them all. I can still try and I WILL still try. It is a part of my very being...so deeply rooted in my soul and such an integral part of every breath that I take...that I know I will forever carry the title of "Animal Advocate." But sometimes, within the limits of my humanity, I am powerless to do anything but help them achieve a peaceful death. I can do what is within my power and, sometimes, the rest is just up to God. I have learned to be thankful for the time that I have with each and every one of them and to treasure them all. And when one of them goes..when God decides that He would like to see them...I can let them go, knowing that, for however long I had them, I did the best I could. I have seen enough suffering of animals to know that my best is a lot better than what most of them would ever otherwise experience. That is what keeps me going and gets me out of bed every single day. And I believe that this outlook on things is also a gift from God. Without the ability to make peace with reality, I would not be able to survive the intrinsic sadness that accompanies what I do. It helps the good times outweigh the bad. And I can tell you that the best way to help your heart heal is to sit in the grass in the backyard and cry while all of the cats climb and play across your lap.

So if you lose your animal...your child...please remember that. They loved you as much as you loved them and that is not taken away by their death. You did the best you could. You are human. Love them while you have them. Mourn them when they leave. But always...always... know that they were yours, body and soul, and will remain with you, forever in your heart. There is room at the Rainbow Bridge for everyone and you will be reunited someday. In the meantime they will not be lonely. My kids will meet them there and show them around and keep them company until you arrive.

God bless.