Going their separate ways

As the day's worn on, I've been feeling more and more melancholy. Rosey and Mini Cat are now in their forever home at my mum's and spent the past two nights chasing each other round my bed whilst I tried to sleep before curling up next to me, a luxury they didn't get the opportunity to enjoy while they were in Toronto with me.

I made my way back home tonight to a cheerless apartment containing Matt and the three remaining cats: Celia, Oscar and Tilly. Elliot went to his new home a couple of nights ago where he's getting used to his new name: Spyro. The sombre feeling here is down to the fact that this whole thing is over now. Tomorrow morning a driver is picking Celia, Oscar and Tilly up and taking them to the vet to have them neutered/spayed. After that they will recover at a Toronto Cat Rescue worker's home before going to their new foster home.

In a few days' time I will inevitably be occupying my mind with plenty of other things during my time away, but right now it feels like I've lost something. It's like I feel sad for everything. I feel sad for Rosey and Mini Cat because I won't see them often, I feel sorry for Elliot because he's having to adjust to a new home, I feel sorry for Oscar because he doesn't even know how much we want to adopt him but can't, I feel sorry for Tilly because it's like we've left her at the bottom of the pile of her litter and I feel sorry for Celia because she's striving to find someone to love her permanently but, realistically, the chances of that happening any time soon aren't great. I also feel sad for TCR for having to move these cats about and for struggling to keep their charity financially afloat and I feel sorry for Matt for having had this little cat family forced on him in the beginning, only to have fallen in love with them and suffer the heartache of never seeing [most of] them again. And yes, I admit it, I feel sad for me too. Sad and guilty, as if I could have done more.

Well, I guess it's the end of this particular journey but I don't feel it's anywhere near time to disconnect from it all. I'll try to stay in touch with as many of the kittens are possible, their new homes permitting, and will of course follow the course of Mini Cat and Rosey growing up at my mum's. I have also offered to do fostering for cats whose foster families go away on vacation at times when I'm back home here, at least until my schedule is a bit freer some time next year. I also want to help TCR raise some money, so I am going to have a good think about ways in which I can do that. I want to paint some paintings for them to sell at events later on in the year, so I guess I might as well start gathering some catty inspiration.

And so with a sigh of resignation tinged with quiet optimism, I'm going to bed. My heavy heart would be lifted if only Celia, Oscar and Tilly could sleep in our room tonight, if it wasn't for the Godforsaken tomato plant that lives there (and, to add insult to injury, hasn't even had the decency to sprout more than two feeble pea-sized fruit over the last two months).

I think I'm going to compile some nice photos to post soon of the past three months.

An actual adoption!

Well, I hope I'm not speaking too soon, but I do have a good feeling about this. Someone replied to our Kijiji ad earlier on this week, expressing interest specifically in Elliot. I know! He'd taken the time to look through all the profiles we made for the kittens on their blog and had obviously decided that a muscleman beast of a cat is the kind of cat for him. I must say Matt and I were apprehensive at first because of this guy's short, snappy e-mail responses (this is entirely irrational, of course) so when we finally set up a time for him to come meet Elliot yesterday, we were almost expecting him not to even turn up.

But turn up he did, and what a surprise. It's not that either of us had any particular expectations, but I suppose we didn't exactly expect to see a young tattooed man at our door with a tall, immaculate, skinny jean-clad friend in tow with better sculpted eyebrows for a man than I've seen on any woman. I instantly liked them both. Don't ask me why, I guess it was "the vibe".

They both plonked themselves on our living room floor (not that we have more than three rooms) and observed the cats for a while before gently engaging in some light play. Fifteen minutes of chatting revealed that this guy knew more about cats than I do, but more importantly, it was clear that he cared for them a hell of a lot and had always adopted rescue animals throughout his growing up. He lives in central Toronto with a couple of people who already own a cat and a dog that are getting on a bit so wouldn't mind the buzz of youth injected into their furry lives.

Unbelievably, he seemed to really warm to Elliot straight away and was totally sure of his decision to adopt him. He filled out the adoption forms and said he'd spend the next few days getting everything together for Elliot and come back with the adoption fee later on next week to pick him up. We were so, so, so happy. It seems Elliot was too, because he's been so loving and grateful-looking ever since. And, as is typical of fate, I now come to regret my negative words about his aesthetics, even though it's mostly tongue-in-cheek, because he really is a beautiful boy, if not a little beefy, as the above picture proves.

Oh, and the reason for Elliot's new daddy's short, snappy e-mail is because he uses a BlackBerry, the same BlackBerry he got his friend to take pictures of him cuddling Elliot with so he can send it to his family and friends.

So, happily, with the money I'm going to save on not having my cables chewed, I went and got my hair highlighted today.

Guess who's back

Oscar. Yes, Oscar. The lady who took him isolated him from her other cat for one night because of his continuing sniffles and he was crying so much on his own that she felt too sorry for him. The very next day, Matt and I missioned it on the subway to Kipling to pick him. The day after that, I walked 6.6 km in my pretty shoes just to pick up medicine for him. ("You can't walk walk that!" Ferne at TCR exclaimed. "Pssh," I said, examining my nails coyly, "That's nothing. You should see how far I walk for human medicine." I didn't really say that). Listening to The Bugle podcasts en route and getting a tan made it all the more worthwhile.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh. Don't get me wrong, we actually really missed Oscar and were really happy to have him back once more, plus the lady said she will still take him once he's better, but I can't help but think I will be stuck with six full grown cats in my 2m x 2m flat for the rest of their lives. Christ, the way I'm going, it'll probably be for the rest of my life. I'm convinced I'll have to raise my future children in this cat house, constantly attempting to prevent them from attacking the baby in its crib or eating its food when I turn my back. On the brighter side, maybe I could get them to help me raise it. You know, a bit like Mogli. There are many feline values that could be appropriate for a child to learn, like... uh... getting what you want by looking cute and speaking nicely... uh... being assertive and feisty... uh... begging soul-destroyingly for food and... umm... developing cunning. Yes, cunning is always important if this kid is to become a mastermind in this day and age, and who better than Celia to be the meticulous tutor for that purpose? And when the kids are older, they can call her Mum too and refer to the former kittens as their uncles and aunties. I'm just wondering where Matt falls into this. I'm suspecting he falls out of this some years before conception has taken place. 

*Sigh* 

Well, I just hope my friends and loved ones will recognize the vital signs when I'm confined to a rocking chair in my 80s enduring several debilitating illnesses and the cats start eyeing me up suspiciously.

NB: If you think this picture's intriguing, check THIS out.

And the Oscar goes to ...

... a lovely lady from Burlington who fell in love with him straight away!

Sorry, Matt told me I had to put that joke in. He was so pleased with himself.

It's not a laughing matter, however. We miss him so much. I was actually fine with it until Oscar's new mum phoned me after getting home and said that he's been crying for the past hour. He's still got some sniffles from getting over a URI so she thought it best to isolate him from her other two year old cat, so he's been crying non stop! It broke my heart to hear him in the background and it's awful to think he'll never snuggle up to me again and purr his little grey head off, but then I remind myself that it was always going to be difficult for them to adjust to a new home and in the end it's the best thing that could happen to him. Well, one down, five to go. Hmm... and then what?