Kickin' & Screamin'

Well, we’re five months in to good old 2021 and I’ve already failed to do what I said I’d do….write more. I have good excuses….which of course I’m going to tell you all about in future blogs, but still….I really hate that I’m so far behind.

As I was mentally preparing to write today, thoughts were slowly moving through my mind as to what I’d write about. I honestly didn’t know until just a few minutes ago. I just knew that I would write today. Something.

It’s been one of my “talking to myself really loud” days. I mean, I guess I do it every day….but I think some days are worse than others. Ella is home sick today (just a yucky cold) and she’s yelled “WHAT??” three times in the past couple of hours….thinking she heard me talking to her. But nope–just me chatting with myself. It was an odd sentence that I mumbled out loud about 20 minutes ago that prompted my idea for todays blog entry….as I was putting up a load of laundry, I told myself, “I’ll take my laptop to the cat room and see if I can type out some thoughts.”

The cat room.

Yes, that’s correct. I’ve lived in this house for 20 years, and the room I’m currently sitting in has gone through many transformations. I bought the house when I was single, three bedrooms waiting for my unique and eclectic touch to make each my own. After decorating the master and what would be the guest room just as I wanted….this third room remained empty.

After a little thought, I decided my third bedroom would become the catch-all room for all of my quirkiness. I was a middle school teacher at the time, and I loved Altoids. Talking and singing all day long with my chorus and music classes, I was always munching on an Altoid. My students knew I loved them, so I was gifted cans of Altoids all throughout the school year. I started keeping them, never throwing one away. I had over two hundred little red and white tins. I strung them up with some thin rope and hung them all over the room….like some sort of bizarre Christmas decoration. I filled the room with bean bag chairs, covered the walls in my own paintings, and even painted some of my favorite quotes directly on the walls. It was completely crazy. No one else thought it was nearly as cool as I did. But I didn’t care. It was my house and I’d do what I wanted.

When I married, the room changed a bit, but remained a collection of both my silliness and his. Then, one of the most amazing thoughts ever popped into my head when we started the process of adopting our baby Guatemalan girl. This room would become hers. The nursery. Our beautiful baby girl’s room. And it did. The walls were painted and my quotes were erased. The Altoid cans came down, replaced with cute little ladybugs and caterpillars and butterflies. For the next ten years, this room held my greatest treasure. She slept here and played here, had puppet shows and tea parties here. Oh, the giggles these walls have heard. The closet door is still marked with her height as she’s grown through the years, and the chest that was once filled with diapers and onesies still remains over near the door.

A few years ago, Ella got the big idea of changing rooms. She decided she wanted to move across the hall in to the guest room. I jumped on the opportunity, because what better way to thoroughly deep clean a room than to literally have to move everything out of it? It was quite a chore, but we tackled it. She moved out of a little girls room and in to a teenagers room….boxing up toys as we went, getting rid of things she no longer wanted. Some things, of course, I just couldn’t get rid of….it’s a Mom thing. So yeah….the attic become more full of “memory boxes” (aka–stuff I just can’t throw away)….as the big move occurred.

So, once again, this room was empty. I cleaned it, moved a few small pieces of furniture in, hung a few pieces of art, and labeled it my “reading room.” I’m pretty certain I’ve only sat in this room to actually read twice. But it sounded good.

Something about the room made me sad. Maybe it was just reminiscing about the past? Thinking about my younger years when my crazy personality dominated the room? Missing my baby girl’s crib and toys and reading bedtime stories? I’m not sure. But I finally got to a point to where I would close the door to this room, because it just made me feel a little weird.

Shortly after, we found a Mamma cat and her three babies in the woods at my Mom’s….scared and hungry, the Mamma trying so hard to take care of her litter. I already had four cats, due to the fact that this exact same scenario had happened a couple of years before, and I did NOT need or want any more cats. But I’m also a sucker. A big, fat sucker. Long story short….within a couple of weeks, I was bringing those cats home. Where in the world would I put them until they were big enough to get spayed/neutered, and be around my pets? Ahhhh…..”the room.” That’s what it had become. Not a guest room, not the spare room, just “the room.”

Mamma and babies moved in, toys, litter box, food and water bowls….the works. Ella would walk in with her eyes beaming (for SHE is the main reason I ended up with these cats….I have since learned to say NO a bit more freely….but it was a hard period of time, as these cats seemed to magically appear shortly after Ella’s daddy passed away. Saying no to her was super hard for me for quite a while. There were nights when I agreed to simple requests like ice cream for dinner, and bigger things like….. cats. Lord have mercy)

After a few weeks, spaying and neutering, and introductions to the rest of the zoo that lives here at this funny farm, the cats became part of our crew. The room was cleaned up, decluttered of all things cat, and the door was closed again. I don’t know why I kept closing the door. I told myself it was to keep the room clean. I mean, we’re not the neatest humans to exist, plus all the dogs and cats….it was like the ONE room in the house that stayed clean. But why?? Why did I need “the room” to be clean?…..cut off from the rest of the house?

I recently became friends with a woman who lives on my road. It’s a crying shame that we have just now become friends. We’ve both lived here for so long….just never reaching out and talking. I knew who she was, she knew me–through mutual friends and neighbors, but we’d never really spoken until recently. She’s also retired, from education-just like me. And guess what else? Her love, her passion, her whole HEART…is fostering kittens. Helpless, baby cats who have no mother. Kittens who are so tiny they must be bottle fed every two hours around the clock. This woman gets no sleep, gives her whole heart to helpless animals, and is one of the most caring humans I’ve ever met.

Lisa. God bless Lisa.

I really want to say “long story short” here, but isn’t it WAY too late for that?? Let’s just say that sometimes when you meet a new friend who shares the same passion that you do….you begin to work together, sharing that passion, helping each other.

So, yes. I have officially added “fostering” to my list of things I choose to fill my life with. I wish you had a visual to accompany what you’re reading. I’m here on the loveseat, in front of the window, laptop balanced on my legs. To my right is Waffle. I brought Waffle home from the rescue on a Sunday morning. I was told she was in the beginning of her third trimester of pregnancy….I was told I probably had a couple of weeks–maybe three– left until she had kittens. Four days later, she gave birth to five tiny baby creatures that scared the hell out of me. So tiny. So fragile. So helpless.

To elaborate on the past two and a half weeks since the birth of these babies, would be elaborating on some of the hardest days I’ve experiences since my husband died. The five babies are now three. Two were born so sick, so frail….and with absolutely no medical history on Mamma Waffle, no way of knowing what might be wrong. Their deaths aged me in years. Broke my heart all over again in places that had just barely healed from things life had dealt me before. The cat room has brought me to my knees, to prayer, to sobbing, and fear.

But it has also brought a joy that I didn’t know I needed.

Back to the visual I want you to have. Waffle has now left my side so that she can go join Scramble, Hashbrown and Coffee. She’s nursing them on their fluffy pillow. I’ll get up to weigh them in a little bit to make sure they are still making great progress, getting healthier and chunkier each day. Once she finishes nursing, she will return to my side. She will purr and paw at my hand until I scratch her behind her ears. I’m certain of this because it’s our routine every evening. Two moms, just bonding and learning.

No, I’m not keeping these cats. I’m fostering for a rescue organization that will find them wonderful homes. Plus–I can’t keep my fosters, because I need “the room” to foster more. And then more. I’ll continue to help save lives in whatever way I can. Even if it’s just allowing some animals to live in this room until they are ready for their next home….a forever home.

Some will come here to give birth, like Waffle. Some will come here to heal from sickness. Some will come here because they are old and no one wants to adopt them. Kittens will live here until they are big enough to get spayed or neutered, then I will no doubt cry my eyes out as I take them to the rescue for their surgery, then to the adoption center, where their future humans will see them, and fall in love with them just like I have. It will be a circle of life and a circle of heartache bound into one. But I must hold on to the fact that I’m making a difference. I’m making a tiny, tiny difference in this world. Lots and lots of tiny, tiny things add up to something big. I want to be a part of that. I NEED to be a part of that.

My heart will ache for quite a while when it’s time to say goodbye to Waffle and these babies. The heartache I’m currently going through over the loss of her two tiny babies really hurts.

When we hurt, we do what we can to fix it. If I have a headache, I take a pain pill. If my leg aches, I put heat on it. It’s our instinct to find a fix for what hurts.

My heart hurts. Pain pills don’t help. Heat doesn’t help. But those three growing kittens help. Their fat bellies help. The way Waffle looks at me helps.

And this room….helps. Yes, the door is still closed, but only for the protection of these tiny, furry guests in my home. In my heart, the door is wide open. This room has become my favorite room in the house. It holds hope. Hope, mixed with the memories of all things this room has been before.

The cat room.

Thank you Lisa, for introducing me to something that will break my heart, yet make it heal even stronger. Thank you for helping me through horrible loss, and crying with me. Thank you for helping me learn how to make a tiny difference.

The cat room. Full of hope and love. A place for me to think, pray, even take a nap. My own animals peek in there from time to time….sniff around the door a little, then go about their business. I think they know that their human is just helping others. They know more than we give them credit for, that’s for sure.

So….I have my cat room.

Do you have a place? No–not a room filled with cats (or maybe you do??)….but just a place. Where you can go to think. Pray. Even take a nap. A place where you can get away from it all….or sit and think about it all. Listen to music. Read a book. Think about that person you haven’t thought about in years. Bring up your favorite memories and just relive them in your head and in your heart. Clear your mind. Or, fill your mind with things that make you happy.

Find a place.

And go talk to that neighbor that you’ve always wanted to meet.

God bless the helpless animals who have no human to love them. God bless the humans who have no one to love them either.

Oh, how I wish there was enough love to spread evenly throughout the world. I’m doing my tiny, tiny part. Hope you’ll do your part too.

Peace, love and….

Waffle…..