Stray Cat Rescue. Part 2. When Two Feral Free Spirits Collide.

I tried to talk myself out of it all night until I finally told myself to stop talking to myself, go to bed and I’d know in the morning. 

Woke up in an absolute panic, flew out the house and tore around south Liverpool in George Michael looking for a pet carrier, litter box and litter, food and bowls. I’d casually intensely browsed some consumer comparison websites for the best cat carrier last night, but in reality they were all useless. After three fruitless Retail Park hits, I was becoming desperate and finally ram-raided B&M Superstore. They smashed it, within 5 minutes I was surrounded by a crowd of ladies in the cat aisle listening to the Begonia story like it was a channel 5 Hallmark movie. I was so wired I managed to shove two boxes of food, the carrier, the lidded litter box with integral flap under my arms and drag a huge sack of litter with my third spare hand. Everyone I dragged past said “you should have got a trolley!” I said “I know! I haven’t even got the cat yet! I’ve started something I won’t be able to finish for 20 years!”

In the queue at the till, another lady shared her own five cat story with me and carried some of the burden of the now torn sack of cat litter which the cashier insisted I lift onto the conveyor belt for scanning. Tense, stressed and sweaty I calculated my chances of dragging this load across the car park and immediately cashed in one of my new over-50-fuckit chips and said “this bag’s ripped, can I get another one?” Grumpy cashier unintentionally redeemed herself by unhelpfully telling me there was a pile of them by the doors. Result, right by the trolleys. I abandoned the ripped bag where it was and left them to it. 

I humped another massive sack of litter into a deep trolley, piled the other essentials on top and shoved it up the incline to George Michael who was waiting like an expectant father. These cat shit bags? Well, they’re shit. I hoiked it out the trolley and the whole thing ripped in an explosion of wood chip shrapnel. I’ve been in a similar state of trolley-fail-rage in this same car park before. I didn’t have as much time to put up a fight today, so I put what was left of the litter in the boot, slammed it shut in protest and tapped CAT into the sat nav.

It was another wide eyed drive to the garden centre but this time I was ready. The anxiety of ‘what if she’s not there’ was omnipresent, but I overrode that agony with ‘what if she is there’. As I pulled into the carpark I changed spaces about five times. I did this with a pair of shoes once when I was moving to New York alone for god knows what. Funny how the stress comes out in weird little ways innit?

I entered through the automatic doors like a spy. I’m sure I looked normal, but I definitely did not feel it and neither did walking. What if she’s not there? Through the indoor section, nobody stopped me. What if she’s not there? Through the aquatic area, nobody looked at me funny. What if she’s not there? Through to the outdoor area. What if she’s not there? Down to the last poly tunnel, I’m not going to lie, I delivered a full dramatic ‘backwards entry through a door’ and ‘slow mo turn around’ to the counter where I’d met her yesterday. She was there. There she was. A little critter on a cushion, black at the front, brown at the back. 

I called for emergency back up immediately. Where are my ladies? A new lady who was not there yesterday was the first person I found and filled her in on every detail. We had about a twenty minute chat and I asked for yesterday’s lady too. The more ladies the better in these circumstances. Yesterday’s lady was the voice of god and without any hint from me told me not to worry about not working abroad anymore and write my memoirs instead. I said I said I said I was doing that! It’s a sign, or serendipity or sommit. Their kindness and wisdom was everything I needed, they so generously listened to all my worries and woes that seemed to go beyond the commitment needed for owning a cat and offered genuine life advice and the promise that if it didn’t work out I could just bring her back to the garden centre. They laughed as I said I’ll just go and get everything from the car. It took the three of us to put the carrier together, mostly because I was in a tightly controlled state of hysteria, two of us to fail at getting her in the carrier, mostly because this sent her into an uncontrolled state of hysteria, but one bowl of food and one expert chicken wrangler later I was helped/shoved out the poly tunnel with love and told to sing to her.

There were two sets of wide eyes on the drive home and George Michael was very quiet. There was some deep wowling, but mostly cowering and staring. My overriding emotion was compassion for this little scared thing. I just wanted to get us both home and take care of her. Was she going to like it? Was she going to freak out? Was she so feral and free that she’d hurt herself indoors? I got us all inside and opened the cage door of the carrier. Her delight was obvious and excitement palpable. She was clearly so happy to be in the living room I wondered if she had once had a home and had either been kicked out or become lost? She slowly looked around and appeared to be filled with familiarity and recognition. That lasted about half an hour then she dematerialised. I found her four hours later under the bath. In those four hours I left her to investigate her new house, I lay on the sofa to decompress. There were waves of emotion flooding through my chest cavity. I could feel hormones and chemicals filling my torso. It was not what I expected. It was love. Actual physical love. Warm safe calm love filled my body and I went to find her with food.

It was the only crevice left in the house she could be. The endless drama of the missing bath panel had given her some sanctuary, but it had been long enough. I couldn’t see her in the dark, but I took a punt and lay down on the hall floor with an outstretched offering to the tiny bathroom god. It didn’t take much tempting to be honest, a slow but steady creep into the light appeared eyes first. That was it. She had some grub, then a hug. We were family.

I don’t know whether I had changed or whether she changed me, but either way I had not felt this happy, ever. There were still many questions - are you pregnant or is it worms? Are you chipped and will I have to register a fake name at the vets and grab you and run if you have another home? How old are you? 

Everything made sense and everything felt right. She might be full of worms and fleas, but I’ve had worse boyfriends, and seeing her tiny little face discovering the delights of a deep filled duvet was joyous, so snuggle up littlun.

Welcome home Begonia Coconut. Hope you like it.