Well, how did I get here?

I always knew these were going to be the trickiest years of my life, so maybe I was asking a lot of myself to try to be graceful about it in the first place.  I lost my alimony in March, the first time in my adult life I was without an income.  Because I have dedicated the last ten years to working for God, I felt sure that a safety net was going to fall from the sky and I would land lightly, with nary a break in stride.  That wasn't the case at all.

I landed with a thud.  Dreams in two consecutive nights had told me it was time to move, that the time had come.  As I have written, I found a great place with a crazy neighbor.  The house is affordable and easy to love, as long as I do not speak.  Thats right, the neighbor will not let me speak. *sigh* I am trying to love her.

Then I ran out of money, which I never really thought would happen.  For about two weeks I fretted about what I would do.  Job postings all required a bachelor's degree, which I had never finished. But before I fell down the hole of debt any further, a job popped up thanks to a wonderful Mormon family who seems to have been put in on earth to be my guardian angels.  They alway make sure I have food, and have now found a way to hire me, when I know they are struggling to pay themselves.  They manufacture organic stink remover, so non-toxic that creepy crawlies placed in their rich brown liquid are thriving two weeks later.  It is as non-toxic as the vegetables it is derived from.  I have been given an opportunity to develop sales in new markets.

Hey, wait a minute! I am a spiritual wanderer, not a merchant!  Selling stuff like this is the furthest thing from my dream come true... but, then again I have a child to raise, and eating is very important, and this job allows me to do that.  I figure, this is the boat that God sent, so I better get in.  So I am now learning the Stink Biz, and being very very grateful!

Things were moving long okay, when the neighbor told me to get rid of some of my cats.  She got the landlady to agree that six were too many.  The landlady had agreed to four, but six tipped the scales.  This almost broke me, as my cats are really my best friends. How could I "get rid of" my best friends to strangers who will never love them as I do?  I understand and like cats better than I do many people. My cats have seen me through tough times, and they are all related, so this was like breaking up my family.  But the fault lay with me and the fact that I had said I have four, and I came here with six.  I had to face my own failings.

I searched all over to find a good home for them.  This year though, as more than a million people lose their homes, tales of abandoned pets are being told by Humane Societies across the nation.  Because my cats were older, the chances of them finding homes were non-existent.  The idea of putting them in small cages while they awaited their fates, which would almost certainly have been to be put down, cut through me like a knife.  I searched for another affordable home, but none were to be found, and none that would permit me to even have the four I could keep here.

I searched around and found a farm that would allow me to bring them there.  There were cats galore, goats, horses, dogs, and more.  The farm was run by teeanage girls whose passions were animals, and they promised that all of the cats received lots of attention. It seemed to be the only solution.

Of all of my cats, I chose to bring the two who were the most adventurous, the most people loving, wandering and intelligent. They could never stand to be kept in the house, they loved the outdoors and managed to stay outside most of the year.  They were the only two that I felt could live up to the challenge.

On the day that I brought them to the farm, I brought first one, then the other, up to a room at the top of the barn.  I did not close the door, but sat with the first one as he walked back and forth from me to the young girls.  He looked fine.  He left the room and came back when I called him.

When I brought the other one though, I opened the cage and she ran like a bat outta hell.  She ran out of the room....and she, as well as the other, have not been seen by anyone since.  That was a week ago.

I kept hoping they were just hiding, that surely they would come out sooner or later.  After they had been gone for about five days, I dreamed that the most stealth of the two had come home, and I found her eating at the bowl in the kitchen.  I then saw the other one in the living room and I vowed never to let them go again. I woke up in the night from the dream, and went outside to see if they were there.  I searched the yard and the house, sure they had found their way home, but alas, they had not.

My heart more broken than ever, I imagined they had had the same dream, of being home, safe and sound, eating comfortably among their family members.  I went back to the barn yet again, and still they had not been seen.  But I had an idea.

The next morning, about 7 a.m., before anyone else had arrived at the barn, I walked around and called out LOUD, Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimba!!!!!  Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeenie!!!! I walked the whole place, acres of it, and called and called, just certain they were there and would hear me. Maybe they would come out when it was quiet, just me and them.  I had brought the box of food and shook it as I often do at home to let them know fresh kibble awaits!  I decided to go back upstairs to the room where I had let them out, and I opened the doors, sat in the middle of the floor calling again and again, Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimba!  Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeenie!

And then I heard a meow. It was a little meow, and it could definitely have been Simba.  Excited I called Simba again, and heard another meow, from another part of the room.  Was he upstairs? Outside?  I looked around again, and saw sitting by the door, a small orange cat that I had been told was truly feral.  No one could pet the cat, and it hid from everyone.  I smiled and said, "You are not Simba.  Out you go," and I scooted him out.  But when I called Simba again, he came again.  Hmmmmm.

I put a small bit of food on the floor, and he came over and ate it. When he'd finished, he rubbed up against me, and put his head down to be scratched.  Simba.  I asked him, "Is your name Simba too?" He was the orange color, the lion color, that my Simba was.  I got up and looked around outside and saw that other cats had come for a bite to eat, and I shared with them as well.  Soon after, cars began arriving, the young girls were now entering the barn to feed and groom the horses.  Well, I had tried.

I went back to my car, and as I began to drive away, I realized something that soothed my soul.  There were houses nearby, and Simba and Weenie are both resourceful cats.  For all I know, they decided to leave the farm and found another nice cat lady like me to care for them.  In the meantime, the feral Simba now had an identity and had made an approach to me, perhaps breaking his cycle of loneliness and abandonment.  For this kitty, what had been lost had been found.

I thought about all that had happened to me since I moved here.  My own personal relocation, my own disconnection from my work, my friends and neighbors.  I thought about my friends, who have taken me in like a stray pet and made sure I was fed and loved.  I thought about our journeys, and how we are always challenged beyond our comfort level.  It isn't punishment, it isn't karma, sometimes it is just time to climb the ladder in order to get stronger. And I realized that there is mercy in this world, and there are growing pains and life lessons everywhere, for cats and for people alike.

I hope and pray my cats are fine.  And I am pretty sure they are.