I’m No Longer A Rescue Virgin
It started like most stories do – with a text. However, this one wasn’t addressed to me, but to my husband.
Hey Mr. Don, I found out about a group of kittens living in an abandoned house on Miles Avenue. My grandmother and great aunt have been feeding them, but they don’t look all that great. I believe one of them has lost a paw. I was wondering if you knew what I can/should do so they can live healthier lives?
As an admin on the Street Kitty Fund, I already knew our local rescue community was barely keeping their heads above water. With no community-led TNR effort, the responsibility falls on a few good souls who are willing to do this in their free time. And between a kitten season that now never ends and a proliferation of abandoned cats, it’s like trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon. That said, I posted (very apologetically) and within minutes, Kris, one of our OG trappers reached out. “Wanna do a recon with me tomorrow?”
Hell yes. I see our kitty angels and other Soft Side Board members doing this stuff all the time while I sit comfortably behind a keyboard so this was just the nudge I needed.
First thing the next morning, we headed to said alley and started pspspspsps-ing. We saw one cat, then two, then bunches of them darting under bushes and hiding behind garbage. Kris put out canned food and they started cautiously belly crawling to the plate while keeping both eyes peeled on us the entire time.
At just about the moment that they’d polished off the last bits of canned food, we saw the cat in question. He was hobbling awkwardly and, from our view, painfully down the alley toward a plate that was now empty.
While he (I’ve since named him Gimpy) waited a safe distance away, Kris managed to refill the plate and then declared, “We need to trap that cat and get him medical care.” I knew our Street Kitty Fund would cover the cost, but who was going to care for him during recovery? And then I realized, this was a job for a keyboard warrior – namely, me.
Once again, I posted and, within minutes, I had a volunteer. Not just any volunteer, but a veteran medical foster who just so happens to be President of the Feline Rescue Association so knows how to nurse cats back to good health in her sleep. The only issue now was trapping him.
The first time I’d be available to help was Sunday morning – three and a half long days away. Fortunately, Kris didn’t wait and instead, took a chance and headed back there solo the next afternoon. She wasn’t even out there an hour before he limped into the trap.
“Got him. I can keep him tonight, but I’ve got a conflict so I can’t transport him to the vet tomorrow.”
Gulp, I’d already sucked two overwhelmed rescuers into this situation, so the time had come for me to step up.
I told Kris, “I’ll do the transport.” No big deal, right?
Having now committed, I agreed to pick up Gimpy at 7am the next morning in Kris’ back alley. All I had to do was bring a carrier.
That night, my husband and I prepared for my maiden transport voyage. We covered my backseat in towels and plastic (I may be a rookie, but I have heard about transports gone wrong) and packed our cat’s cushy carrier in my front seat. We even did a dry run since it would be dark at 7am and alleys aren’t firmly in my comfort zone.
At 5:57 the next morning, we both woke up with a jolt. This was not a day to be late because drop-off appointments at this veterinary practice are preferably by 7:30 am but must be completed by 8 am at the latest.
Off I went and Kris, bless her heart, was standing in the alley, in the dark, waiting.
I handed her our carrier and that’s when I learned I’d just made my first rookie mistake. You don’t transfer a potentially feral cat from a trap to a soft, fleece-lined carrier – instead there’s a whole dance required, and it necessitates a hard carrier that only has one door.
In the end, Kris took pity on me and let me take Gimpy in her trap, along with the blanket covering it. (Nope, I hadn’t brought one of those either.) These traps are like gold and most kitty angels are loathe to lend them out for fear of never seeing them again. I swore up and down, I’d get it back to her and, on that note, Gimpy and I were now on the road to the vet.
On the dot of 7:45, I arrived at Timonium Animal Hospital with my very special package. While in their care, he’ll also be neutered, vaccinated and micro-chipped because if it turns out Gimpy is not a candidate for adoption, the ladies at Boundless Love Rescue have agreed to find him a cushy barn home. No more hobbling in a garbage-strewn alley for this little guy.
Having completed my first-ever transport, I can now say I’m no longer a rescue virgin. True, what I did was just a tiny piece of the puzzle, but any help these heroes can get is much appreciated. For years, I’ve been in awe of the people who do this day-in and day-out, but I have a whole new appreciation for how critical those efforts are. These volunteers are not only saving lives, they’re also preventing more cats from being born into a miserable existence on the streets – and they do it without any funding or help from the powers that be.
That makes them heroes in my book, and I think Gimpy would agree.
Postscript: Gimpy’s amputation surgery will be later this month and, until then, he’ll be enjoying life indoors with three square meals a day and all the chin rubs he can handle. In the meantime, Kris is hoping to organize a team of volunteers to TNR all the cats of Miles Alley.
If you’d like to play a part in this process – anything from monitoring traps to holding overnight to transporting or fostering – email gro.edistfosruoywohsnull@ofni. As Tanya, our Soft Side Board President noted, “If Sande can do it, anyone can.”