Wheaton’s Way

At present, we have 12 cats in our house. Nope, not autocorrect. 12. Cats.

By now, we’re all aware of the fact that someone upstairs turned the tap to full power at the start of last week. Torrential rain – hour after hour – flooded roads, turned gardens into lakes and created a pop-up market for work shuttle kayaks.

As I splashed my way to our chicken coop in the early Monday hours, wearing woefully inadequate flip-flops, I wondered why I had never invested in some waterproof gear. My best friend and housemate, Lynne, has an entire wardrobe of the stuff, including Wellington boots. Even with her at seven inches shorter than I, and about, well… , a lot of pounds lighter, I asked if I could wear her rain jacket before venturing out.

She glanced at it, then me, then back to it, and said, “Sure… ,” whilst stifling her giggles.
I managed to get my arms in the sleeves, right up until there was a tourniquet situation around the pits. All I could think of was Chris Farley in ‘Tommy Boy’ – “Fat guy in a little cooaaattt.”

So, I braved the elements in a T-shirt and old yoga pants while the roosters looked at me askance.

At the same time as I was muttering about my lot in life, volunteers and staff at the Humane Society were dealing with major flooding issues in their kennels and cat room. The charity is in the process of building a new home, but until it’s ready, every time we have a bad storm, water pours into the facility.

This one was a doozy, and so an urgent request went out on social media channels, begging people to come and get dogs and cats to foster for a few days; they needed to evacuate.

What to do? Firstly, we already have eight cats, each with its own unique personality. From the eldest – Chiqui – who stays in my bedroom because she’s a big ball of ‘tortitude’, to the youngest – Doobie – the bane of the others’ existence, and relentless hunter of toes, we are bursting at the seams. Secondly, it’s hard to not get attached. The last time we fostered, we adopted (see: eight cats).

Yes, all good reasons to take a pregnant pause… but the idea of animals in wet conditions won out. We grabbed every cat carrier in the house, threw them into my SUV, and off I drove wearing the second T-shirt/yoga pants ensemble of the day. The footwear was at least upgraded from flip flops to old sneakers.

The Humane Society had warned people to wear boots, if possible, but the flooding in the parking lot was so bad, only a fisherman’s waders would have been appropriate. It was knee-deep water everywhere you looked, but then, a heartening sight – there were also vehicles and people. Some were parking their cars along the main road then trudging their way through the rolling waves, in constant rain, heading to the building to help. Others would pass them, going in the other direction, comforting scared-looking dogs that clung to them while being conveyed to safety, or hoisting cat carriers high, their passengers miaowing through a range of octaves.

The whole area was a hive of activity, and despite the circumstances, the sense of positivity was palpable. The staff and volunteers were unbelievably all smiles in the midst of the chaos, as they took down names and numbers on clipboards, ushered visitors in, and slowly but surely checked out their furry residents to be fostered. The back door, which was the only access point, had a flood barrier keeping the water out on that side. This meant that any of us going in had to clamber over it. I blame my sodden trousers when I tell you I could barely get one leg over the enhanced threshold. I was the Private Benjamin of the group. While all the other folk practically sailed above it like Grand National winners, I actually had a person help lift my other leg up and shove it over to join its mate inside. I hadn’t seen the like since I tried to get my Dad’s prosthetic leg past an outcrop on a car door.

Once in the building, I made my way through where they were literally wrangling cats to get into carriers. Some moggies were nervous, and had to be cajoled out from under shelves. Others clearly saw this whole thing as an adventure, and leapt in with no trouble at all. In the end, I was given four cats to take, and one of the cheery men in a yellow rain slicker took two of the carriers to help me… after basically lifting me over that barrier when he witnessed the struggle. Every person we walked past, making their way towards the shelter, was smiling, eager to assist, asking if there were still more animals to take… wading through muddy water in nonstop pouring rain. What, on the face of it, could have been viewed as a nightmare event, was actually one of the most uplifting scenes I’d witnessed in a long time.

After getting our new boarders home, I went to the supermarket to stock up on supplies. I loathe stereotypes, but anyone who saw me with bedraggled hair pushing around a cart full of cat food cans and gummy bears might have been forgiven for forming an opinion.

So, as of now, until we get a real break from the rains, we’ve got 12 cats in the house. And we’re not the only ones, based on what I saw that day.

Huge shout out to the Humane Society for how they handled a very difficult situation, and until they get their new dwellings, let’s hope everyone can support them in the future. They are overwhelmed at the best of times. Adopt, foster, donate, take dogs for walkies.

In the meantime, I clearly need to start working on my high jump skills.