For those who may not have a Facebook account the link I posted at the end of my last entry was about a little cat from Dubai. A beautiful, white, teenaged kitty hit by a car and left for dead. Paralyzed, bloody bones sticking out of her back legs, little Manisha certainly was in a bad situation, especially in a country like the UAE. I do not know all the particulars but the gist of the post was about getting Manisha to Bradford Cat Watch Rescue and Sanctuary. I took note of this post. My stomach churned, my mind raced with images of the cats I had seen in the UAE, especially the yellow and white one I had to leave. This little cat would have a chance! I eagerly waited to hear that she had arrived in the UK and began to follow the rescue’s posts, becoming familiar with the goings on and permanent residents. Of course, I was always pleased to see Manisha in a photo or a post about her, of which there were many. She seemed to be a public favorite and it just always made me smile when I sat down in the evenings to review my Facebook feed to see her doing so well. To say she hit the jackpot would be an enormous understatement. Soon, another kitty named Happy joined Manisha under similar circumstances. These cats needed care that goes beyond the term “dedicated” and on top of that had the most enriching, loving and safe lives possible. I think all would agree the accidents that led them to BCWR were their saving grace.

And so this went on for a couple of years, me reading Sara the cat updates in the evenings and in the back of mind I could not ignore that little voice I sometimes get. I wanted to meet Manisha in person. I did not say this out loud because I know how ridiculous it would sound. At some point in 2023 we began to discuss an international trip and discussed England as a possibility. Soon, the tickets were purchased and I said to Sara that I would love to visit Bradford Cat Watch. She agreed it would be amazing and I reached out to Katie to see if it would be possible. Katie was so very gracious in her reply and our plans were made. I was so excited to meet the woman behind this incredible rescue and to meet Manisha in person. We had the most lovely day meeting Katie and the volunteers and Manisha herself did not disappoint! She clearly loved attention, sitting in my lap purring and swatting at any cat that came near. It was surreal to be there and it is a memory I will forever cherish.

We kept in touch with Katie over winter and at some point, I offhandedly stated I would love to go stay in Bradford for a while and volunteer at the rescue. Sara genuinely encouraged me to do so and after running it by Katie for approval, my offhand comment became reality.

Since my return trip has been planned I have thought about it almost daily. I have often imagined arriving back at BCWR, greeting Katie and immediately looking for Manisha, most likely in the garden. That’s the way I envisioned it and I was overjoyed each time it crossed my mind. I was so looking forward to it. As we know, life does not always go as planned. And my little movie will not play out as I had hoped. Manisha will not greet me in the garden. The catnip I have forbidden Sara to cut and wanted to take Manisha will be enjoyed by the others. The little pink outfit I got her will be worn by someone else. She will not be nestled with the other cats in the sanctuary.  I will not get to spend time with and get to know her. I must adjust.

For animal lovers our four-legged family is exactly that—family. When we experience loss we want our loved ones to be remembered. Aside from the sheer pain of losing someone so dear, the greatest pain to me is thinking they will be forgotten. We want them to matter. We want people to acknowledge that they lived and that their lives held preeminent meaning. Whether human or animal, we tell stories about them. We like saying their names out loud, reminiscing about past events. They were here and we want to talk about them. They enriched and defined our lives; they were our family. I often think of my horses, dogs, cats, and people that have been lost, not to dwell in painful remembrance, but to smile and celebrate the love they brought me. They deserve that honor of remembrance. Sometimes I sit quietly and think about them, and yes, I would give anything to see them again. Memories, so often compulsory to our senses, send me back in time at the sound of a song, the smell of tea olive, the crisp blue skies of fall, the sound of pines in the air. I can hear my grandmother’s voice, see Simon’s sweet face, feel Sundance’s hooves move beneath me. I could fill pages with memories of my beloved family and animals. And when I sit and think I sometimes say their names out loud to myself so they will not be forgotten. I envision my older self, sitting in a rocker, reliving these memories and maybe telling anyone who will listen about the cats and horses that made my life what it is and has been. I will purposefully say their names out of desperate desire to impart their life’s meaning: Simon, Sophie, Annie, Esther, Bebe …and I will tell them about how I have always loved white cats….Idia, Ivey, Willameena. I will tell them about a trip to Dubai. A trip to England. I will tell them how I met a little white cat from Dubai, in England, and her name… was Manisha.