Monday, December 15, 2014

The Heart of a Servant

He thinks I’ll be all right
With doctoring. But it’s not medicine—
Lowe is the only doctor’s dared to say so—
It’s rest I want—there, I have said it out—
From cooking meals for hungry hired men       
And washing dishes after them—from doing
Things over and over that just won’t stay done.
(from A Servant to Servants, by Robert Frost)


I am really rethinking Facebook.  That's where I spend most of my time talking about the cats these days.  It's weird, so different than this blog, which was a lot of work when I kept it up regularly, but I enjoyed it.  It was rewarding.  On the other hand, I have met many nice people on FB and people who have helped the cats and me and I would miss them. 

The thing is, I feel like I can't tell the truth on FB, because every time I do, if people are involved, people always think what I write is about them, even when it is not.  I don't know why that is.  Maybe because people go there searching for a reflection of themselves.  But I am really not prepared not to tell the truth about what the experience of trying to help and look after these cats and other animals is like.  It's not all jingle bell collars, it's a little of that, and that's nice.  I like that, too.  And it is not all cats that are about to...


or cars aiming at and running over stray dogs, because let's face it, I have lived here for about 9 years now and last weekend is the first time I have witnessed it, even though I hear about it all the time. I have witnessed more poisonings and shootings, and even then, thankfully that's not even 50% of what I see.

Mostly it's in the middle.  Hungry cats.   Sick cats.  Lots of sick cats. Sick cats that pull through, and sick cats I stay up with while they die, when I can stay awake that is. Skinny cats with one good eye eating olives and bread that the locals throw out for them,  Cats hit by cars I pull out of the road and bury when I can.  Cats with diarrhea.  Dumped kittens. Litter boxes, food orders, dirty empty bowls, endless dishwashing, laundry, laundry, laundry I never get through, cleaning floors, vet visits, failed trappings, cat fights, jumping out the window in the middle of the night to break up cat fights, trouble making ends meet, trouble with people that don't like cats, feral cats that disappear after I alter them, and missing cats in general.  It's not what people want to hear about on Facebook.  They either want the jingle or the gore, and, well, that's just not what most of it is, and all that middle stuff doesn't seem to fit in there, where everyone is putting either their best face forward or their goriest, most upsetting one. 

I do want to write about what it is really like, for the benefit and consolation of cat rescuers if nothing else, but also because I like to write, it helps me understand things, it's like a puzzle coming together.  And, see, if I wrote this on FB, someone would take offense, because they would think I am talking about them, and I am not thinking of anyone in particular.

Maybe I will just put the cute pictures and the horrible things that happen there and save the rest for this blog. 

Although I have to say, it's a pretty sad state when sickness and death from sickness become part of the middle thing, but they have in this world. The dog that was killed in the crusher at a hotel is gone, and yet people are still talking about him and donating like crazy to get justice.  The skinny one eyed cat is still eating olives on the street corner and rescue kittens need their vaccinations and people scroll right past.

Could it be that people would rather punish human beings than save animals?

And maybe FB is no place for the truth.

How about you?  Don't you find that the hardest stuff to get through is all that stuff in the middle that never stops?  Even if it is not cats you are taking care of?

By good rights I ought not to have so much
Put on me, but there seems no other way.
Len says one steady pull more ought to do it.       
He says the best way out is always through.
And I agree to that, or in so far
As that I can see no way out but through—
Leastways for me—and then they’ll be convinced.
(from A Servant to Servants, by Robert Frost)

No comments:

Post a Comment