There are so many moments in rescue that are heartstring tugging, heart wrenching, heart breaking... Let's just say it can take a toll on the rescuers. A high from being able to save a life can come crashing down to a low in the snap of one's fingers. A warm moment with a little miracle becomes overwhelming and tear inducing. While rescuing animals is the fire that drives me, every day I realize I would love it if tomorrow I didn't have to save a single one. Yes, I know this means I would have to seek out a new match to strike so that fire gets to burn again, but it would also mean that every animal would be happy, healthy, never fear being exploited, and have a home.
I think I could live with that.
The high highs give way to low lows for sure. In an effort to work with the Naval Base I live near on their feral cat overpopulation, I often go to observe and document the colonies that live on base. Sometimes, this turns into a sudden need to rescue tiny, blue eyed, sniffling balls of fluff. One week a litter gave way to another, and another, and another, totaling close to fifteen kittens inside of a week. Though I felt like we were on a roll saving lives, it was a double edged sword. I was out of foster homes and had been forced to leave behind littermates who refused to be caught. Would they live? Would they suffer? Would they die? Could I try again?
Cats of Norfolk Naval Station
I tried again. And again. I tried until I was standing on the rockline of the bay where the colonies are located in hysterical tears because not one kitten out of the 20 out there could be caught. Not one. And then I stopped. I stopped and took a breath and realized I was chasing a goal that I could not meet. Was it needing to continue to ride the high? Was it the knowledge that only around 50% of those might survive, and that most would die solely of starvation? I don't know. But what I did know was that if I continued to wreck myself to fight this battle, I would never win the war. So I sulked my way home with my proverbial tail between my legs, and cried in my husband's arms.
"Sonny", a nearly grown kitten
Don't get me wrong. There are amazing moments that I will never forget. I will always treasure them.
My favorite kitten that I have caught to date, Ren, was almost never rescued. I just happened to be out where his colony was with a newspaper photographer showing her where they lived. All of a sudden, I saw him; a kitten with crusty eyes who should not have been as wobbly as he was. I raced to him, multitasking to snap gloves on and stealthily snatched him up. Upon examination, he was indeed dealing with upper respiratory issues and needed special help. He is now the most lovable, snuggly, purr-happy, gentle kitten I've ever had the honor to love. And every time I look at his face, my heart decides he is mine. I fought tooth and nail to make sure he lived and he is probably going to grapple with respiratory issues all his life. So he's special. He needs someone who gets that. And then my mind reminds me how impossible the desire to keep him is. We are at our limit for pets for so many reasons right now.
Our Sweet Miracle, "Ren"
There go my heartstrings. Here come more tears.
Yes, I choose to rescue. Yes, I could make the choice to walk away, let it be someone else's heart breaking. But that's the thing. If I walk away, there is no back fill. There is just one less warrior on the battleground. There is just one less person doing the work that leads to the highs and lows I just described. And that just isn't acceptable. The reality is, not every animal will have a home tomorrow. Or the next day, or the next. They won't even all have homes next year. So I rescue. And I triumph. And my heart breaks. But most importantly... I rescue.