The Sad Tale of Five Cats and an Author’s Family

I can not let the sadness over the last few weeks overtake me or else I would be utterly lost. I am a cat person; I admit it. Not the sort that would choose a cat over a human for companionship, but rather a woman who has a deep compassion and soul connection with these beautiful, intelligent creatures.

As any true writer, there are times that I will use my readers as a form of therapy to process the world and its symphony of joy, mystery, cruelty, and heartbreak. New subscribers will have to forgive my rare self indulgence for this newsletter. It is a distinctive break from my medieval historical tone, with a splash of humanity thrown in for good measure.

We are thrown into the uneasy and unexpected search for a new home with our deadline for leaving our current rented home by the last day of this year. Yes, that means New Year’s Eve. And it all has to do with cats. That may seem utterly ridiculous, but I would like to remind you that part of what made King Radolf a villain was his mother’s relationship with a cat. In book 1, The Last of the Silver Wings, I tell a story of how she was targeted as a witch and her accuser used her protection of the cats in her kingdom as false evidence of a darker nature. So it is fitting that my story of strife comes with a feline slant.

Although I mutter when our kitties swirl around my legs when I descend the stairs in the morning, I am humbled by their gentle trust in me to make sure they are fed and loved. I love waking in the morning with the weight of them around my legs and their individuality in expressing affection.

My personal favourite is Bite, whose name reflects his sense of play. He speaks to me in the morning with almost a bird-like chatter and is happy to be draped over my shoulder. His tuxedo mother Cutey is probably the world’s fussiest cat and regularly gives me a full lecture in a single expression when I don’t feed her, her favourite meal. The one that makes her coat lose its lustre. She has that sulky look of a toddler when you serve broccoli instead of ice cream. But despite our differences of nutritional opinion, she is happy to get a good chin rub and cuddle in the morning.

I am convinced that Pepper, a grey, muted striped male, is the reincarnation of an early mafia boss and he has a distinct roman nose and tyrannical expression to prove it. His fighting skills have kept our home safe from menacing strays who regularly invade the property.

Furball, Bite’s twin, is a relaxed, philosophical boy, who may occasionally be coaxed into play, but would rather be contemplating the universe. Sometimes he mimics his twin in duplicating his playful nature. But only if it does not require too much prolonged energy.

Then there is Prince, my son’s favourite. This stripy boy has a superior intellect and tolerates my son’s rough clinginess because he knows that Michael would walk through fire just to protect him. Recently, when he landed on a splinter of about 2 mm in diameter, he went directly to my 11-year-old son for help and sat patiently in a boisterous boy’s arms as I painfully extracted the menacing invader from his foot. I love the fact that Prince has played a big part in making Michael the compassionate and protective boy that he is. Before Prince entered our lives, following the upheaval of the lockdown, my son was prone to night terrors and this cat was willing to be a nighttime cuddle toy to ease us through that difficult season.

It was just short of two months ago that we had 13 cats because darling Cutey was a bit too generous in her kitty favours and I, in my sentimentality, wanted the kittens to be fully weaned before sterilisation. It seems it is quite possible to get pregnant while nursing.

Any good story has to have a villain, but as an author, I know that villains are certainly not one dimensional. There are always some threads of humanity in their decisions and I have had to face this very real duality in my life. We got a demand from our landlord that the cats had to go. Mostly because our neighbour on the property simply hates cats, but she is a paying tenant and the size of her unit means our landlord earns almost double of what we pay. It is a simple matter of economics.

I approached a wonderful woman who is like a feline fairy godmother who, within a space of four weeks, got 8 cats sterilised, sent in a photographer and started setting up interviews for adoption. The kittens left far earlier than I had hoped and I made sure that Cutey, the world’s most maternal cat, saw them go so she would not be searching in vain. It was heartbreaking to walk her engorged with milk with no outlet and I spent several days easing her discomfort with cool compresses and crying, as she called for them again and again in the hope that they would return.

This may all sound over dramatic, but there is the thing. I am adopted. Each of the appointments with prospective new kitty new parents triggered me. The re-homing of three of our precious babies happened in a whirlwind, and by the fourth set of interviews, I no longer pretended to be unaffected. There are only so many tears you can force back. Each time we watched a kitty leave, I clung to my husband and allowed myself a 5 minute sob. It was a stab to the heart with the stress burning through my arms. From 13, we are now down to 5 with the twins Bite and Furball, the last of their litter being rejected the most because these two darling boys are pitch black. That alone would have been me burned at the stake in medieval times.

Our relocation quest started with a conversation with our landlord this Thursday about the deadline to whittle our little colony down to two by no later than Thursday, 30 November 2023. That made it a 7 day deadline when previous conversations held no deadline at all, just a request.

I asked for leniency, considering just how much effort has gone into the process over the last two months. But he was undeterred. He made it clear that he had bought the property as a business investment and not a cat sanctuary and he was not willing to extend the 7 day deadline.

Now there is somewhat of a backstory to this, with the new proposed lease having a few clauses in it that would raise an eyebrow or two of the Housing Tribunal, but that is another story. Having an innate dislike for bullying behaviour, I was not prepared to entertain demands that did not take into account the difficulty of safely re-homing pets of the Christmas people when many families go away. I suggested that we hand in notice and leave at the end of January. A villain would not be a villain without having a counter attack and he said that if we were not willing to meet his demands, then we would have to vacate by the end of December.

I know with all the other units; he spent quite a bit on renovation, whereas our unit with a leaking roof and paint peeling has been left untouched in the nine months he has owned the property. But we have always been clear of what recovery looks like for us. I have spent every bit of spare cash on investing in growth in the business, which has yielded results, but has made us vulnerable for this type of challenge.

Our notice until the end of December managed to buy an additional 4 weeks for my babies. This may seem completely irrational to a logical person, but back to the backstory. We are living on this property because the covid hit us very hard and the former owner, a friend of mine, gave us a haven here. Our need allowed me to deal with the traumas of 4 break-ins in the space of two years and the constant threat of the drug industry operating at the river below the freeway, within walking distance of our home.

Economic recovery from the pandemic has been a harsh reality, but has been an evolving success story, especially due to the special people in my life who have actively sought ways for me to find new clientele. Although I still have the capacity for more book coaching clients, I am very happy with our progress in these last 3 years. Yet, I cannot help being slightly fearful of what the future brings. Just this month, I invested in additional software to level up my writing and book coaching. Had I known I would have needed funds for a deposit, I may have been tempted to not invest in those areas. But I know those were sound decisions and that God’s timing is good.

Any doubts about my decisions to accept the demand for swift departure were quickly laid to rest. Just 20 minutes after our discussion, there was a shoot out just outside the property with police chasing the perpetrators to the river. For over 30 minutes, police helicopters littered the skyline, hovering and searching.

It is time to go. This leaves us in a space of having to level up our finances to make sure we have a deposit for a new spot that will have fibre, as we work largely from home, 3 bedrooms and if miracles happen; space for five sterilised darling fur babies. Our needs exceed our budget, but I still do believe in miracles.

We need to be relatively close to my adult daughter in Sunninghill and close to our church in Kyalami as my husband is a church usher there. It is my hope that someone who has perhaps had a vacant property that they are struggling to find tenants for will see the merit of a family of cat lovers who serves the author community living in their space. I want to feel comfortable about inviting my clients into our space and so it is definitely time to level up to a space where a landlord takes pride in the maintenance of the property.

So there you have my self indulgent newsletter for the week and I have to say that I feel a lot better at writing it. Now I can revert to the books of the day.