I love animals. We always had a critter or two running around when I was growing up, but as an adult, I travelled too much for work to be a fur mother. When I met my ex husband, I was still travelling a bit, but since I was settling down, I was finally able to get a cat. I love my broken kitty and she has turned into the OG of my pack. I adore her cantankerous ways and fighting spirit – even at almost 18 years old.
My second cat found me. Literally. He just appeared in my crowded messy garage, but I was determined not to fall in love so I just called him Little Man because he could fit in my palm. I was just fostering him until he was old enough to turn over to a rescue group. You know how that story ends. Little Man Tate is 13 years old and weighs 20 plus pounds. No fat shaming.
Kitty number three ended up being my penance. Tate arrived with a sister who didn’t make it. They were both terribly dehydrated and malnourished and losing her was devastating. So when a coworker needed a home for an abandoned kitten who was Tate’s little doppelganger, well what could I say? Charlotte became the baby of the family – a role she still relishes.
Through it all I have resisted a dog. I wanted my freedom. I wasn’t sure a dog would fit into my pride. Sidebar: I know pride is for lions, not little cats, but mine all have big personalities and huge chunks of my heart, so they are my pride, and I am not ashamed. Anyway, dogs. I volunteer my time and marketing talents to Big Dog Rescue Project, but I have resisted the pull. I figure I am helping out more dogs by evangelizing BDRP. Take a minute to read about them. They are doing amazing work.
I took in a short-term foster in for a weekend while he was waiting for transfer to the PNW. Max was beautiful and sweet, so I decided short-term fostering was going to be how I could get my dog fix. At the longest two weeks while they decompressed from shelter life and could get cleared to travel to a long-term foster or a forever home.
The story of my foster fail is long and sad, but ended up with what started as an eight pound puppy and ended up with a 50 pound scruffy faced joy. He is a doofus of epic proportions. Clumsy and ridiculous, but as we look at re-entering society after this long tragic year, I wonder how I would have survived without him. His happy tail that is constantly creating a lovely draft as he wags it just at the sound of my voice. The feeling of a paw on each shoulder as he tries to get as close as possible when he gives me a hug. The trust in his eyes when I tell him everything is going to be okay.
Don’t get me wrong. My cats are my loves and I will tell stories about their tales to anyone who will listen, and even those who don’t. But Seamus is everything I didn’t realize I needed. Watching the joy in his face as he runs zoomies in the yard brings me joy. And when he sees me watching and redirects to give me a hug and try to crawl into my skin, well who knew?
Edie Rodetsky 