It was that kind of day.
Last week, I lost one of my foster kittens. He was a gorgeous gray and white kitten and I don’t even have a photo of him.
I called him “Rain”.
There were five kittens total. The first two were picked up about a week before the last three. The first pair was dubbed Summer and Autumn. I decided to stick with the theme.
I jokingly called Rain “Typhoon”–it being a local “season”. But remembering Ireland and how it rained in the afternoon no matter the season, I stuck with Rain and called the five my Irish kittens.
Rain could have had an adopter. I regret that won’t happen now. I am still heartbroken that we lost him. I blame no one but myself for being so distracted.
It will pass. It always does. It will always hurt but I can smile and say, “We fought well.”
I asked a fellow rescuer if it’s really all worth it. Basically she told me to shush up and remember how the weather has been so scorching during the day with random thunderstorms thrown in.
Two days later, we lost Spring. I don’t even know what happened. I should learn to listen to my own advice, too, and recall that sometimes they’re really just sick and we don’t know because we plucked them off the streets.
There are three Irish kittens left. Lord-willing, they will make it to their forever homes. Sometimes the despair I feel after losing rescues makes me want to stop taking them in. But when I think of my own cats, a mixture of adoptees and rescues, I cannot help thinking of how taking in strays can potentially give them a home to call their own.
It’s the heartbreaking conundrum of animal rescuing. *sigh*