5. Rosy
FIVE
ROSY
Exhaustion seeps through my bones as I step up to my door after a long day.
I manage to get it open whilst juggling the bag hanging off my shoulder and the cat carrier cradled in my arms. Side-stepping into the flat, I edge down the hallway and poke my head into the living room to check if Steph’s home.
I heave out a sigh of relief. It’s not that she’d say no to me bringing home a kitten, but she would berate me about it, and I just don’t have the energy for that tonight.
“Home sweet home, Moshi. It’s not the biggest space for you, but it’s warm and safe, and you won’t have to fight to survive outside, huh, buddy?”
His weak hiss has a pang of sadness clutching at me.
The little feral tabby kitten isn’t too impressed with his new temporary lodgings, but there was no way I could leave him to fend for himself.
Part of his ear is missing, and he is starved and cold.
He was dropped off at the farm this afternoon by a family who found him on the side of a busy road, no littermates or mother with him.
I’d stopped off at the vet on my way home, and they confirmed he was not micro-chipped and around sixteen weeks old.
Thankfully, his ear wasn’t infected and was mostly healed, but he was a touch malnourished and lethargic.
The farm isn’t really equipped to take in cases like this.
We did reach out to a local cat rescue; however, they were full.
With him being so young and worryingly underweight, I decided to bring him home as a foster to try to earn his trust and feed him back up.
Kittens are usually fairly easy to re-home, so I’m hoping if we can work on his fear of humans, he will bounce back, then the local rescue can find him a forever home when he’s ready.
Placing the carrier on the floor in the corner of my bedroom, I reach under the bed and pull out a large storage box. In it are a few bits that would work for him, including a fluffy bed, bowls, a litter tray, toys, and some disassembled scratching posts.
I fix the mesh doorway cover around the doorframe so when it’s open, Moshi can look out but not escape and get lost in the rest of the flat until he’s ready to explore. It comes with a zip, so I can open it and slip in and out easily.
I put out some kitten supplies and empty a tin of cat food into the bowl, adding a touch of bone broth powder and some water from my bottle, then place it in front of the carrier. Slowly opening the carrier door, I shuffle backwards to give the spicy little fighter some space.
“Come on, cutie. I know you must be hungry. Smell that? It’s all for you, Moshi.”
I hold still, breathing as evenly as I can, and watch as he takes small, tentative steps to the edge of the carrier. His little nose twitches at the scent of food just beyond his reach.
“You’re such a brave boy. Just a little bit farther, then you can eat it all. There’s no pressure to explore yet, handsome.”
Another little hiss comes out of him. Even though his ears are drooped anxiously, his gaze is on the food he so desperately wants, and my heart breaks for him being so young but so on edge at the perceived threat of danger.
Little by little, he takes two tiny steps forward, his back end still safely in the carrier that he considers his safe space.
He ducks his head into the bowl of food, taking huge bites.
After each one, he glances around the room to stay aware of his surroundings.
“Such a good boy, Moshi. You’re just so very brave, you little cutie,” I gently coo at him, my heart full because he’s safe from the outside world and getting the food he needs.
Staying still so he doesn’t get spooked, I wait for him to vacuum up his food, watching as he retreats into the carrier with another little hiss.
Then I set up the litter tray near the carrier, place a bowl of water on the other side, and assemble the scratching posts before dotting them around the room.
My presence and movements elicit the odd growl.
“I’ll leave you to have some time to decompress, and I’ll come back in a bit.” Grabbing my pyjamas, laptop, and bag, I head out into the living area and close my door behind me.
Dumping the bits I don’t need on the sofa, I head into the bathroom for a desperately needed hot shower.
Whilst I love my days at the rescue, and they are my favourite parts of the week, it also always feels like a never-ending drain on my mental, physical, and emotional batteries.
There are always more animals needing our help, endless things that need doing, and just not enough hours in the day.
Throwing on my strawberry-shaped shower hat, I step under the flowing water and tilt my head, offering my face up to the warm stream, letting it wash away the grime and tears.
It’s their suffering that usually hits me the hardest. Knowing I can’t stop it no matter how hard I try tends to result in coming home and ugly-crying until I’m empty.
Then I get up and do it all over again.
A therapist I saw for a while suggested I experience empathy more than most, resulting in feeling things too deeply and getting easily overwhelmed. I’m not sure having that knowledge actually helps. Because how do I stop feeling? How do others not care like this?
I’ve spent so many hours trying to understand how others can be cruel to animals. Do they just not feel? How does that even feel inside?
My constant state is so many feelings, so many emotions, so many thoughts happening all the time, just piling all up on top of each other. Sadly, I no longer see a therapist; the cost felt too high when the money could go into the rescue.
So here I am instead, standing under the shower, crying out my feelings, and knowing there’s nothing I can do other than to just keep trying.
Turning the shower off, I step out and wrap the towel around me before standing in front of the mirror.
My reflection looks…tired.
At twenty-six, I should look a lot more carefree and refreshed, but even the skincare routine I follow religiously can’t perform miracles.
After I throw on a pair of cosy pyjamas, I head into the kitchen and locate a container filled with what looks like…
vegetarian spaghetti bolognese. My stomach growls in agreement, with my comfort food being anything pasta based.
I throw it into the microwave and grab some cutlery, impatiently waiting the few minutes needed for it to warm up.
Juggling the piping hot container over to the kitchen counter, I retrieve my laptop along the way, and get settled on a bar stool to eat.
I pull up the photos and videos I took today at the rescue, then start editing and compiling a few social media posts to schedule for the week.
As much as Anita is opposed to social media, she has seen the benefit of it with the additional stream of income and donations that are helping to support the animals.
It’s hard not to smile as I upload one of Buttercup lying in the sun as she lets me plait her fringe into space buns. It should get some good hits. The furry Highland cow has a solid following, and people have been suggesting different hairstyles to try for her.
Steph comes through the door just as I’m finishing up the last of the admin for the rescue, her smile wide.
“Hey, sweets, how was your day? I just had the best date with that girl I met at the coffee shop earlier this week. She bought me flowers!” she exclaims in a rush. She twirls around and flops onto the sofa, clutching the bouquet of yellow roses to her chest. Happiness radiates brightly from her.
“Stop it, that’s so cute. What was she like?” I join her on the sofa, and we spend the next hour talking through every detail of the date.
Eventually, I notice the time. “I think I’m going to call it a night.
” A loud yawn stretches my cheeks, and I drag myself from the comfy nest of cushions and blankets.
“Honestly, this is so amazing for you. You need to message her. Don’t wait around for her to reach out first. She gave you flowers on a first date.
That’s so thoughtful and means you have something to message her about.
Send her a picture of them in a cute vase as thanks maybe? ”
Happiness brims in my chest at the sight of her inhaling the scent of the bouquet, even with the niggle of jealousy brewing deep in my gut.
“Oh…and just to let you know, I have a kitten in my room temporarily, but the mesh door cover’s on. He shouldn’t be here too long. He’s very cute. Night!” I quickly ramble as I walk over to my room, rushing through the mesh cover.
“What! We talked about this! No more—”
I snick the door closed and cut off her half-hearted protest. I know she isn’t angry, but I can’t face another chat about not giving in and bringing animals home. Plus, she’s somewhat preoccupied in her post-date haze.
With my back to the door, I slowly crouch and scan the space for the spicy little kitten.
Whilst the room isn’t huge, it’s still a reasonable size and furnished with a double bed, covered in a teal-blue linen duvet set and pushed up against the back wall.
A window takes up the wall to the left of it.
Below the window and next to the bed is a small dark oak stained bedside table; a chest of drawers sits against the wall to the right of the door, and the far right wall has a set of double doors that opens to a built-in wardrobe.
Thick-piled forest-green carpet covers the floor, and my walls are painted in an even deeper green.
The feeling is always instantly calming, with low-level lighting and lamps surrounding the space.
Little Moshi isn’t in any obvious hiding spots from what I can see, but a quick glance shows that he has used the litter box, so he crept out at some point.
“Hey, handsome, I hope you're settling in okay. It’s been a long day for us both, so we should get some sleep, huh?” I slowly walk over and clear out the litter, then draw the thick teal curtains closed and slide under the covers.