I Already Know

Another day of topping off water bowls when out of nowhere the phone rings. Grabbing it, I position it between my ear and my shoulder so that I can keep my hands free and keep working.

The woman on the other end explains that she has a gray tabby who’s around two years old, sweet as can be, but she can’t afford to keep him anymore. She found our number on Facebook, where it’s published for the world to see.

I say "OK" as I make my way towards the pantry where the cat food is kept. Thirteen to go and then another six for those who we’re currently fostering.

I start rattling off information on how to keep your cat at home while being on a budget. I explain how everyone who runs a shelter or rescue in the county, including ours, is overflowing with cats. I say “everyone” as though there’s a team somewhere who I can dispatch to help me, to help her.

I turn away from the sink and everywhere I look there’s a cat. We are over capacity and there’s simply no room left. I find myself looking around as though I were scanning a parking lot I already knew was full but wanted to make sure there wasn’t a spot I’d left.

“So you can’t take him?” the woman asks. She’s not being mean. I can tell she’s tired. She’s been handed another map when what she was really hoping for was a ride.

I suggest she call Chicago or maybe even St. Louis. Maybe those places are big enough to help her. I’m trying to be helpful but feeling defeated already.

She thanks me and tells me she’ll try calling around those areas. We hang up the phone.

My son is cleaning a litter box. He’s been watching me just like he always does with these types of calls.

“Another one?” he asks.

“Gray tabby. Somebody’s neighbor left it behind.”

“Maybe we could…”

“I told her we’re full, maybe try Chicago or St. Louis.”

He nods as if that settles something, even though we both know it doesn’t. Neither of us continues the conversation, though. We know we’re full. We know we can’t find another square inch in the home even for a single cat. We know we need donations and have been saying it for months now, but we’re both too scared to ask.

“You want to help me feed the cats?” he asks me instead.

"Sure," I reply.

We go over to the closet where the food is together. He does the dry and I do the water. The cats come over and start yelling at us to move faster, like they do any other day. Sometime while we’re feeding everyone my son mentions something and I laugh. The evening continues on just as it always does, past the place where we didn’t say anything.