An Earth Day Story of 'Rescue'

On April 22, four years ago, I wanted to die.

I had lost both of my Chihuahuas, Futuro, 18, and Karma 10½, within four months of each other, with Karma having died suddenly of congestive heart failure, despite being on meds, just four days before.

My grief felt like a straitjacket, constraining me, suffocating me, and I honestly didn’t know if it would ever come off.

“Get out of the house,” I said to myself. It was a Sunday. With the blinds closed in my dimly lit condo, I felt entangled in the shadows of the memories and the darkness of the guilt over possibly not having done enough for my dogs, especially Karma, even though I knew the chronic disease that had taken her is a common one for her breed.

I had decided to honor her and Futuro’s memory by giving myself all of spring and summer to grieve, and then, if I was ready, I would (maybe) seek to adopt another dog in the fall.

In the meantime, like it or not, life had to be lived.

“Go to the gym. Do something!” I thought. Somehow, I got myself out the door.

I had just put my gym bag in the trunk of the car when I became aware of it. It was coming from about 30 feet behind me: the most determined, desperate meowing I had ever heard.

I didn’t speak cat at the time, but I understood that message: “Human! Over here. Look at me. Notice me! I’m calling out to you. Help me. I need you. Now!”

It was impossible to ignore.

So was the cute little white and orange stray tabby that, in the darkest hour of my grief, was asking for my help.

He was scruffy, dirty, and apparently hungry. I went up to him and he rubbed up against my leg in complete trust.

I picked him up. He didn't struggle.

“What do I do? It’s Sunday. The shelters and vet clinics are closed. I don’t know how to take care of a cat,” said my head, trying not to acknowledge—because it seemed too good to be true!—the healing miracle my pounding heart could feel unfolding.

Quickly, I called up a friend who was a cat parent, and he readily confirmed what I already knew: “The universe is giving you a gift.” And right there, on the phone, I started bawling like a baby.

Rescue: I knew right away that is what my cat’s name would be, because in an instant he had rescued me from my grief. (Actually, I should say my first cat’s name, because two more, Groom, a short-haired domestic black cat, and Buttonwillow, a calico, would later come into my life. But I’ll leave their stories for another time.)

I didn’t make it to the gym that day. There was cat food to buy, and toys and a litter box and flea lotion. I even took Rescue to a church and had a priest bless him.

The straitjacket of grief and depression had fallen off effortlessly, and while I still missed my dogs, it was impossible to wallow in grief when there was a little life that depended on me, not just for basic needs, but for love and play as well. Rescue would attack my knees as I walked across the living room. He would climb up on my shoulder while I was shaving, crouch in the coolness of the bathroom sink, knead my chest and purr contentedly in bed. Each one of his antics and displays of affection made me laugh and smile and gave me life.

Rescue was just a four-month-old stray kitten on Earth Day 2018, the day we rescued each other. Ours is a joyous yet serious, life-or-death story that has since taken on a much greater, more urgent meaning for me.

The fact that Rescue’s adoption birthday is on Earth Day has never been lost on me. It's as if Earth decided to rescue me through him, while also giving me an opportunity to save a fellow creature that needed saving. 

Every year since then, as Earth Day draws near, I remember Rescue’s cries for help, and that memory makes me think that our planet is crying out urgently in the same way.

With every drought, with every wildfire, with every hurricane, with every flood, with every melting glacier and ice shelf, Earth is calling out to each of us, “Human! Over here. Look at me. Notice me! I’m calling out to you. Help me. I need you. Now!”

Four years later, Rescue has grown into a handsome, smart, happy cat with what I call his "Lion in Winter" mane. He worries about me when I'm in the shower and waits for me to come out and pick him up so he can lick my beard dry.

Because of the climate crisis, our planet’s situation is desperate, just like Rescue’s was when he reached out to me. Had I not recognized that it was in my best interest to help him, I might have sunk even deeper, more dangerously, into the depression I was in, and he might have ended up dying of hunger, feline AIDS, or something else. Fortunately, I rescued him, he rescued me, and together, we thrived.

And what about our planet? Will we go on ignoring its desperate pleas or look for ways to help it, and ourselves, to thrive?

This Earth Day Month, wherever you are, listen for Earth’s cries and heed them. There is a lot we can do to help our troubled Earth. Following in this month's Juniper are a number of ideas.

Let’s do something to save our planet. By rescuing it, we will be rescuing ourselves.

Happy Earth Day!