Crazy Cat Lady Travels and Mexican Rescue Kitties

I am a cat lady, possibly crazy.

I’ve been one since my parents brought home a little gray bundle of fur when I was four years old. We named her Kirsty and she became my greatest childhood love.

In my twenties, I had two Siamese cats with my ex-partner. When I left the relationship, I had to leave them too. It hurt as I grieved their loss. I was young and figuring out who I was.

Then came along the greatest love of my life, a cat named Jaime. Not satisfied with being cat-less, I headed to the local SPCA to find more bundles of fur to love. I picked Joey first, the ginger and white kitten that strutted around the cell with authority.

Jaime, however, chose me. He followed me around the room, finally settling under my left leg as I squatted down to pet Joey. We had eight wonderful years together until Joey was killed in the middle of the night in a hit-and-run.

Jaime and I continued our journey together for another ten years as we moved countries, not once, but twice. He died just shy of his nineteenth birthday in Canada. We had been each other’s solace through many ups and downs and I felt like a boat drifting on a vast ocean when he passed.

My anchor was gone.

Over the years, I have befriended every cat that crosses my path. In 2022 while travelling through Turkey, I kept a bag of cat food in my backpack to feed the strays. As I moved on to the Netherlands, I made another friend who wandered into my garden cottage every few days. Travel weary, my heart lifted each time the chatty Siamese called to me as I headed out on my daily walk in Germany.

Living in my little basement apartment in Canada, I was put in charge of taking care of Baby, the obese family feline who preferred my company to that of the rowdy boys upstairs.

Along came Carmen.

In mid-2021, I found myself in Mexico waiting to get vaccinated so I could return to Canada after the Covid-19 pandemic. Of course, it didn’t take long for me to start feeding the street cats there either.

I have a knack for complicating my life so it didn’t come as any surprise when I rescued a cat off the streets of Playa Del Carmen with no plan for what I would do with her when my time came to return to Canada.

The afternoon started like any other, I had finished teaching an eight-hour shift and was dashing to the convenience store before making dinner. As I hurried up the street, I saw this skinny little black mass and, as is my modus operandi when I see any cat, I said hello.

Normally, street cats scatter when you so much as look at them, but the little black mass looked up at me and greeted me back with gusto! She belted out a series of miaows that impressed me considering her size.

“Wait here,” I said as she wound her way around a street pole, chatting non-stop. It never occurs to me that cats won’t understand when I speak to them. “I have some food for you,” I added to make sure she knew she should stay.

I hurried back to my accommodation to grab the bag of pellets I usually took with me on my walks.

“Here you go baby,” I said as I deposited a handful of the hard treats onto the sidewalk. She sniffed at them and looked straight back up at me, preferring to continue our earlier conversation. She seemed far more interested in affection than in the food as my hand expertly stroked her back and scratched her head.

“I have to go,” I said, “I’ll give you more when I get back.” She seemed to understand and began scarfing down the food as I hurried off.

I was keen to see if she was still around when I returned to my studio apartment. There she was, waiting for me as I had requested, resuming our conversation as if no time had passed. “Come on,” I said. “I have more food at home,” and with that, she trotted after me.

She seemed reluctant to enter the apartment’s courtyard, so I sat down on the bench outside my unit, crooning to her that it was safe to come in. Tentatively, she wandered over to me. I sat on that bench stroking and crooning to her for half an hour. After spending most of that time on my lap, she eventually settled at my feet.

“I have to go and make some dinner,” I said sadly, not wanting to leave her. “You’re welcome to join me or chill out here,” I added. As I pottered in the kitchenette, I watched her lying in the same spot for much of the evening, seemingly content to watch the world go by.

I didn’t see her for a couple of days and then spied her across the street a few mornings later. I called to her. She looked up and came bounding over for a little breakfast and a cuddle.

From that moment on, we were each other’s rescuers. She needed a carer and I needed company.

I named her Carmen, after the town in which I found her, and proceeded to feed her every day. Carmen’s visits became longer and longer as she slept peacefully for hours underneath my bed. Feeling safe from the harsh outside world, Carmen spent her days recouping enough energy to face nights alone on the streets.

It almost seemed as if the sweet, gentle little girl was catching up on the sleep she lost during the first two years of her young life, having to watch her back on the streets of Mexico.

As Carmen began to feel safer, she moved from under the bed to sleeping on top of my suitcase, and finally, onto my bed. Every evening before I went to sleep, I offered her a haven for the night but she ducked out, returning the following morning for breakfast. This continued until one night it stopped. She stayed, politely ignoring the open door.

The following morning, I let her out to relieve herself and promptly headed to the store to buy a litter tray and kitty litter.

Two’s company.

Carmen never spent another night on the street.

She would go out during the day and the early evening to wander, possibly to see old friends, but her outings got shorter and fewer as the days went by.

Carmen’s skin was terrible. There were large patches of her beautiful black coat missing from years of hard living and a bad diet. She was insatiable, eating more than I thought possible to fit into such a small body, and always looking for more. I started giving her a little sachet of wet food in the mornings and made sure that she had pellets throughout the day. The buffet of culinary delights caused her to grow a large belly so quickly that I thought she might be pregnant.

I found myself slap-bang in the middle of a conundrum — I wanted so desperately to keep her and yet my life was too unstable. It had become a series of visitor’s visas and temporary accommodation as I travelled the world like a nomad, trying to find my own forever home.

I knew I wouldn’t put her back on the street, even if it meant I had to derail my own plans for a few months to find her a home.

As luck would have it, I made a new American friend who was breezing through the tourist town also looking for a place to settle. She was adept at marketing and took some great “dating profile” pictures of my sweet Carmen, uploading them to her social media accounts with a touching tribute to our rescue story. We both had hopes that one of her friends would fall in love with the little black kitty and offer her a “furever” home.

Which is exactly what transpired.

Prior to this, I had taken Carmen to be spayed, de-wormed, and had gotten all her shots administered. She was doing extremely well and her gorgeous black coat was growing in nicely. She had the most wonderful little rounded belly, the sweetest little voice, and seemed to be very content.

I had to change our accommodation due to a previous booking and this proved a little stressful for her, but she adjusted to our new digs in no time. Carmen had the most easy-going nature I have ever seen in an animal.

Time to say goodbye.

Plans were made for us both: me to return to my beloved Canada, and my darling little Carmen to be taken to her new home in Portland, Oregon. My last night with the little orphan was hard. She had stolen my heart and showed me I could love another kitty after losing Jaime the year before.

I’d been an immigrant for almost twenty years and was extremely tired of goodbyes. This was one that I didn’t want to say. The morning I left, I hugged her tightly, kissed her with tear-filled eyes, and told her that everything would be okay. She was to stay with a friend in Cancún until her travelling companion took her home.

My friend documented every step of Carmen’s journey to her Portland home through video and messages. I was extremely thankful for the extra effort and it was heartwarming to see her settle into her new home.

I still think of my precious Carmentita.

Her new mamma sent me updates from time to time, but I eventually pulled back. Love and loss is a bittersweet feeling and I found it too hard to constantly be reminded of the kitty I wanted to keep.

We were two lost souls trying to find our forever homes, united in the unfair circumstances of life and quietly saving each other in a Mexican beach town.

Please feel free to buy me a coffee if you like what you read.