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I never should have ended that last post with “…” – it was only ever going to lead to trouble.
Well, Loki’s home, Sari’s home and Cara’s still home. Loki managed to live up to his namesake more than we thought possible – he settled in just fine with his new family, was very happy and much adored, but drove their dog to depression. I can only assume he made some very catty comments about the dog’s appearance which severaly undermined its self-confidence but, fortunately, Loki was un-rehomed before the dog was driven to suicide, for which we are all grateful.
It can be very difficult to integrate a new pet into a home with existing animals, particularly if they’re older, or used to having their humans all to themselves. Sometimes you have to make the difficult decision that the new arrangement just wont work, and then the even more difficult phonecall which follows, because you have a responsibility to the pets you already have to ensure their wellbeing.
There’s only been one occasion in my family where we realised we’d made a mistake with some pets. Mum had a work friend who bred Persians and decided to buy a kitten – tiny, fluffy and pure white who we named “Bubbles” (I can only assume I was responsible for the naming of the cat, since I was about 6 or 7). Mum’s colleague, Gilly, asked whether we would also take Bubbles’s mother (her name is lost in the annals of time, so we’ll call her “Hellcat”). This was undoubtedly a mistake on all fronts. Bubbles had chronic diahorrhea from the get-go, which turned his beautiful, fluffy, white coat into a disgusting, matted, brown mess. His mother, Hellcat, was just awful. She spat, crapped in wonderful and inventive places, and was just generally a joy to live with. She lasted 2 weeks before we finally had to admit defeat. Bubbles lasted for a couple of nasty, stinky years, involving untold amounts of grooming, pet visits and careful but judicious bum-hair trimming, before we finally called it a day, and he too returned to the breeder. Mistakes happen.
In general we find ourselves in no worse a situation – I am meeting two women on Sunday who are interested in Cara, a nice woman has expressed an interest in Loki,and we she is coming to meet him on Sunday and mum has agreed to take Sari. More than that, she has agreed that if I don’t feel that either of these women is abolutely perfect, utterly committed and reliable, she will take Cara as well so, one way or another, Cara and Sari are safe.
The whole experience of finding homes for our pets has been harder in some ways than I expected. I expected less interest, but I genuinely thought once they went away they wouldn’t come back, perhaps because of the way my family and I feel about rehoming pets. When we lived on the Black Isle, my mum answered an advert in the paper looking for a home for an 8 year old cat called Annie. Annie came to us, and died 10 years later. 10 years in which she consistently and vehemently despised our dogs, and in which the dogs thought she was about the most interesting thing on the planet, watching her like hawks, but that was just the way it was. Mum (who has always played the role of the UN, or the Rhineland in our house) found ways to make sure the animals each had their space, and conflict was avoided. Each of the animals was individually happy and Annie died happy, of old age, in our living room, with the dog still watching her as though she were a particularly interesting TV show.
We discussed this over dinner last night, and mum told me it had never even occurred to her to give Annie back because she didn’t like the dogs – she had committed to take care of her, and that was that: she would make it work for the best. I can understand why the situations so far have turned out the way they have – no-one is to blame, and it’s not the end of the world: everything works out for the best in the end. We’ll get them sorted in no time, and I’ve learned valuable lessons from this experience, so I’ve decided to make some changes.
To avoid further upheaval, I have a new plan for rehoming the pets, which should mean that once they’re gone they’re gone: I think this time I think I’ll make prospective owners sit at a bare table under a single, bare bulb in an over-heated Thai prison and question them thoroughly while Loki bites their noses repeatedly, Sari grooms their hair with her teeth and Cara whines about playing fetch. If they’re still interested, they’ll be put through a trial by fire, chased by wolves across an assault course, forced to sing an Andrew Lloyd-Webber medley and force-fed marmite, all whilst proclaiming their commitment to the cause.
That should do it, I reckon.
We’ve been trying to rehome the pets recently in advance of doing up the flat for sale and to make sure there was plenty of time to iron out any kinks with their new fosterers. Just as well, really.
Sari had been homed with a nice man who already owned a Maine Coon, and treated her though she were royalty, which suited me down to the ground, as Sari deserves similar treatment. When Kal and I dropped her off there she seemed happy and settled quickly and we were confident the only problem I’d have would be convincing her to come home again. Sadly, it appears that War has broken out and Sari has been politely, but firmly asked to leave. Mr Paul is going to have to collect her today when he gets home after our trip Up North, and is not entirely a happy chappy. On the plus side, my mum and dad have agreed to take her, so it all works out for the best.
Cara also had appeared sorted with a friend but that’s also a no-go, so we are meeting two women on Sunday who are interested in her and we will see if either is suitable. I’d obviously far prefer that she come and live with my Dad in his Big Huge House in the middle of nowhere with tons of land, but as he’s already caring for my elderly dog, Missy and has a new and very lively rottweiler pup called Meg, his hands are already pretty full.
Loki has a new family in Musselburgh who seem lovely and he seems to have settled in well, but we’ll keep our fingers crossed for a while as, if recent events are anything to go by, you just never know…
Now that we’re all decided about moving to Thailand, the quest to sell the flat and organise our trip has begun in earnest. The first step has been to have the flat valued, and the results have been very positive, suggesting we might expect up to £250,000, which is incredible. We paid £180,000 for it less than 3 years ago, so making £70k on it by doing not much at all is always good news.
Now we need to get the flat ready for the market – finishing off niggly cosmetic jobs, doing the tasks we’ve put off for months, and choose a firm of solicitors to represent us. We’ve had tradesmen in giving quotes, some dates in the diary and have arranged a date to move all our unnecessary furniture into storage -this Friday!
Part and parcel of all this, however, has been rehoming our pets. We’ve been really lucky in finding people who are prepared to take Sari and Cara on a temporary basis, and a family who want Loki, but only permanently as they have a child. In fact, I was absent from training tonight because me and Kal took the not-as-long-as-we-anticipated trip to Broxburn to introduce Sari to her new foster home. The man taking her seems a true animal lover, very kind and caring and I’m sure she’ll be well looked after, but it’s a very sad thing to do. I’m hoping that by the end of the week Cara and Loki will have homes to go to, and may already even be in them within a week.
Once that is done, the major work in the flat can take place and we will hopefully be on the market by the end of April at the latest. After that it’s Visas, plane tickets and continuing to learn Thai and we will have done everything we can do. Fingers crossed, touch wood, weather permitting etc etc, we will sell the flat for a decent price without too much delay and be able to leave for Thailand in July with all our debts paid, money in the bank and nothing to tie us down for a year.
Bliss.
… one fuck-off, scary-ass, massive, life-altering trip of a lifetime for Sarah and Paul.
Mum, dad… we’ve got something to tell you…. we’re gay.
Nah, not really (well, only a bit) – we’re just going to live in Thailand for a year.
Following a period of epic unrest for me and a lengthy period of what can only be described (providing you’re a bit middle-class and pretentious) as ennui for Paul the fates have presented us with a set of circumstances which are never likely to align again.
1 – I’m still young enough to make a go of training and fighting full time to see how far I can get
2 – I’m about to be out of a job
3 – Paul is bored senseless and wants to re-train as a teacher (fool)
4 – We were planning on selling the flat anyway
As such, we find ourselves young (well, I am anyway), child-free, moneyed up (I hope) and unemployed.
This will Never. Happen. Again.
So, what’s the plan?
We’re moving to Phuket, so that I can train and fight full time with Tiger Muay Thai, which appears to offer excellent facilities, for a reasonable price, and with good promotion connections. I want to get as much fighting experience as I possibly can, come down a weight category perhaps, get ridiculously fit and come back to Scotland and kick some ass 
Paul’s going to work probably teaching English, perhaps doing some web design, spend alot of time grinning his head off, drinking on the beach and learning to dive (not all at the same time, I hope).
He also thinks we’re getting a pet elephant. I haven’t got the heart to tell him it’s not the same as owning a dog.
We’ll get a flat on the island, and try and really enjoy our year in Thailand properly. I’m learning Thai with Bun down the road, and Paul’s going to start lessons next week, I’m going to get as fit as I can before I leave to avoid too much unneccessary delay before fighting when I arrive.
Before all that, though there’s all the unfamiliar territory of visas, work permits, selling our flat here, finding temporary homes for our pets, putting our belongings in storage and somehow managing to say goodbye to the people we love.
Paul, at least, has done this before and has some experience of saying goodbye, coming back and finding he hasn’t been forgotten. He has many friends whom he sees intermittently and whenever their paths cross.
I’m finding the idea more difficult because, to be perfectly honest, I don’t have many friends, but the ones I do have I love very much. There’s Kal, Fran and Giles; Ally, Ann, Scott, Tessa and the guys from training; and the girls at school and saying goodbye is going to be very, very tricky. I’ve been in Edinburgh quite some time, and it’s taken me this long to feel like I belong, so leaving it all feels like a big risk. All I can say is expect a very, very emotional Aarayan at our going away party (which, by the way, will be huge!)
So, I’m going to have plenty to write between now and July, when we leave, and even more after that!
Stay tuned, folks
