Farewell, Sweet Kichu

Last night, Kris and I dropped off one of our cats, Kichu, at what we hope will be his forever home. It was a difficult time for both of us. Kris was teary about it at multiple points during the week, and even though Kichu disrupted my sleep more times than I can count, I am also deeply saddened at the loss of his presence in our household. However, it was the best decision for his future, and, when cats are concerned, we certainly put their needs above our own.

The process of finding Kichu’s new mother, chatting to her, and arranging to drop him off at her house was remarkably quick. We were first put into contact with her on Tuesday. We initially arranged to drop of Kichu on Wednesday, but that fell through, leading us to drop him off yesterday (Thursday) instead. It has been an emotional few days.

Kichu is a very charismatic, loud, and curious cat. He has been our cuddle buddy, alarm clock, welcoming committee, hot water bottle, gaming companion, and so much more in the short time that we have been lucky enough to have him. He did frequently annoy me by fighting with our other foster cat, Catsby, and by meowing late at night and early in the morning. Kris did not notice the meowing as much, as she sleeps like a rock, but I was at my wit’s end with Kichu on many occasions. Nevertheless, I always loved him, and he was a core part of our home.

Getting him to Itaewon in Seoul, where his new mother lives, was an ordeal, but not quite as onerous as I was expecting. Kichu does not like to travel. He came to us drugged up on sedatives, meowing his head off, with his eyes rolling in his head from fighting off the drugs. We were worried that moving him would be a similar experience. Luckily, it was not. We chose not to sedate him, and simply drive in a taxi with an understanding taxi driver. The choice not to drug him proved worthwhile, as he was relatively calm. He meowed the entire way, but his tone was nowhere near as panicked as it was on his first night with us. We were glad that he was more settled.

When we arrived at his new home, he was initially very wary. He did not leave his carrying box for a couple of minutes. Thankfully, his curiosity soon outweighed his fear, and he began clambering all over his new home, mewing his opinions on the decor. We spent what felt like an all-too-short amount of time allowing him to settle in while we met his new mother. She seems lovely, and we believe that she will give Kichu all of the love that he needs. She also works from her home, so she will be able to spend more hours per day on Kichu than we were. Overall, we are happy that he is going to a place where he will be loved.

Then, the time came to say goodbye and catch the two buses back to Dongtan. We cuddled him, shed a tear or two, and walked out the door. Kris broke down a little on the roof outside Kichu’s new home, but she quickly gathered herself. I admire her for her strength.

The house is very different without Kichu. It is quieter, but less full of life and action. We didn’t receive a welcoming meow, or a wake-up call. It was almost eerie this morning. We will need to adjust to his absence. However, his new mom has said that we are welcome to pop in and say hi whenever we like, and we will most likely take her up on it. Kichu may be out of our home, but he is probably not out of our life. And, more importantly, he is now brightening someone else’s life – someone who will be able to provide him the stable him that we might not be able to for a while. Kichu will be happy. And, because of it, so will we.

7 Weeks, 7 Lessons

On the 29th of February, Kris and I will finish our first year-long teaching contract in Korea. I cannot believe that time has flown by so fast. It seems like only a few weeks ago when we stepped off of the plane and were swept into an ominous black taxicab. We feel like we’ve known some of our friends here for many years already. And yet, it still feels like we are incredibly new to both teaching and Korea in general. With only seven weeks remaining until we leave Dongtan and start the next chapter of our adventure, here are seven things I have learned in my time in Korea so far.

1.) No matter how far away from each other you are, family and friends stay together. Whether we have brief discussions and catch-up sessions via Skype, post meaningless links to each other on Facebook, or get together on grand trips to Australia, it is very easy to keep in touch with one’s family and friends.

2.) Moving away teaches you who your true friends are. It is very easy to maintain friendships when those who you feel are close to you are within close proximity. When you are on the other side of the world, with a time difference of seven hours, and plans need to be made to communicate, it reveals who is willing to take the effort to do so. Some people you chat to on a constant basis. Others you don’t even need to do that much.

3.) Non-verbal communication is extremely powerful. You are trying to buy an incredibly necessary item. The shopkeeper and yourself do not share a common language. You awkwardly flail your hands in what you hope is close enough to an accurate depiction of your necessity. The shopkeeper smiles eagerly. They take you to something completely opposite to what you intended. You wince, smile nervously, and try again until you get it correct. Moments like that help you observe that communication goes so much further than words.

4.) Cleaning cat litter on a daily basis is far cleaner and easier than doing so on a weekly basis. Not to mention cleaner, quicker, and far less smelly.

5.) Coming home and trying to write (or otherwise pursue ones hobbies) is tiring, but rewarding. After nine hours of herding small children in the general direction of education, the idea of performing actions that require further effort is not a pleasant one in the slightest. However, I have produced some of my best work (including the majority of these blog posts) in the evenings after teaching. Sometimes, you just have to do what has to be done. It is worth it in the end.

6.) Cats like nothing more than destroying things. In the time that we have played housekeeper to our two lovely furry babies, our apartment has taken a bit of a beating. They have clawed much of the upholstery. They have removed a panel from underneath the sink. They have scratched the side of our wooden cupboard in their constant jumping atop of it. And they have looked adorable throughout all of it. Annoyingly so.

7.) Things that would be impossible alone are within your reach if you have good support. Neither Kristen nor myself would be here without each other. I would never have gathered the motivation to complete all of the admin necessary to reach Korea. Kristen would have left within the first month without my moral support. I would not have had the courage to move to part-time employment (to focus on my writing and Dota-related endeavours) without Kristen’s reassurances. Together, we are far stronger than we are alone.

I have grown more in this year than I have in a long while. It has not been easy, but with Kristen’s help, I have managed to try and follow my dreams. In the coming months, my pursuit of Internet notoriety will intensify. For now, I am trying to savour the last few days with my current children. They aren’t making it easy – they’re being particularly rowdy and disruptive – but time is passing faster than ever. I can’t wait to see what the future will hold.

Letting Go

Sometimes you go into a situation thinking that it is going to be great for a while, but secretly knowing that it will eventually break your heart. Some people do it with relationships. Others do it with cars, homes, holidays, alcohol, or a host of other things. For Kristen and I, it’s fostering two cats. We thought that it would allow us to reap all of the benefits of cat ownership whilst minimizing long-term commitments of doing so. Tonight, we came to the point where hearts start to break. Tonight we decided that we will not be keeping them after all.

From our first night with them, we have grown to love Kichu and Catsby. They became more than temporary squatters in our living quarters – we became a little misfit family. Because of this, we discussed the possibility of adopting them with the lady that we are fostering them for, and this option was left open for the past few months, while she got settled in her new job in Africa. Tonight, she sent us a message gently asking us what our intentions for the two feline boys are, and we were forced to think carefully about it.

We weighed up the two options: keep them forever, or begin to look for other homes for them. We had to consider both their interests and our own. First, what is in their best interests. They need a secure, stable environment where they will be happy. While we may love them deeply and care for them well, we are likely to move regularly. Kichu is incredibly averse to travel, so the less that he would have to do so, the better. We can make sure that they go to a home where they will be loved in one place for the rest of their lives.

Then, we thought about our future. As cruel as it may sound, having the cats with us would be additional responsibility. Every time we travel, every time we start a new contract, we would have to be sure that the cats could come with us. Caring for them is not an issue, but having to turn down potential future avenues is. We have to try keep as many options open as possible, so that we can make the best move for us.

So, with these considerations in mind and with heavy hearts, we decided that they should leave us. It is the best for everyone. It hasn’t been easy. Simply acknowledging that they will be leaving us, even if this is not for months yet, has brought out tears and sadness. We don’t want to hand them over. We love them like children. But, like parents who know that the time has come, we must let them go to a better place for them. The goodbyes lie ahead, but they are not upon us yet. For now, we will love them. We will treasure every moment. We will play with them at every available moment. We will even forgive the occasional accident or shredded item. They deserve nothing less.