For some reason, the memories seem close tonight. They drift across my mind, without any order or sense. Just the recurring images and emotions connected to a broken promise. It was several years ago, but tonight, the pain is just as fresh as if it was yesterday. Maybe if I write it out, it will hurt less. Let me start at the beginning...

When I was 19, I got married and, 6 days after the wedding, packed up and moved to Las Vegas, Nevada. We'd been there a couple of months when my birthday came up. Somehow, it was decided that I was getting a cat for my birthday so we headed down to the local no-kill shelter. I was admiring a cute little Persian mix when I felt a set of claws latch into my left knee. I looked down to see a pair of furry black arms reaching out of the bottom cage. Those little arms were attached to a bat-eared, scrawny bit of a kitten that was determined to get my attention. Rob fell for this kitty's tactics right away. I wasn't so sure, but I went along with his choice. After going a little berserk when we were in the waiting room, our little kitten was dubbed "Spaz." We didn't realize that the name was going to stick. While we were filling out the adoption paperwork, the volunteers made us promise that, if we ever had to give Spaz up, we would bring her back to them. I made my own promise to Spaz that we would take care of her forever and that she would never have to be in a shelter again.

Fast forward a few months. Rob and I are at the Mall, just window shopping and killing time. Whenever we are at a Mall, we go to the pet store. I hate the conditions those poor animals are in. It's even worse than at a shelter. On more than one occasion I have insisted that a cage be cleaned or an animal be checked on. I've threatened employees with calling the Humane Society on them and have followed through on that threat if conditions didn't improve.

At this particular store, they had kittens in these stackable wire cages. Each cage held 2-4 kittens and they were stacked at least 6 high. The stacks of cages were on wheels and they were pushed out into the Mall in front of the pet store. The cages were actually kept fairly clean and the kittens all looked healthy. Healthy... but terrified. There were swarms of children running around the cages, poking at the kittens and tormenting them. I went over and chased the brats away, then started petting and soothing the frightened kittens. One in particular caught our attention. She was a fluffy, black Manx with just a stub of a tail. She leaned hard into the hand that I wedged into her cage. She didn't purr, but she seemed desperate for the contact. Rob got the clerk to come over and open the cage. As I held the trembling kitten, I met Rob's eyes. We didn't even discuss it, we both knew she was ours. On the ride home, I made Lucky a promise, she was going to be safe with us and we would love and take care of her forever.

Spaz and Lucky became the best of friends. They slept wrapped around each other, so close you couldn't tell where one started and the other stopped. They both had oral fixations from being weaned too young and mutual grooming sessions frequently turned into "nursing" on each other. I was often included in their grooming sessions. They would lay on my pillow, one on each side of my head and lick every bit of hair spray from my hair.

They never quite got over the traumas they had been through at the shelter and pet store though. The only humans they trusted at all were me and Rob. Whenever we had company they would disappear into the bedroom and only come out when the "intruders" were gone.

We were a happy family for almost 2 years. Then, Rob got orders for a permanent change of station to RAF Lakenheath, England. At first, we were both thrilled. We hated Las Vegas and were more than ready to leave. Then, we found out about England's quarantine rules. Any animal being imported into the UK must be held in quarantine for 6 months to rule out the possibility of rabies. This can cost in excess of $1200... per cat!!!! We were completely broke; just barely making it from paycheck to paycheck. There was no way we could come up with the $2400 to put our furkids in quarantine. Not to mention the $500 or so it would take for shipping them over there.

We were devastated, we had no choice but to give up our babies. We asked friends and family, but no one would take them. We put up notices on bulletin boards and had several people come see them. Nothing came of it though. All of the people who replied to our adds were looking for pets for their children and our nervous cats just didn't do well with kids. Finally, I broke down and called the shelter where we had adopted Spaz. They were sympathetic, but were unable to help us. They were completely full, but they suggested another shelter that might have room. I called Betty Hahn's Adoption Center and was told that, yes she did have room for two cats, but there was a $50 fee per animal to place them there, they had to be spayed/neutered and their shots had to be current. The second two were already taken care of, but that first requirement was a problem... we just didn't have the money. We were having a hard time just trying to pay the bills and buy food.. The fee might as well have been a million dollars instead of a hundred. We just didn't have it.

There were a lot of arguments over the situation. I wanted to use part of the money that the Air Force was giving us to pay for moving expenses. Rob insisted that we couldn't do that. At one point, he actually suggested that we just take them to the pound and be done with it. I knew that he didn't mean it, but I was still furious. I told him that he would have to be the one to take them there and that their deaths would be on his conscience for the rest of his life. He knew that he couldn't do that anymore than I could, but he wouldn't budge on using the moving expense money. Finally, I told him to take my engagement ring and pawn it. I figured we could get at least $100 out of it. Instead, Rob sold his weight bench and remote control cars. He didn't get near what they were worth, but he got enough to get our furkids into the Adoption Center. I don't think he realizes how much I love him for doing that.

The day we dropped them off was horrible. It was a long drive, at least 45 minutes, and Spaz cried the whole way. We had them both in the same carrier. Spaz was trying to dig her way out through the corner and poor little Lucky was huddled in the other end. She was so stressed she was beyond crying. She was panting and her eyes were huge. After we signed all of the forms and paid the $100, I gave the attendant the bag that had all of their toys and things in it and Rob brought in all of the food and litter that we had left. When I reached into the carrier to pet them one last time, Spaz bit me hard enough to draw blood. I remember thinking that I deserved it for what I was doing to them. I told them that I loved them and that I was sorry ........ and that was the last time I saw them. I don't really remember leaving the office or getting back into our truck. I know I was crying so hard that I couldn't see. Then, I remember Rob stopping about a mile down the road. He was crying so hard he couldn't drive. We sat there on the side of the highway, both of us crying and miserable, unable to comfort each other. We never really talked about what we had done, it just hurt too much.

That awful day was in May of 1994... more than seven years ago.. and it hurts now just as much as it hurt then. I had promised those two cats that I would take care of them forever and they would never be back in a shelter environment again; I broke that promise. I still carry a business card from the Adoption Center, I'm just afraid to call them. Not knowing what became of my poor kitties is easier to bear than knowing for sure that something awful happened. I will probably carry that card forever. I know that I will carry the guilt and shame that I feel for at least that long.

Copyright © Kathy Hyle
July 1, 2001