Now for context, Sabine was a small feral kitten who refused to let anyone touch her. She’s been in care with RCSH for ~4 months, and is a sassy, glossy, glorious girl, who did not understand why humans wanted to do things like *touch* her, or manhandle her own self.

She’s been in foster with me for 26 days, and I’ve taught to accept pats. I got scratched to pieces pushing all of her boundaries in the first week, but she’s a confident spicy girl and she handled it like a PRO.

This was the second time I’ve picked her up – yesterday I sat on the ground and picked her up from her spot in front of my knees, and placed her on my lap. Maybe a 40cm move, with no height.

And then she got treats. She looooves treats, so she gets rewarded every single time I am SO RUDE, and I get a tiny bit of satisfaction every time I see one of her walls crumble.

It’s very rewarding.

—

Lots of people – my husband included – did not understand why I moved back to fostering small angry kittens so quickly after the house burned down. Like, surely, some time off is warranted?

Once I’d repaired the studio shed enough that there weren’t holes in the burned end, and it was weather and cat proof, I reached out and asked for foster kittens.

I tell people they’re emotional support kittens. Required for my mental health. It’s not bullshit.

There are so many things I cannot control right now, and I am so deeply deeply angry about the fire, and all the things I cannot fix, I NEED to hyperfocus on SOMETHING to keep myself moving forward.

And kittens? Kittens I can make a difference with. It doesn’t take much to feel like I’m succeeding with a small feral cat. And then I get a tiny bit of relief from my overwhelming anger and sadness, while the cat gets to live their best life.

Then they get adopted, and I start again with a new angry baby.

—

I’m currently in such a spot with my mental health, that if I do not actively celebrate the small wins, I will stop coping. So my coping strategy is all about providing myself with the structure which supports small wins.

Cats adopted. Trees blossoming. Baby lambs in the paddock across the road. Wedgetail eagles hunting. Magpies building a nest. I cannot hyperfocus and fix the big things, so I’m watching the magpies build a nest using stolen chicken fluff. I’m teaching Sabine to let humans pick her up, and Meg (her sister – growled at me for 48 hours straight, but is an affectionate darling) to accept little head kisses.

Because honestly, I would not cope without all the tiny things. If I can move from tiny success to tiny success, then maybe the big things will all shake out, and maybe maybe I’ll still be a functional human being when we start building a house.

And y’know, it will be fine, I’ll huff here for a bit and then I’ll go snuggle foster cats and get the fuck over it, but STILL. FEELINGS.

I woke up this morning to a dead water pump, and only half the lights in the bus working. FINE, right, we’ve had this issue before, and I just need to jump the battery underneath the bus which runs the lights and pump and other 12v shit.

And sure, let’s not get into how I’m still learning all the little custom quirks of how the bus is wired, like the two 12v batteries linked together to make things run, even when we’re plugged into electricity (yay! electricity!) and the whole battery chargers hooked into them to keep them running and yada yada.

The last time this happened I had to ring the previous owner to be walked through fixing it. This time, I’m a PRO right? I know how to jump the battery, reset the charger, hurray, LECCY.

But it took me an hour to find the jumper leads (yes, we’d put them somewhere very sensible – but not back in the car they used to live in). Then I jumped the battery – WHICH MIND YOU involved awkward climbing into the engine bay of the bus, and then some wiggling – all good! Hurray!

Except five minutes later instead of charging happily, the dead battery error was back. And when I jumped it a second and third time, naah bro, the battery has been depleted too many times and is dead buried cremated. (Australian’s will get that joke). A string of weather below freezing must have been the last straw and she has carked it.

So. Today’s job – provided we have spare car batteries somewhere (and I DO NOT THINK WE DO, hurray) – is to replace the dead battery with a good new battery! And probably replace the other battery too, because why the fuck not. (I mean, it’s ALSO good practise to keep linked batteries at the same level of not-deadness, I’m sure I remember someone telling me that)

And right, here’s what I’m mad about.

Yet again, someone the other day accused us of burning down our house for the Insurance Money. Like they think we were well insured. Like they think it’s something ANYONE SANE WOULD EVER DO.

And yes, I’m fucking mad about it, I’ll never ever stop being mad about it. Because MY DUDES, we did not come out of this better off. Living in a bus has NOT improved my life or my mental health or my grip on fucking sanity.

And I KNOW that every accusation is a confession, because of course they’d fucking do that shit. Narrowly get the kids out of the burning building, escape with foster kittens inside your shirt, nearly die, murder a cat, euthanise a dog, ruin everything. FUCKING SURE.

But this is not winning. Even if my fucking insurance had been THREE TIMES AS MUCH I would STILL be coming out behind. Because I lost EVERYTHING. We were insured for about 1/4 of what we should have been, because insurance premiums when you’re running a business out of your home are FUCKED and even worse when it’s a “chemical manufacturing business”. Fuck you.

And you motherfuckers are not helping, or improving my life. I am going to die mad about the fire. It is fucked. I hope you never have to go through it. But I also hope you stub your little toe on every single piece of furniture you walk past.

Now I have to go budget for new fucking batteries. And maybe teach Sabine the foster kitten about the joys of head kissing.

EDIT: 1.30pm The battery has magically started charging again! SAVED. Sure, the water isn’t working yet, but the lights are back! My father was right, swearing at things DOES WORK.

(Batteries are still gonna need replacing, but I have been given a minute to organise this!)

Edit 2: Battery is charging so slowly and so awfully that I have no 12v lights! Thankfully we have a few 240v lights so I’m not literally in the dark. Sigh.

I ached for babies, for the comfort of a small warm purring body.

I’ve been fostering for rescues since 2017, when my own cat Alice accidentally got pregnant before I could desex her. My vet and rescue friends were SO MAD at me, and I was so mad at myself, and I actively wanted to help with a problem I was also part of.

So I reached out to Grace at Illoura Animal Refuge and asked how I could help.

Cue a fairly steady stream of kittens and cats ever since.

*****

It’s June. Kitten season, theoretically, runs through Spring and Summer, supposedly tapering off as it gets colder. And yet, every day, every week I see people in community groups asking for help for stray kittens, kittens found in back yards, dumped kittens at playgrounds, heavily pregnant mamas.

And inevitably, they reach out to rescues (amazing!) and some kittens are taken in, and others aren’t, because we can’t save everyone.

People want to help, but they get SO ANGRY when rescues say “Are the kittens in life threatening danger right this second? Then no. I’m so sorry, but we can’t. We’re full.”

They get SO angry when the accredited cat management facility, 10 Lives, asks for donations or surrender fees. They get SO mad when a rescuer or volunteer can’t drop everything immediately and race to save the newest batch of younglings.

But here’s the thing – and remember, I’m just a foster carer. I don’t run the rescues, or have to play kitten tetris to find everyone space – YOU HAVE TO HELP TOO.

People, with the best interests at heart, think their “helping”, starts and stops at contacting a rescue.

But rescues – particularly the smaller rescues I am often affiliated with – rescues run on volunteers, and donations. No one is getting paid, not even the people doing the bulk of the work.

And there aren’t enough quarantine spaces, rescue bays, crates, foster homes, and humans, to save every single cat on every single community page.

God, I wish it were different. I wish we could swoop in and save every kitten, every teenager, and every perpetually pregnant mama. I WISH we could trap-neuter-release all the angry manky tom cats (who are actually doing huge work keeping the city and suburban rats and mice down, I will die on this hill). I would absolutely take in every single kitten if I could.

But we cannot, not without the help of community. And that means showing up for the kittens you want to help, in a tangible way.

*****

The thing I hear the most, when I chat about foster – either online or in person – is: “I couldn’t do that, I’d want to keep them all!”

And maybe you would! Maybe that’s how you find your best heart perfect cat! MAYBE that’s what you’re MEANT to do.

But god knows, we need more foster carers. We need SO many more people willing to just try, to see if it works for them, to see if their heart can swell three sizes to hold more love.

We need more people. Boots on the ground, carriers in their hearts, because even if you fall in love, more love is never a bad thing.

Currently I’m fostering for Rescue Cats Safe Haven in Penna, which is located between Midway Point and Richmond. And the biggest barriers to helping more cats are, human resources, and cat food.

Everything else can be worked around, but the shelter needs more volunteers, and more foster carers. It’s the only way they can operate as a true No-Kill shelter. No Kill means they’re not euthanising for space constraints, and that they’re keeping 90+ permanent feral residents in their sanctuary, because Tas laws mean they can’t be released, and they’re not suitable for indoor homes.

It’s a balancing act, juggling reliable volunteers, food bills, vet bills, and space. And so many people here in Tassie are doing SUCH an amazing job at it.

*****

There are so many things you can do to help rescues in your area.

Maybe you could volunteer regularly. Apply to foster! Donate money, or donate cat food.

If you’re not in a position to do those things, then share social media pages when we’re looking for homes for kittens. Tell your friends about adorable adult cats who have finished raising babies and want a couch to sleep on forever.

And the NUMBER ONE thing you could do which would lead to fewer kittens having to stay outdoors in the cold?

Desex your cats. Even if they’re boys.

If you’ve got a stray cat you’re feeding, fantastic, that’s your cat now. Desex it. If you’re feeding them, FIX them.

Desexing makes cats so much happier, and healthier. And then there are fewer emergency kittens in need of rescue. Everyone wins.

Turns out, I have A LOT OF FEELINGS today.

This was not a problem in the warmer months, when I could grab a towel and dart to the outside bathroom block in my undies, but now it geting colder, it’s proving to be an EXPERIENCE.

This morning it was a solid 0C when I woke up and decided to shower. 0C should be no problem, right? Water wasn’t frozen, just a light frost, it’s all good!

Except, we’re using a portable gas hot water system, and it sometimes struggles with getting the water up to a decent temperature in a decent amount of time. Or it turns off on its own. Or a breeze blows the flame out. Just little details really.

Sure, we’ve got a better system to install, but we were organising everything last week right before Anne died, and well, honestly, grief and funeral planning are not conducive to projects. Not conducive to anything except being sad and angry about how unfair things are tbh.

SO

No worries right, I’ll turn the shower on and then give it a few minutes to warm up while I brush my teeth and mop the mud off the floor. (see above: outdoor bathroom block)

The water heated up nicely and then, oh, nothing. No flick whoosh of gas when I turned it off and on again. No gas. Fuck it.

Now please remember I have *darted* to the bathroom. I am wearing nothing but my underwear, a tshirt I slept in, a pair of shoes, and the gas has just run out.

I should have quit, gone and gotten dressed, and showered later.

But I am stubborn and I wanted warm water and clean hair, immediately.

So I went to find the new gas bottle we’d just exchanged. It took me five minutes of swearing and two different tools to remove the stupid plastic plug (WHY DO SOME REQUIRE A FUCKING WHOLE TOOL BOX OMG) crouched in front of the gas bottle, freezing.

And then I made a discovery. See, if you know anything about portable gas bottles right now, you’ll know they’re in the middle of changing over the style of connector. So you have “old” bottles, designed for older connectors, and “new” bottles, with a combo old and new connection.

My hot water system uses the new connection.

And the only full gas bottle in my possession, somehow, was the old style, which won’t work with my connection style.

That’s what we get for swapping bottles at the servo at the end of a long day, rather than at the Supagas.

omg.

YET AGAIN, I remind you, it is 0C and I am wearing NO CLOTHES and I should have given up. I should have.

HOWEVER I want a fucking shower, it’s cold, my legs are red and blue, and I am already fifteen minutes into running around in my goddamned underwear, I may as well crack on. Hypothermia be damned.

Thankfully the bus has the old style connector attached, so I simply (SIMPLY) had to haul the full gas bottle to the bus without dislocating anything, find the key, pull out the 1/4 full bottle from inside its small cramped space, disconnect it, connect up the full bottle, relock everything, haul the bus bottle to the shower, connect everything there and then wait long minutes for the system to give me water above 34C.

SIMPLE. SUCH SIMPLICITY. SUCH A GOOD FUCKING TIME. Clearly I am making AWESOME decisions in the wake of my mother-in-law dying last week and our devastation over that.

omfg.

My shower was non-eventful and eventually my legs and fingers thawed out. Hurray.

Not sure I can recommend this lifestyle. 0/10 would much prefer showering inside and no death mothers. Thx.

Sometimes that is comforting, like being gently shaken to (death) sleep by my husband stimming and jiggling his knee constantly, the rocking motion meaning I’m not alone. V easy to fall asleep to.

But then there is the pain I am currently in, and the sensory overwhelm, and every single footfall feels like fire in my bones.

Yes I realise this is a me problem, and when I found myself gritting my teeth and getting irritated, I went and took some panadol, and some vitamin D, and there might be stronger things in my future because bones. on. fire.

Do I know why my bones and pain are particularly unmanaged lately? No I do not. I take the meds I always take and suddenly fire in the ribs! breathing hurts! dislocations ahoy!

I mean, I *did* almost dislocate a shoulder trying to undress a rooster from his skin earlier, so mayyybe it’s just age and weather and fucked up collagen.

ANYWAY.

We have received the preliminary plans from our kit home people! There are a few more tweaks to make on the engineering side I think, but it’s not long until I have ACTUAL PLANS to submit to council for approval! Which probably means I need to look up what other paperwork needs submitting at the same time. But see above, bones on fire, teeth clenching, blech.

I know the insurance company conducted soil tests, so I’m hoping I can just use those soil tests and not actually need to pay for the tests again. And then there’s plumbing and septic systems and oh god my poor brain. BUT, we are getting closer to the beginning. The beginning of the beginning!

In other other news, my delightful mental health kittens are going to be showcased at Petbarn Rosny sometime this week – like whenever I can deliver them because my car is headed to the mechanic for a nice rest and spa day. We think the heater coil? tap? something, I forget the word, is playing up, and the car keeps overheating and regurgitating coolant everywhere, while also having issues with the aircon/heater, and blah blah blah.

It’s all very very boring and dull and annoying and I hate it. Things need to just WORK omfg.

But! Kittens, being showcased for adoption is VERY GOOD, they’re all three of them incredibly ready for homes and humans of their own. And then I can have NEW KITTENS which is always exciting.

++++++

The last week has been hard. Nathan’s mum is dying, and we’re currently in the weird and wobbly stage of not knowing how fast this process is going to be.

Her dementia is well advanced, and unfortunately, her brain keeps forgetting to tell her legs how to work, and she falls.

Add in a nasty case of Covid (antivirals helped), a UTI, and a decent case of delirium and it’s been rough. We’ve been in close contact with her doctors, and they’re good – but sometimes there’s no magic pill to fix things. And dementia is already a rotten time, without covid. We spent Monday night in the hospital with her, and then helping settle her back into her care home. It’s been a long week.

Prednisone for her breathing has given her some artificial energy, but y’know. It’s all just time.

+++++

I was awake at 5am, playing the fire over and over in my head, even as I bossed myself into thinking about other productive things and tried to fall back asleep. (The puppy trying to sleep on my head didn’t help really)

I’m not allowing myself to feel the losses yet. I keep pushing it down, because everything is still too big, too raw. Everything, gone. So much of everything, gone.

I am so sad this week, and I can’t pin down why. I mean, obviously, I know WHY, but what makes this week harder than any other week when my life is falling apart?

A friend sent me two boxes of books, and they were just so beautiful, and so kind, and it broke my heart and was also amazing and thoughtful and the books make me so happy when I pat them and rearrange them.

But I’m still so fucking sad.

I can’t seem to keep my brain from replaying Spark’s death. Finding his body under the ashes and metal framing of the couch. Curled up, hiding, dead from smoke inhalation before he burned, thankfully. From the sounds of the fire, and his screaming as he couldn’t find his way out.

Rubbing Tom’s ears and his burn scars. Walking Crumpet through his traumas (he let me give him SO MANY PATS just now, maybe he knows I’m sad). Maisy, too old to cope with the loss of everything. My darling kittens and the two weeks of horrific virus before everything burned. I was so tired, but we were WINNING for fuck’s sake.

And then kittens down my shirt and wondering if Flynn and Bea would survive the smoke, and crying when we found them alive.

It all just sucks. SO much.

+++++

I tell people I foster cats for my mental health, and it’s true. I just went and sat with the current kittens (ready for adoption!!) and Tom and Crumpet, and stroked ears, and smooshed my face into purring babies, and remembered that sometimes it’s the small things that help.

It’s nice to have small purring distractions when everything is terrible.

I also bought a new potato masher, but we are NOT going to talk about that fucking atrocity of a thing. Sure, it’s sturdier than the last piece of kmart shit, but I feel my potatoes were more “beaten into grainy submission” rather than mashed, and the stupid little holes took forever to wash.

SO. We’re still on the lookout for a good masher.

In other news, everything remains exhausting and hard work. We spent Friday turning the one large middle room in the studio shed into two smaller rooms, because now that we’re the proud owners of a tiny bit of ‘leccy, Isaac couldn’t stand to sleep in the bus anymore.

And that’s fair – the kid beds in the bus are definitely “small child” sized, and Isaac is very tall and was sleeping squashed up like a pretzel.

It was A LOT of fucking work, but Nat and I moved the wall (honestly, moving the wall framing was the easiest bit – it was moving everything else that nearly killed me).

And then Isaac got home from school and looked at me and went LET’S BUILD A BED AND GET THIS SHIT SORTED and I died a little, but remember, pretzel sleeping.

So we built Amy’s new bed and I died about seventeen more times from exhaustion, and my hands wouldn’t work, but SUCCESS I have two teenagers sleeping in the studio bedrooms and one (almost) teenager still in the bus – but at least Evelyn still mostly fits into her bed. I think. I should ask her about that.

I found some excellent books at the op-shop the other day, and they continue to make me happy, even as I mourn the loss of ALL my books. I swear, half the burned ashes of our house were books. And y’know. All my other stuff.

We’re in a bit of limbo at the moment – Insurance is almost ready to pay out (FINALLY OMFG IT’S BEEN ALMOST FIVE GODDAMNED MONTHS) but we’re waiting for our mortgage holding bank (commbank) to work out whether insurance needs to pay out the entire sum of our mortgage first.

Messy, exhausting, and I do not like it. The property assessor will be out Wednesday to decide whether there’s enough market value left in our land to make the mortgage “safe enough” for commbank to hold onto.

Very fucking annoying, and exhausting, and stressful. Our insurance amount was small enough as it was (hideously underinsured, because running a business from the property involving oils made us a fire risk – which hahahahafuckingha it wasn’t even the business that started the fire, and I was still paying $300/month to insure less than half of our shit) and I really don’t want to attempt the rebuild with even less money.

Of course if that’s how it all plays out we will still rebuild, it will just be harder and tighter, and I will be much grumpier.

ANYWAY.

We have the electricity on, and we’re just waiting for TasNetworks to inspect and sign off on the initial works. We have a toilet and shower for the winter – even if I’m super mad that I am having to walk through the outdoors to pee AGAIN, I thought I was OVER that stage of my life. We have a new gas hot water heater to install, so hopefully the wind won’t make the hot water turn off repeatedly anymore – again, cold showers are not my idea of fun.

And the bus has heating, so here’s hoping we don’t freeze to death over winter. Hurray for not being in tents anymore.

In the meantime, go buy soap. I’ve been working (fairly) solidly (when I’m not exhausted from teenagers making me build beds) and (some) things are restocked pretty well.

Yay, soap. Also we ship to the US, UK, New Zealand and Canada now, even if the postage prices are eyewateringly grim. Sorry about that.

I rang them today to chase things up, and was told they needed more time because they’d had to request an updated scope of works? Very annoying, and very frustrating. We’ve been back on the property for three months now (as of yesterday) and we’re more than four months out from the actual fire.

However, excitingly, we DID have the Aurora contractor come and install our electricity meter today, which means we are ONE STEP CLOSER TO ‘LECCY!!

I’ve let our electrician know we have meters now, which means next week he can make the magic juice flow through the power lines into my studio shed/bus!

Sure, half the light wires are still a little melty in the ceiling, so it’s not exactly a *small* job, but we might have power soon! SILENT POWER (well, as silent as electricity ever is). No generator noise, omg. Also no generator fuel bill (also OMG).

In other news, my gorgeous lovely foster kittens, Elsa and Yelana, are doing beautifully, and the cat netting arrived so I can rig up some sort of entrance to my studio from the cat enclosure, which will allow Tom and Crumpet to move inside.

In other other other news, my house insurance premiums are set to rise to $467 a month as of April, so omfg, I think I need to shop around. I hate to lose any insurance, but we cannot afford that.

Blech.

Amidst everything, it’s that stupid white potato peeler which was consistently good and sharp for more than ten years. It’s my knives, some of which I’d had for more than twenty years, my hands worn into their handles. My space, my life, my rhythms.

I organised two new foster kittens last week, and they arrived yesterday. My husband worries I am doing too much, have too much on my plate, that I’m not resting enough. And he’s right, of course (don’t tell him) but it’s kittens or a nervous breakdown, and at least now I have hissy babies to kiss on their little heads, and something else to keep my hands and brain busy.

++++++

I can feel the seasons changing, in the bite of the wind despite the sunshine. Autumn is here, and Winter is coming and I still don’t have mains electricity. It’s been twenty one days since insurance rang and said “we will probably have an answer for you early next week”. More days than it probably should have been since TasNetworks said “within five business days”. But hey, people are BUSY you know.

++++++

We spent last week moving my mother in law into her dementia unit – early onset dementia is a bitch of a thing, and it’s breaking my husband’s heart. The transition went relatively well, considering, and some judicial application of sedatives helped a lot, but it meant no one else saw her at worst. That was a special kind of hell, saved for Nathan and I, as she begged not to be left, demanded to be taken home, told us she wasn’t staying, no thank you she was done now. And our hearts broke, but we did it anyway, because sometimes life is a bitter pill to swallow.

Sometimes you just have to do the shit things, even when you don’t want to.

But no, “she’s settled so well!” and “she’s so calm and relaxed” is all anyone else saw (not the nurses, never the nurses and doctors and the helpers and hand holders, not them). Thank god for transitional medications.

And we’re not dead yet, no one is dead yet, so onwards we go.

Edited to add: I’ve just mashed potatoes with the worst potato masher ever and now I’m mad about my burned potato masher too.

It’s been 15 weeks now, and I know I said a week ago I was hoping Insurance was ready to settle, but apparently “you’ll hear from us early next week” means: You’ll get a text update, saying we need to do four different things still, and get quotes and sign offs from three different people, and oh, yeah, it’s definitely normal to string things out this long…

Early on, when we were still in the airbnb, with twitchy fingers and bored brains, we started cleaning up the fire mess. Pulling down burned studio shed ceiling, and ripping out the burned insulation. This was after the asbestos clean was done, and we had a bare patch of dirt left where the house once stood, but the damaged shed was still standing.

People asked us, “but aren’t you insured? Insurance is the one who fixes everything! Why are you cleaning it up yourselves?” as we hired a skip, and sought out an electrician, and weighed our tiny budget against our needs.

and FIFTEEN weeks later, we know that nothing would have been done if we waited; our spaces would still be full of ash and debris and water damaged mess, growing mould and getting gross. Because absolutely nothing happens fast when you’re dealing with insurance. I wouldn’t be back able to work – to make and ship soap and fulfil wholesale orders. It’s just exhausting, and frustrating, and really fucking annoying to have everything move so slowly.

And yes of course we know this is a “major loss” and we’re all “doing our due diligence” but omfg. How are people meant to return to normal life?

But hey, at least we were insured.