To say that this year has been shitty would be an understatement of odyssean proportions; an annus horriblis no less. In April, I lost my job. I have been struggling without success to find another since then – either employed or self-employed. The decision to return to the UK from France became imperative at that point and the French house has been on the market since May. Also without success, I might add. The French property market is as depressed as the UK one. We have had one offer that was so risible, we rejected it out of hand and reminded the agent that we had a bottom line. Bear in mind, we are asking what we paid for it seven years previously, having spent thousands renovating it and still people think that offering €30,000 below the already reasonable asking price is okay. Given that there is no profit involved, why would I give a perfect stranger €30,000 of my hard earned? That said, if matters get any worse, we might find our hands forced by the bank.
So, here we are, after thirty years of looking after ourselves, finally facing the humiliation of having to claim benefits – and the Kafkaesque experience is probably worthy of comment all of its own. Let’s just say that having assumed that the people I was dealing with would know the rules was proved emphatically wrong. This was all made much, much worse when I was offered jobs that came to nothing. On one occasion in last June, I was emailed the day I was due to catch the ferry back to start work with an apologetic, “sorry, no work after all”. I realise that the economy has devastated training and development – along with marketing, it is always the first thing to go – but the repeated offers of work, and promises made on a handshake that have been empty rhetoric has merely compounded the stress. As John Cleese once said, Despair I can cope with; it’s hope I can’t stand. I find myself looking at minimum wage jobs, attending interviews and not getting them. All of which has taken a huge toll mentally and physically on both myself and Mrs L.
This all came to a head last Thursday. I was contacted and told that she had had a breakdown and was either coming home or going into hospital. I made the dash back to France – the best part of twenty hours on the road – to see her. As it turned out, she was ready to self discharge having been bored out of her skull in the hospital. Fag breaks at the back of the building provided little in the way of distraction as the other inmates were all in their dotage and those that were able to communicate mostly had no teeth, apparently, making conversation difficult. So I sprung her and we went back to the house. She has decided that she will be okay hanging on there until Christmas to look after the cats and finish the packing. I’ll be back in a month, then it’s the Christmas break, followed by the move and no more long separations.
And, it is the cats, that are the subject of this post. The rabies laws mean that we have to wait six months following the successful blood test before bringing them back to the UK. As these were done during June, following the vaccinations during the previous month, the earliest we can bring them back is the end of December. For this reason, we had to find a new home for Lucky as she was born in May and the earliest she could be vaccinated was August with the blood test in September, making her unable to travel before March. Fortunately, a little ten year old girl in a nearby village fell in love with her and she has a wonderful new home – although she now goes by the monika Lilas.
Since March we have now lost five cats. Ptolemy died of heart failure in April, Kiya succumbed to kidney failure in May, Lucky went to a new home in August and her mother, Minnie, the feral cat we were going to adopt went missing sometime in July never to return. We know not whether she has come to grief or found better pickings elsewhere. No one has seen her that we know of.
Then there was Caesar – and it is Caesar to whom the farewell of the title refers. Caesar and Bast were litter mates from a colleague’s cat. There were four kittens but one was stillborn, causing the mother great distress. Indeed, at the time, it looked as if the mother would die. A rush to the vet’s and a Caesarian birth resulted in three healthy kittens. Our two, Bast and Caesar and another tom who went to a colleague of Mrs L. That was nearly fourteen years ago. We let Bast have one litter of kittens and Ptolemy was one of those.
A beautiful mackerel tabby with large round eyes, Caesar was both a tart and a wind-up merchant. When we lived in Bristol, he would sit by the gate waiting for the admirers he knew would come along. With his sister and nieces, he was a terror; along with Ptolemy, he would invade their space and wait for the resultant hiss and snap, before wandering off, tail in the air, job done. It was a trick Ptolemy picked up from him and copied.
I have noticed this past few months that Bast has been somewhat frail of late and we have been steeling ourselves for the inevitable. Only this weekend, I noticed how much more hearty Caesar looked compared to his sister. How wrong one can be. Yesterday, I heard an anguished wail from upstairs and went to investigate. Caesar was sitting on the spare bed. He could not move his hind legs. I knew then that this was really serious. I suspected a stroke or thrombosis – a diagnosis confirmed by the vet. While it is possible to treat if caught very early, the outcome is generally bad. When we got him to the vet there was nothing to be done for him – apart from the final act of kindness.
It was curious that after a lifetime of spats and hisses as Bast and Caesar squabbled over just about everything (mostly location), the night before he died, I noticed her nuzzling his ear. Mrs L said afterwards that she probably sensed something was wrong. Cats pick up things that we miss. Had I not travelled back to France this weekend, I wouldn’t have spent those final few hours with him on my lap, vying for attention with his sister. For that, I am thankful. I am also thankful that the end was quick and the pain he endured was brief.
I shall miss him greatly, as I do with all of the cats we have lost. Six years ago, I was noting the passing of another cat and made the following observation:
In the grand scheme of things, the death of a 17 year old cat who had a good long life isn’t much – but he was our cat and we will miss him.
As it was for Penfold back in 2004, so it is for Kiya, Ptolemy, Minnie and Caesar today.
And, frankly, these losses combined with an imminent forced house move, the loss of a job and the subsequent strains on our mental and physical health, it is proving difficult to keep going. As each day dawns and we think that things can only get better, fate comes out of left field to deliver another body blow. I don’t think I have ever experienced such ongoing misery as I have this year. Indeed, the escape provided by writing is one of the things helping to keep me sane. Which is why, despite the occasional day out, I am keeping this place going.
Caesar: May 1997 – November 2010, taken this August.
Man, I can only say I’m sorry to hear all that. He was certainly a very hansome creature.
Very sorry to hear that, Longrider. They are a part of the family, adding a little something to our lives and leaving a hole when they’re gone. You have my sympathies.
Yes, he was and made the most of it.
Someone I knew lived in france a few years ago.
He decided he disliked both France and his wife so he decamped back to England (without telling anyone).
By the time the wife traced him he was already back in the UK, had been sorted with accommodation and was claiming benefits – as his basic pension was below the benefits line and of course the poor man had no house, no income and no money – in the UK!
He then divorced and evicted his wife from the french house and rented it out. Income of course being paid into his french bank account so not visible to the Uk authorities.
I was told that UK benefits assessments do not take account of property abroad, even when very angry ex-wife went and told them what he had done they said it made no difference.
Given your circumstances you may not wish to abandon Mrs L of course, that bit is entirely optional, but you might investigate renting out your french house or leaving any money in France?
But good luck anyhow!
Awww, I’m very, very sorry to hear this new blow. 🙁
And you’re right – the fact that they attain what is – for any of their wild ancestors or modern feral contemporaries – a truly grand old age is no comfort, somehow.
I really, really hope this is the last bit of bad news you have to deal with – God knows, you’ve had far more than your share…
Anon, the benefits people want al the details of the French house including outgoings, so we will see…
The renting option is on the table if the house doesn’t sell – we have even had an inquiry. We are getting mixed messages bout how well it may work. On the one hand, advice says that rental law is heavily biased in favour of the tenant and getting them out, should it prove necessary can be very difficult – with three year minimum terms. On the other hand, one of our neighbours said that if you want a shorter term, just write it into the contract.
I have no plans for abandoning Mrs L, despite what a friend accused me of last week. Yes, I could do without friends like that, frankly.
Julia, yes, I do hope things change soon. It is becoming increasingly difficult for both of us to provide emotional support for the other.
A stunningly beautiful cat. Sorry for your loss. Sorry also for the crap you are going through regarding finding work. It makes me mad as hell when one sees the lazy, insulting assumptions about unemployed people in the right wing (is there any other sort?) press in the UK.
I hope that you get an equal and opposite reaction on the upside soon, you’ve certainly had alot to take. Refreshing though that you have no chips on any shoulder so your attitude to life will pull you through. I’ve never been fond of cats but one of my favourite poems is McCavity learned in the first form circa 1960. We have our own McCavity in the form of Taz, a fifteen year old ginger, next door. They don’t have BBQ’s. We do – regularly. Taz and I have conversations:
Taz: I know you don’t like cats
Me: Go away!
Taz: mmmm chicken
Me: Go away!
Taz: I’ll hang around a bit, the BBQ’s warm and the chicken smells lovely.
Me: Go away!
Taz: I’ll just wander round a bit.
Me: Mind the BBQ, it’s hot.
Taz: Worried I might burn myself?
Me: Go away!
Taz: Bit closer then!
Me: Here’s some chicken, eat it over there.
Wife: Thought you didn’t like cats!
Me: Pffhhhh! Want to hear a poem about a scheming cat?
I can see why people like them!
Penfold was something of a McCavity, Caesar was his willing apprentice. Our Louis has taken over the mantle.
Thank you all for your supportive comments, they are much appreciated.
Thats a sad story on the whole, and I know how shitty it is to loose a cat.
I really hope things pick up for you in the very near future.
Longrider, I feel for you. I had a thoroughly shitty time last year and this, including very serious illness (not mine), unemployment and the death of two cats, and it sure takes it out of you. You write as if you are losing your spirit. Don’t let it beat you. Keep supporting each other and stay strong. If you’ve still got the Beemer, that’s another thing to be thankful for. “Sometimes it takes a whole tank of fuel to get my head straight.”
I rent property over here in France and a I have to say it has been much less hassle than when I lived and rented properties in the U.K. ( now all sold ) If you need any advice or just an opinion about renting, don’t hesitate to ask.
Many of us have suffered through similarly tough years – in my case (a few years ago now) breaking up with a girl I thought I might settle down with, losing a job in fairly humiliating circumstances and being unemployed for six months.
I bounced back, so to speak, and you will too. Being down in the pit of despair only makes the view from the uplands that much sweeter.
Stick it out. Things will improve.
Stephen and I both made comments about the dole on a recent thread here. You should bear them in mind LR.
You paid the taxes and this is why you were paying them. There is no humiliation. You will be claiming for the reason that the system was set up and not taking any form of unfair advantage over those lucky enough to have work – if they become unemployed they can claim too!
Yes, I know I’ve paid for what I’m claiming. It is still pretty depressing, though. I’m fiercely independent by nature and used to supporting myself. Suddenly having no income has come as a rude shock to the system and having to go through all the questions and bureaucracy is a soul destroying experience.
Again, many thanks for the supportive comments. Yes, I am feeling pretty low at the moment – each day seems to bring another problem.
I’ve got a couple of weeks Christmas work in December with the Post Office, then back to France for the move. Then Mrs L can look for work as well.
Richard, yes, I’ve still got the Beemer. That will be the absolute last thing to go.
“I have no plans for abandoning Mrs L, despite what”
Sorry, I simply meant it a a joke, contrasting with the bastard who dumped, divorced and evicted our friend, but knowing nothing of your other circumstances. Sorry if it was taken in poor taste.
I know almost nothing of French tennancy law or Uk benefits other than the person I know of got away with it all even when informed on.
I’m very sorry to hear this and hope that things get better very soon.
Sorry to hear about all your trials – hope things start improving soon.
Puts my own minor tribulations into proportion. Best wishes to you both.
Anon, I took your comment as a joke and my response was intended to be taken likewise.
So sad.
I still remember:
William, Ginge, Hermann (don’t ask!), Fledermaus, Bashth, Lara, Sarastro.
We still have Hexadecimal (now 9) and Ratatosk – an unspeakably cute lilac-point Birman.