A Change of Plans: Breaking an Assignment and Finding Another

When we last left off, the four of us were looking forward to our next assignment to Lusaka, Zambia where I'd be Consular Chief in a small section. Okay, truth be told, the non-Tabbies didn't yet know they were ever going to leave their beloved Salvadoran house garden after four years, but at least my husband and I were enthusiastic about the idea. I'd tucked three Zambian guide books (travel, culture, and birds) under the Christmas tree for him. We'd gotten congratulatory messages from friends who knew the country and were excited for us to get to know it, and others who started planning their Zambian vacations. We began receiving welcoming messages from the embassy and questionaires about our housing preferences. We were imagining life in our new city, and were considering options for buying a right-hand drive car. Essentially, it was all systems go on this new destination. I began to negotiate my transfer timing between what's referred to as the "losing post" (San Salvador) and the "gaining post" (Lusaka) for later this summer.  

Meanwhile, something was not sitting well with me. I heard myself dropping bits of unidentified, nagging anxieties into conversations, making light of my concerns by expressing them with a chuckle. I'd gauge my husband's, friends' or coworkers' reactions to see if my fears were off base. I secretly wished someone would say what I was too afraid to say myself: "You don't HAVE to go there, you know."  I considered the odds of some sort of divine intervention making the decision for me.

Was it Zambia? No! We weren't trepidatious about living there at all. We were excited to meet the people and explore the country and region. 

Was it the job? Not entirely. I had only heard the best about the post and people in charge. Great ambassador - I was told I would be very fortunate to work with him and a friend thought we'd get along well. From my interview, I really enjoyed the Deputy Chief of Mission who would be my direct boss and was looking forward to stepping up and being part of the Country Team. 

So why the turning stomach? 

It started almost immediately after receiving my handshake when I began in earnest to research the travel to post. Negotiating the timing of our departure and arrival was a bit contentious, as is often the case, with each post wanting me to stay the longest and arrive the soonest. Balancing this meant most likely we'd be flying from our west coast home leave location to Zambia with the cats, an itinerary of three flights, two of them overnight, and close to 30 hours of travel. I began to imagine the worst case scenario for them during transit and the worst case began to snowball. 

Then came the realization that should I need to come back home for whatever reason, I'd have to repeat that trip (sans cats) all the while juggling my responsibilities as Consular Chief with only one other American officer in the section to handle affairs in my absence. The belt began tightening around my waist. 

Yes, I was getting to the heart of my qualms now. 

We lost my/our mother a year ago very suddenly, but fortunately I was able to get north to see my family with relative ease. When my father died a few years back, we were in DC which made it even easier to catch a direct flight to the west coast a few times over his last six months. Being only a few time zones away made for easy communication, too. In addition, there were two other serious family health issues where forces were mustered to help out. Being in El Salvador left much of this burden to the geographically closest siblings, something I regret. And let's face it, none of us is getting any younger and the chances of wanting or needing to be physically present is only growing. This simply wasn't the time to be half a world away in a stressful, highly responsible position. 

But I'd actively bid on and accepted the position, so now I had to make the best of it, right? In an effort to imagine what life was going to feel like in my new role, I started quizzing friends who are Consular Chiefs in similar-sized sections. "What is the stress load like? Do you have time for family? Are you enjoying the work?" All were kindly supportive, as good friends are, giving me assurances of "Of course you can do it!" I began to psych myself up with a chorus from The Little Engine That Could. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can! All the while, their assurances didn't settle my nerves because I hadn't been asking the right questions. I didn't need an answer to CAN I do it, but do I WANT to do it? Or really, do I NEED to do it? That answer could come only from me. 

So over one weekend, after the drumbeats of my dropped hints were getting louder and louder, I just said the unthinkable out loud: I need to break my assignment to Lusaka. No sooner had I declared this than my husband said he'd support my decision 100 percent. I tried to back-pedal: but our plans, but the guide books, but another adventure in the chapter of me and you, but, but, but... He held firm in his support. 

The instant we agreed, it felt as if I had taken off the tighest, most binding pair of pants and shoes you could imagine. Like that moment when you come home from work, kick off the pinchy shoes, strip naked just steps inside the front door, and pull on your favorite sweats. That's how releived I felt at making this decision. 

Now, it's important to add some context about breaking an assignment.  First, as Foreign Service employees we swear from day one to be worldwide available. To uphold this, there is a strong culture of service, pride in taking one for the team, buck up buttercup this is what we all go through, not everyone can go to Paris, you know...  I don't point this out as an intrinsically derogatory feature of the profession, mind you. We need to be made of sterner stuff to serve around the world, and the harder the post, the greater the (financial) reward. Further, I pride myself on NOT being a whiner. My husband and I adapt well to local environments. We are not motivated by doing just what increases our comfort, or trying to export an American lifestyle to Timbuktu. It's just not us. Plus, keeping committments is a really, really big deal to me. I will put myself out first, before doing so to others.  

Therefore putting myself first took a lot, first to accept and then to enact. I faced the doubts of "Am I not up to the work?" or "We all have had hard times - that's just life, get over it" and the shame of not being willing to simply soldier on. Perhaps these are only my own whispering demons, but they are likely shared by others as well.  

Then I had another realization which has come into sharper focus with each passing decade. Simply put, why accelerate my car towards a destination I don't necessarily want to reach? My new assignment would be a big career step and would likely lead to promotion. But was that really the desired destination? What exactly is the exchange rate for limiting my ability to take care of myself and family, and stressing the hell out of our cats? As is, my career has a maximum life expectancy of eight more years before mandatory retirement. In the end, being mentally and geographically available to those I love is so much more important than the nursing-home bragging rights of saying "...and I retired from the Foreign Service as a mid-level manager..." to a big round of eye rolls from the audience. 

So that's it. I explained my reasoning to those who needed to know and the future boss I was looking forward to working for was just as supportive and understanding as I could've hoped for. My assignment was broken and I was on the market again - for a domestic job this time.  

After some weeks of searching, I believe I found the best fit. The next stop on this adventure will be a familiar one: back to the DC area and the Foreign Service Institute (FSI) where I will be a Deputy Coordinator with the Orientation Division. I will be on the team conducting the six-week "A-100" generalist and specialist orientation courses for all new Foreign Service American employees. I'm really excited about it! It combines everything I naturally gravitate towards: teaching, facilitating conversation, organizing, sharing experiences, mentoring, and feeding the energy of bright shiny pennies as they begin their own new career adventures. And - I'm a direct flight away from family. I can do this, no chest-thumping affirmations required.  This is a two-year assignment, after which, who knows? I would rather cross that bridge as I get there than try to predict where the turns in the road will bring us. 

In the meantime, it feels as if I'm wearing the most elasticy-waistband, softest, brushed cotton pants with fluffy, supportive slippers.  

Now that's a good fit. 

 

Flag Day Part 6: Our Next Tour

Bids have been cast, decisions made, handshakes offered and accepted and for many of us, the latest bidding season has come to a close.  Although there is only one true Flag Day at the start of our careers, I still like to think of the day we get the bureau's handshake email notifying us of our next assignment as Flag Day. Even though it arrives unceremoniously in an email, the event still forever changes the trajectories of our lives and careers and therefore should be given due respect. 

Therefore, I announce the sixth flag to proudly hang in our Hall of Flags (i.e. the sunporch) will be:

 

Not looking familiar?  Try searching for "flags of the world" and scroll alphabetically through the list.  Don't worry; I'll wait.  Keep scrolling.  You'll find it second to last on the list, just before its neighbor Zimbabwe.

Yup - Zambia here we come!  

Lusaka, Zambia to be precise.  My next assignment will be the Consular Chief at our embassy in the capital city Lusaka.  To your next question -  what the heck is a Consular Chief?  Is it the Consul General? Well, no it's not. In a small consular section like Lusaka's, the role is called Consular Chief.  I'll be working with a staff of one (or hopefully two) other American employees and four locally employed Zambian staff. That's six or seven of us total.  In comparison with my first tour in Ciudad Juarez where I was one of 48 (interchangeable) entry level officers each responsible for a very thin slice of the pie, now I'll be running the section and sitting on the Ambassador's weekly Country Team meeting.  My pie slice just got a lot bigger and I'm waiting to start feeling hungry. 

It's a good assignment and we are very excited to be headed there.  I'm particularly grateful to have a tangible spot on the horizon towards which to orient the next eight or nine months. During bidding, I'd heard only positive reviews from friends about the country and my husband and I are starting to learn about the country to begin picturing ourselves in these new lives.  

Let's start with a few fun Zambia facts and how those might translate to our lives:

• While English is the official language, there are 72 spoken languages stemming from the Bantu language family. Bemba and Nyanja are the predominant ones, and we'll hear Nyanja in the capital. 
• Translation: No FSI language training. Zikomo kwa ine!

• Zambia is roughly the size of Texas, Maryland, and Vermont combined.  Or the size of Ukraine, Greece, and Montenegro combined.  Hmmm, those are odd comparisons.  How about this even weirder map comparison that makes Zambia look disturbingly like the United States' sonagram:

• Translation: It's a big country with long distances to drive to go see the cool stuff we'll want to see.  No more Salvadoran day trip decisions: 45 minutes to the beach or 90 minutes to the mountains? More like three hours to "Are we there yet?"

• A few traditional Zambian foods: 
• Nshima (corn meal like grits or polenta) 
• Ifinkubala (mopane worms/caterpillars) 
• Kapenta (dried sardines)
• Samp (coarser corn meal, more like hominy)
• Ifisashi (general term for stewed greens mixed with ground peanuts)
• Translation: I will not be eating Ifinkubala. Sorry. 

• There are some really awesome things to see in Zambia: 
• Victoria Falls!  
• Game reserves! 
• Camping in game reserves!
• Canoeing with hippos on the Zambezi! (We're in the canoe, they're in the river - at least that's what I'm assuming.  Hmmm...)
• Translation: Choose your own adventure and danger level.

Petting friendly cheetahs - definitely acceptable danger level. 

Sitting in the water at the precipice of Victoria Falls - 100 percent unacceptable danger level, but that's just me.  This does give me a glimpse of some of my future American Citizen Services clients.  Good to know. 

• We'll live in a house with a big yard, maybe even a pool.
• Translation: Cats will continue to live in the style to which they have been accostomed in El Salvador. I'm picturing weekend mornings on the veranda curled onto a ratan couch, a linen-lined tea tray within reach, watching the cats chase butterflies across the manicured lawn.

Okay, this house is not going to happen, but a girl can dream, no?  

We did hear that some houses allow residents to keep chickens or even goats. 

On second thought, chickens attract snakes and goats attract goat stew.  Hmmm...

Hey, we can have flowers and fruit trees!

So that's where we are now.  It's fun to start trying on the new life, imagining that in a year we'll be saying things like, "Hey, I'm popping down to the Abo Abbas, can I get you some horned melon?" Already my husband bought two new cots and is eyeing a tent big enough to put them in.  His research on camping in game parks brought about a conversation I didn't think we'd have: "Yeah, so they say not to worry about the elephants as they'll generally avoid your tent and if they do come close, they're careful about stepping over the lines.  Apparently it's the hyenas we have to be wary of as they'll carry away anything we leave outside.  And if we wake up with a snake curled up next to us - not to worry, it's just trying to keep warm.  Just give it a poke and it'll be on its way." 

You may notice that all my day dreaming and preparation seems to involve the life and not so much the work. Preparing for the job happens in the middle-of-the-night-wide-awake hours.  I will be taking a big step up in responsibility and am wondering how that suit might fit.  I'm not motivated by power or more responsibility as many others are.  I'd rather wait in the wings and cheer that person on, truth be told.  But it's coming, so all I can do is my best when the time comes.  And whisper to myself, "I can do hard things. I can do hard things."

Meanwhile, I'll picture that wide, shady veranda and wonder what a cheetah's purr sounds like as I run my fingers through its soft fur. 

Who's coming to visit?

Loss and Difficult Times in a Foreign Service Life

Every life, no matter where it is lived, will have its truly difficult and painful times. I'm talking about the big ones: health crises and death.  Foreign Service life obviously is no different in that respect, and some could even argue that it's riskier for both. However, when living abroad there is the additional factor of distance from home, family and familiarity - where we usually turn for solace in these times - that makes such bleak periods all the bleaker. There is also a separate layer, a lens or filter perhaps, that often alters the way we view these events.  It is the guilt that perhaps something could have been different were it not for the fact that we were living wherever we were living when said event took place. 

"But what if we hadn't been here, would this still have happened? What if we were living closer to "home"? What if we didn't have the stress of the move? What if there were better health care here? What if..." 

This is not a healthy internal loop, but it is an inevitable one. Unfortunately, I'm speaking from experience instead of conjecture this time. In my last post, I wrote about the stresses of moving and starting a new assignment.  I wasn't ready yet to discuss what was also going on during that move, but now it's time.  

Daphne in Bucharest on her easy chair.

I mentioned in my last post that Daphne, our only she-Tabby, had suddenly stopped eating about four days before our move. Even after multiple vet visits, they weren't sure what was wrong and the vet gave me basically a bag full of different medications that I could use to help get her to Bucharest comfortably where she could then seek longer-term treatment. The vet knew she wasn't contagious (i.e. a health risk to others to travel), but she also knew what we knew: the plane was leaving and we all had to get on it.  There was no family nearby to care for her and no other great option but to do our best and pack her up.  

I syringe-fed her baby food for about five days and she actually managed the trip quite well.  She even did her best to settle into the new house, exploring it as she always did and sleeping on our bed. But she still wouldn't eat.  On our first Saturday, we took her to her first vet visit. And on Sunday we went back. And on Monday, we made the decision to check her in so that she could be monitored and receive treatment during the day while we were at work and learning our new jobs.  Throughout the day, between meetings, between pleasant conversations with new co-workers, between visa interviews, at lunch as I tried to enjoy the lovely summer weather, immediately when I woke up in the morning and as I tried to get to sleep at night - her situation came back to me like a big, wet, black blanket: ... but Daphne's still sick.

I suppose I knew the inevitable, and by our second Saturday here, the vet called as we were in the cab to see her.  She had a "respiratory incident" that morning, her condition was deteriorating and she felt we should now make a decision for her.  This was a change from the report we got the night before, when she said, "No, it's not time yet. She still wants to be petted, she still has a chance to improve."  But now her systems seemed to be shutting down, and for the first time the vet believed her to be uncomfortable. And she still hadn't eaten.  

My husband and I held her on our laps in the lovely courtyard of the vet clinic on that quiet, sunny Saturday morning.  We talked to her and petted her for a long time and I told her everything I wanted to tell her.  She was very calm and seemed relieved to be with us and not in the cage nor on the treatment table hooked to an IV, which was where she'd been each day that week.  But her eyes were not bright as they always are. She was tired and it was time.  

We have her ashes at home now, next to a photo of the Daphne we all knew: in the garden, tail straight up in the air as she was always happy and excited to see the day, her surroundings and us.  I'd like to bring her back to that garden of the house we still own where she spent her first 13 years, but it may take some time for me to say goodbye again.

Our little Daphne memorial

Intellectually, I understand that she was a 17 yr. old cat and this is what eventually happens. But in my heart were all those questions I posed above, and the worse one: What if we didn't have to move while she was sick?  

I wish I could tell you the story ends there and we have had the past month to grieve and begin feeling better.  However, we were given just one week mental respite where we took off on Labor Day Monday and went down to Constanta on the Black Sea shore.  A day of seeing new sights and beginning to look towards the horizon again.  

And then the very next Friday we came home from work and found Dodger (Daphne's full brother) spread out in the hallway on the hardwood floor where he'd usually only stay a moment, and it was clear that he wasn't there by choice.  Off to the vet again, and the next morning to the radiologist and then the cardiologist (yes, the pet cardiologist), each office located in a different part of this sprawling city. 

Dodger had what is called a "saddle thrombus" - basically a blood clot lodged just in front of his hindquarters. Frequently a death sentence for cats, if not now - than sooner or later.  His hind limbs were partially without blood for many hours while we were at work and the damage to the muscles and nerves had been done.  He could still feel them and move them, they were just uncontrollable, rubbery limbs frustratingly attached to a very alert, motivated, active kitty.  He wasn't in pain, he ate, he drank and all that comes after that. That first week was a series of vet visits and treatments nearly every day, each involving cab rides at rush hour, early weekend mornings, bike rides (on the part of my husband) to pharmacies all over town to find blood thinners and special amino acid tonics that aren't stock products in the vet clinics.  

Dodger on his bedroll and favorite horsey pillow. 

We're now at week three.  Dodger is getting stronger as his uncooperative limbs gain strength.  He got to the point where he could go where he needed to go about 80% of the time, even if it meant flopping over every third step.  But then he suffered a set-back last week (I think another smaller clot), and his progress has stalled a bit, but we still have the same bright-eyed, hungry, loving kitty that is not ready to give up.  It just means patience, a lot of attention, and waking up each middle-of-the-night to take him to the litter box.  

Back to my main thesis: if I were in a "regular" job and living situation, I'd be using some of the loads of sick and vacation leave I have saved up to ease this period. I'd be going in my own car, through my own familiar city, to the regular vet.  I'd be doing all this in English (I've been fortunate in that respect here, I must add), and I wouldn't have all this on top of the brand new job/country/language/culture/home pressures and responsibilities. It might not feel quite so difficult. 

On the other, more practical, hand - all of this treatment in the US would have easily cost multiple thousands of dollars.  Perhaps I would have had the sickening experience of choosing between what I could afford vs. what was the right thing to do. Being in Romania has, ironically, been the best of both worlds: a well-educated society that cares for and understands pets with a very affordable cost of living.  All of Daphne's and (to date) Dodger's treatment has barely crested the $500 mark.  Just the initial cardiologist appointment we had when we were in the diagnosis period would have been $600 in Virginia, and would certainly NOT have come with a follow-up ultrasound scan wherein the vet said, "No charge; it was a nice conversation."

Obviously all that I've described also happens with human family. And when it does, the real-world difficulty of traveling half-way around the world to be at someone's bedside, or the associated guilt and anxiety of leaving others to care for aging parents, is not to be underestimated.  The fact is that life, with all its beauty and ugliness, happiness and sorrow, moves on regardless of where we are.  I don't have an answer or suggestion for how to best handle these hard times and decisions. It's simply a fact that when we choose a life that takes us far away, we will eventually face situations where the bad stuff happens while we're nowhere near home. And it's a lot harder. 

Next time: Something cheerier, I hope. 

Los Animalitos

One of the things I find charming about the Spanish language is the tendency to call things in their diminutive form. When someone has to wait for you, it's only for a momentito; your friend quickly becomes Juancito; if he's short, he's a chaparrito; and even farmers in the interview window tell me they have animalitos on the ranch that turn out not to be herds of hamsters, but cattle, pigs or sheep. 

I'd like to dedicate this posting to our own animalitos, or as they're known now that we live in Mexico, Los Tigres del Norte. As you may already know, our own tigritos are senior kitties. Except for their time in our Bogota apartment (at 64 degrees and partly cloudy every day) and another year with all four seasons (hurricanes to snow to 97% humidity as appreciated from their small balcony in Virginia), the gatitos have lived in the mild and generally overcast Pacific Northwest all their life. So the past seven months in their little walled and lawned slice of the Chihuahua desert have been just what the veterinarian ordered for their furry selves. I'm fairly sure they think we've finally taken their suggestions and have retired to Arizona. After all, they can't see over the wall outside the neighborhood to the sandy, barren and tumbleweed-strewn lot across the street. They simply know the life of daily blue skies, a row of flowering bushes to lounge under, grass to chew on and then barf up on the rug, and two big umbrella trees for shade. They soak the sunny warmth deep into their bones and relish the cooler evenings when they can stay outside comfortably for more than ten minutes at a time. Even Toby, wearing what I think is a thick Norwegian Forest Cat coat, likes to stay out in the heat of the day until his black fur is hot to the touch. Too hot? Just come inside and stretch out on the cool, tile floors. Even Daphne's arthritic limp that has kept her off of a lot of furniture in recent years has seemed to have diminished.

Our garden also provides a steady stream of avian entertainment for them. In the mornings the ring-necked doves swoop down to peck at the lawn, and all day and evening at least four hummingbirds fight for dominance over our two feeders. They zip between our house and our neighbors' like Jedi fighters, squawking and buzzing, determined to keep each other away the sugar water feeders. They hover over the lounging cats, sometimes only feet from them, assessing the risk from all angles. There is no risk, trust me, and the little picaflores figure this out quickly and now pay them no mind. The cats were at first intrigued, no doubt driven by some long-lost hunting instinct, but promptly realized that there wasn't the slightest chance of catching one and now don't bother to even flick an ear their way. 

Hummingbird in action 

Having to stay off the table doesn't count when it's patio furniture

Daphne's evening lounge

Each morning after breakfast, they line up by the screen door asking to go out. (Side note: this whole screen door thing is a wonderful addition to our life that I'd like to share with my FS friends who live in places where screens aren't common, but bugs and iron-bar security doors are. Just buy a roll of screen fabric, you could probably order it online and have it sent to wherever you're posted. We just went to Lowe's - ah, border life. Then use your glue gun to attach it across the inside of your iron-bar security door. If the housing inspection folks don't like it when you move off to your next post, you can just peel it off. But really, who doesn't love a screen door? Let me answer this question: the cats don't like it. They loved the security gate because it was truly just one big built-in cat door they could pop through at will, and now they have to ask permission. And I should acknowledge the bumped noses and confused looks in the days after it was installed.) 

Yeah, they could hardly see the new screen either

Anyway, they go outside each morning to read the news of the neighborhood. Walking the perimeter, they each sniff out exactly which neighborhood cat had visited THEIR yard overnight. These interlopers skinny down the trees from the cats-only interstate system that is the grid of stone walls between each house. Unfortunately, there is an orange tabby male who brazenly sprayed directly onto our french doors, probably in full view of the Tabbies, one night. Daphne chased him up the tree once, so this was surely retaliation. One such visitor is not so unwelcome, however. There is a female fluffy tabby, we call her Stray Cat (imaginations are wonderful things), who Toby took a shine to. For a week after he first saw her, he waited under the tree each evening for her hopeful reappearance. Like a pre-teen with his first crush, he sat for hours with his neck craned to the top of the stone wall, head flicking left then right. "Did you hear that? I think someone's coming! Was that shadow moving? Is it her?" It was embarrassing. But like most crushes, it faded after a few weeks and now I think he's just not that into her. 

Nearly seven months into our life here and we still haven't seen a scorpion in the yard or the house (sound of knocking wood in background). The neighbors have seen them; our friends in neighborhoods nearby have had lots of them, but so far, we've been spared. I have a suspicion that Cats On Patrol have been keeping these arachnids from being attracted to our yard, but that notion in still just a theory. After all, if the scorpions saw how the Tabbies have treated the dozen or so large roaches that have meandered through the kitchen, they wouldn't be afraid to come on in either. The cats have taken a very diplomatic, UN-like posture towards the roaches: We are here merely to observe and report. We will simply follow you, observing your advancements, but we will neither harm nor hinder your existence in our house. Thanks guys; way to earn your kibble, eh?

So that's life as they know it for Los Tigritos. I'm sure they like it here (except for the thunder, that still sucks), and I'm also sure they Never Want Another Five Day Roadtrip Again. Flurries of activity in the morning, like when we're running behind and have to get ready for work quickly, or when I pulled out the suitcase last month, still cause instant hiding under the bed. Perhaps in 17 months they will have forgiven and forgotten when we have to pack up again and hit the road. (Yeah, I doubt it too.) But they love and trust us, and eventually they'll settle into their new tiny Roman apartment, or high-ceiling'ed Parisian pied-a-terre, if the assignment gods should bless us in such a way. 

Meanwhile, there is lawn to lounge in and a selection of couches to cover in fur. What more could an animalito want? 

Dodger enjoying desert retirement living

Having a Fur Family in the Foreign Service

It's no surprise given the title of this blog that my three Tabbies are as important to me as any other family member. We've been together since they were six weeks old; two are littermates and one was from a box in front of the grocery store. In the past two years, we've moved them to four new homes on two continents. They've endured a six-day road trip in the back of the car with a different hotel room at the end of each long day. All this, and they will each turn 15 in the coming months. 

Is this an ideal life for cats, or for pets in general? No, it's not. Cats prefer routine and a consistent environment. Many don't do well with change and often their stress isn't outwardly apparent. The stop eating, stop drinking, stop using the litter box or go where they oughtn't. They can become prone to anxieties, infections or illness.  Given all this, can they still thrive in such a lifestyle? Yes.

So if we love our pets so much, why would we subject them to all the moving and the trauma of travel? Because for animals that are long-time family members, I believe they love us equally, and would prefer to be with us, their trusted caregivers, than left behind. Having said that, there are some cats and dogs whose personalities are simply not a match for the FS life, and it is kinder to leave them in the US with a new "forever home" where they will transition only once instead of every two years. I'm mostly speaking of cats who are accustomed to having outside time and get very anxious/angry being kept inside. Or high-energy dogs who would make themselves and everyone around them miserable living in a high-rise apartment in Shanghai, or while their owners spend 10 months in a one-bedroom apartment while learning Arabic at FSI. Or perhaps very elderly pets whose  health has become frail and the stress of travel could potentially put them over the edge. In cases such as these, family, friends or rescue shelters would be the better option, as hard as that could be at first for all involved. 

A new FSO I know recently shared this photo of their family's older dog and their young son. He captioned the picture, "This is why we stuck you in a box under the airplane and carried you half-way around the world." The family gave me permission to use this picture, which to me encapsulates exactly why we bring our animals to the places we do instead of leaving them behind. 

The love in the boy's eyes for his dog, and in her eyes for him is not just anthropomorphic nonsense; it's real. Our animals are capable of the same attachments and bonds as we are to each other, and while the travel and adjustment time is certainly not ideal for them, in the end - I'd never trade their presence in our ever-changing lives. 

Our Tabbies have done a remarkable job at adjusting, especially given their age and the fact that we haven't had a full two years in one spot yet. The first move was the hardest adjustment, especially since they'd lived in our same house since I brought them home as kittens. The Oakwood apartment had no yard, no familiar smells and that lady with the cat grinding machine came in once a week unannounced to clean up the place. There were many days spent under the bed, with me coaxing them out only for meals, or me just giving up and sliding the bowl in front of the hidden noses. By the second time they arrived at Oakwood, they recognized the building, the apartment layout, the balcony, and there was no under-the-bed silliness. Arriving in Juarez after the long drive, they explored the new house eagerly, claimed the best sunny spots immediately and within a few days were wanting to explore our enclosed back yard. 

Daphne decides which guest room she prefers

Favorite beds were claimed instantly

But we're not just relying on their good natures and luck to make these moves successful, I also spend a LOT of time and energy attending to their health and comfort. To summarize this:

• Pay attention to their small behavior changes, such as how much they're eating, drinking and using the litter box. During our trip, they each ate and drank fine, but the latter category was often neglected, and I feared they'd become uncomfortably constipated (sorry, but it's true) or start bladder infections for not urinating enough. To solve this, we kept their own familiar litter box and type of litter available 24/7. I bought a small can of unflavored pumpkin puree and added a teaspoon to their food each day to get things moving, shall we say. They also got their favorite food flavors, and I added what I refer to as the "special sauce" to the top of their wet food each meal to entice them. It's a powdered probiotic called FortiFlora that looks and smells like beef bouillon and makes their food dee-lish, apparently. Or, for reluctant eaters, some tuna or just tuna water on their food can help (but I don't suggest tuna as their main meal - use sparingly). On day five of our trip, at a lunch stop, I noticed that for the first time, someone had used the in-car litter box while the car was in motion. I was so happy and proud, you'd have thought they each had little caps and gowns and diplomas in paw! But by keeping their systems as regular as possible, you can help eliminate the possible health problems that stressful moves can cause.
• Find a way to get high quality food wherever you're posted! This may mean allotting a big chunk of your consumables allowance weight to kibble and cans, or researching what you can buy online in Tajikistan, Tanzania or Turkey. Even as close as we are here in Mexico, quality pet food (and litter!) is surprisingly scarce, so I dutifully cross over to Texas each week to hit PetSmart. In Bogota, I used Amazon or Pet Food Direct, and took advantage of the free shipping that is often offered and the kitties never went without their favorite food. It takes planning, but it's definitely worth it. Oh, and carrying cases of cans and 30 lb bags of kibble home in the van from the Embassy mail room is just an added bonus! 
• Plan for your arrival to be well-stocked. Leaving for a new post is a complicated affair, but be sure to think about what you'll need when you arrive in your new digs from the airport, with carriers in hand. Three times now, I've sent a box of supplies to myself in advance, to be received by my social sponsor. The box always contains at least a week's worth of food, a small bag of litter and a disposable cardboard litter box and scooper. I usually throw in a few favorite toys, a favorite used and hairy cat bed, a brush and cat nip, so that when we unpack our own bags, the cats also get their familiar things to help them settle in. I have to go to work in the morning, but the pets will be in the apartment alone for the first time. 
• Locate the best vet and emergency clinic you can in your new city. Unfortunately, I've had to take advantage of this already, and am thankful that we were living in a modern city of 8 million residents with a state-of-the-art veterinary facility for when Dodger suddenly went into anaphylactic shock after an injection one day. Naturally, having this type of place ten minutes away isn't always going to be the case, so I recommend finding what resources are available and even carrying a pet emergency kit and some type of instruction book. Should we be sent to deepest, darkest somewhere - I want to know how to treat a scorpion sting, a snake bite, give an injection, or treat dehydration etc... to help them out if needed. 
• Keep their routine as regular as possible in the new surroundings. The Tabbies have regular mealtimes and the same dishes. Their water is replaced and the bowl cleaned every morning. They have scratchers so they don't destroy embassy furniture and I keep their claws trimmed. 

In the end, it is worth it to have our pets with us. If we had young children, as my friend in the first picture does, I'm certain that the pets would help the kids feel at home in their new place, too. While the parent(s) go off to work, the kids still have their companions and vice-versa. As I write this, I have the original laptop, Toby, vying for his rightful spot on my thighs, and Dodger is on the table at my elbow. (Cats are so helpful with typing!) They have their new yard, the back of a new sofa to lounge across, stairs for the fist time to help them keep active and all sorts of new birds to watch. For as long as they're healthy and able, the Tabbies will always be our EFMs (Eligible Furry Members).

Road Trip: Day Three

Day Three: Chattanooga, TN – Pearl, MS

Mileage: 616 – 1007

Weather: 66 – 48 degrees - clear and mostly sunny

Soundtrack: “O Brother Where Art Thou” 

Shortly outside of Chattanooga, we drove through a small corner of Georgia and then into Alabama. Our first rest stop in Alabama showed a marked difference in the temperature and landscape from our first two days. Pulling over for PB & J sandwiches for lunch at the rest area, we smelled the sweet piney woods for the first time. And even though it’s still only early February, there was a pond of frogs croaking in the background and paths through the trees cushioned with dry pine straw. For my husband, these sights, sounds and smells meant home. There was a marked difference in the sights outside the windows from the highway, too, with the piney woods replacing the gray and dormant deciduous trees of Virginia and Tennessee.  

Blue skies and pine trees - welcome to Alabama!

 

In Birmingham, we picked up the interstate that we’ll follow all the way through Texas and cut a diagonal line across northern Alabama towards Mississippi. As the first time I’d ever been in Mississippi, I had been excited to visit a new state and see what the real Deep South looked like. It looked like pine trees. The highway is bordered by these forests for the majority of Alabama and all the way to Jackson, MS, with only small glimpses through the trees to cleared areas where it looked like the trees had been harvested. No old men sitting on porches, playing their harmonics with their hound dogs by their side, or grandmothers hanging laundry on the line outside the weathered gray wooden cottages. It was just trees.  

Toby joined Dodger and Daphne atop our luggage and boxes in the Captain’s Seat, where all three snuggled down quietly to nap or watch the world go by. Once in a while, someone would climb down from above my headrest to sit on my lap, but quickly bored of it and headed back up the stack. Despite our making it available, nobody used the litter box, ate from the kibble bowl or drank from the waterer that keeps sloshing onto a towel in the back of the car. But at least they’re there… in case they change their mind. 

 

The modern Beverly Hillbillies and their cats?

 

Eastern Mississippi didn’t look too different from Alabama except for one unfortunate difference: the marked increase in road kill alongside the highway. Disturbingly, it wasn’t only deer, raccoons, coyotes and possums, but also dogs – people’s dogs everywhere! And all types of domestic dogs, too, tragically.  

We made it to central Mississippi, just outside of Jackson, by dinner time and pulled into a motel in Pearl in time to settle the kitties, unpack the car (*sigh*) and head out to find a spot for dinner and to watch the second half of the Super Bowl. We each pictured finding some local flavor, some divey fish fry joint with cold beer and a big screen. Instead, we found rows and rows of neon-sign chain restaurants with different themes and quirky decors, but chain restaurants all the same. The local flavor just doesn’t live alongside the interstate anymore; I guess we shouldn’t be surprised by the continued strip-mauling of America. We settled on Logan’s Roadhouse, with bowls of peanuts on the tables and shells on the floor and a sassy young waitress named Georgette. She couldn’t recommend what beer was best on tap, as she swore she only drank tequila and said she wanted to come with us to Mexico. The restaurant was lined with big-screen TVs for the big game, and big groups of big families taking up most of the big tables. And by “big,” I don’t just mean families with many members, I mean BIG families. And how can you not be big down here when it seems that every meal starts with baskets of rolls or biscuits dripping in butter, is battered and fried, is washed down with pints of sweet tea, and comes with a choice of two sides (like mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese or fried okra)? I ordered sautéed (in butter) seasoned shrimp on skewers and a side of cinnamon apples. Let’s be honest here: this is basically a big bowl of pie filling disguised as a dinner side instead of a dessert. Georgette later brought me an extra buttery roll so that she could show me how to make a quickie apple pie. Even stuffed full of shrimp and the first round of buttery rolls already, it would have been rude of me to not try her special recipe. After all, I’ve been burning lots of calories sitting still in the car for six hours a day, right? Urgh. But it was tasty. 

Mississippi had two other quirks that peeved my husband in particular. First, they don’t sell beer after 5pm on a Sunday, even a Super Bowl Sunday. Second, the hotel TV was programmed to turned itself off after about 15 minutes. Apparently it’s the hotel’s energy-saving methods at work, and one need only hit the remote to reactivate it, but I thought it would be better if it required the watcher to do some jumping jacks or go run around the block before it would turn back on. Probably just the apple pie biscuits nagging on my conscience.  

The five of us piled onto the lone queen bed in the room and tried to get some good sleep before the next day’s long haul into Texas. Unfortunately for me, the lightest sleeper on either side of the Mississippi – this didn’t happen. There’s always tomorrow night.

 

Next: More MS, LA and Eastern Texas!

From the EFMs (Eligible Furry Members)

The Tabbies have asked if they can have a word with you all this morning.
Actually, they would like to use some pictures and therefore (they reminded me), have 3000 words:



From Bogato to Mexicat, Dodger's remains our color guard.

Daphne contemplates our new situation from her secure balcony: "House with yard? I believe that will be adequate. Scorpions? Not sure what those are, but I'm sure I can eat them. Four days' drive to get there? I call shotgun."
Always the Diplocat, she never loses her composure.

  

Toby is fitting into FS life just fine (so long as there's a new cat tower with each post, he adds.)

 

 

Next: Starting the Foreign Service After 40