We were woken about 5 in the morning by the kind of howling that penetrates deep into your dreams, and has every parent scrabbling to their feet in a panic – before you realise that the noise is actually feline rather than human.  Satisfying ourselves that Merlin was in, as he is all night given we can’t put a catflap in someone else’s front door, we pulled the pillows over our heads and tried to go back to sleep.

The problem is, the occupants of the large house opposite us a couple of weeks back did a very short notice run back to the UK for financial reasons-  leaving SIX pet cats ‘to fend for themselves’.  How on earth do you end up responsible, using the term very loosely, for 6 dependent creatures, when you know you can’t possibly afford to take care of them in your long term plans?  I couldn’t believe it when she told us, the morning of their flit to the airport, that she was simply dumping them at the house.

Most of them seem pretty able to survive, a stroppy gang of tabbies, that until last night we thought had pretty much moved on and done their own thing…  but ‘Fluffy’ broke our hearts.  Not only had this woman – with whose daughters Cassie had struck up a brief intense friendship – tried to guilt-trip us, through Cassie, to take her on, she was also not even full grown: a beautiful black and white long hair and very affectionate.  She tried desperately to get into the house at every opportunity, and would sit on the windowsill crying all the time.  I felt so cruel telling the girls not to pet her or play with her, knowing that we would be stretched to the limit financially to board Merlin when we went back to the UK in the summer holidays.  The two cats actually seemed to get on OK, and if circumstances were different and we WANTED a second cat it could all have worked out fine, but this was not the case.  I still snuck over the road and put out food on her old doorstep, as well as water, but I don’t know whether she got it or her old housemates who we rarely saw – and I felt very mixed up about perpetuating the problem, whilst at the same time unable to watch her starve on our doorstep.

No one wanted Fluffy.  All the local animal shelters are at capacity, and every enquiry we sent out came back null, every animal lover has had to harden their hearts about the endless abandoned animals left behind by broke Brits going home.  Sam at Woofers didn’t know anyone, and they are having to be increasingly cautious about their own client’s intentions these days, even Cindy from the veggie group who put out loads of feelers didn’t turn up anyone seeking a new pet.  The cat shelter at Denia refused to take her as they are full.  Eventually we found a German charity in Benidorm, who agreed – originally they wanted a €100 donation in return for taking her in!  We pleaded that she wasn’t even our cat, but that we’d do the transporting, eventually settling for a reduced donation- they don’t get any funding, and very animal they take in is neutered and dewormed immediately, so their costs are huge.

We drove down the coast with Fluff howling and freaking out in Merlin’s cat box – we didn’t know if she’d ever seen a car for a trip to a vet before.  Eventually we found Ana, after getting increasingly lost in Albir, and she took her in, plus some donated goods we had found for her boot sales they use to fundraise.  She called us later to say the cat had already been spayed, which means someone cared enough for her once to do that (and made me feel a bit better about haggling down the donation).  I promised we’d see what else we could do to raise money for them – they are called Gatami, and based in Benidorm, reachable on 966806976 – don’t even have a website, but their reputation is good.  They do a regular boot fair stall in Denia and are pleased to accept donations of anything they can sell there to support their work, and they have never put a healthy cat down.  Like every shelter I spoke to, their normal MO is that animals come and go, they’re a great source of free pets for expats and Spaniards alike, but everything’s changed now and all they get is animals in, with so many people leaving.  Aldea Feline said they get cats dumped at their gate in the middle of the night, tied to the gate with string or in cardboard boxes… 

It’s a sad and cruel complication of the credit crunch:  sad enough that so many small businesses and families are going under financially – there is no safety net here – and the fact is it costs a bloody fortune to take a pet home to the UK.  All Merlin’s jabs and pet passport cost the best part of £300, not to bring him here which is unrestricted but in case we ever need to take him back.  Then the flight – through a restricted number of carriers – was around another £400. Which is why we could not and would not take on another cat right now.    Rabies is a terrifying and as yet incurable disease, but it was eradicated from the Spanish dog population by the 60s (compliance with nationwide animal vaccination programmes being one of the few upsides of rigid dictatorship) – a very few cases still show in bats occasionally each year.  Britain’s position on keeping the island entirely rabies free is understandable but the costs and beauracracy involved in vaccinating and certifying animals is causing tremendous suffering here.

I have never been a dog person, but I know that it’s even worse for them.  Not only are the costs of the Pet passport scheme + shipping significantly higher, they are far less likely to cope in the wild.  I walked past the Apasa dog pound the other day, their lonely whining would break anyone’s heart – as would the sign on the door begging people not to dump their animals and find a humane solution as they are absolutely unable to take in one more.  Every one of those poor howling creatures had been raised with the expectations and dependence of being a family pet, not the wild feral creatures they are indeed related to but have become so different from…  I wish people would think twice and three times, before making a commitment they cannot fulfill long term.

Waking up in our new house was lovely.  As the 4^th night we had spent in a different place to the night before, it was wonderful to think ‘here we can stay’ (for at least 6 months anyway), and to know that at last we were somewhere to call home.

In the decidedly cold light of day, we realised how much there was to do.  We are in a private let, but I had still anticipated a professional clean would have been done… wrong assumption, so plenty to do before we could unpack.  Nothing filthy dirty, but it wasn’t our dirt… if you know what I mean.  And some bits were worse than others… how on earth do you get hairs in a fridge anyway?  Eurghh!!

I cleaned the larder and fridge (despite a general lack of any kind of products except for random car cleaning things) and we got most of the fridge shelves into the dishwasher, before setting off for breakfast in Javea – well call it brunch as it was after midday, but Scallops was open for one of their ridiculously cheap fry-ups, so a cholesterol-and-caffeine fix later we were ready to hit the supermarket.  We cleaned out Mercadona, really should have got a second trolley, and it cost a fortune as it was all the stuff you never have to buy all in one go (cleaning products seemed really pricey actually, but other stuff like wine was cheap so fair enough!).  Then we came home and put it all away as best we could, swapping another load of greasy plates etc into the dishwasher.  We couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the Spanish sunshine, but at least it was mild and dry.

After that it was time to be reunited with one member of the Middlemiss family, the first of us to emigrate to Spain.  After stopping by a pet shop at the Marina centre for litter, we found our way to Woofers and Co where Sam and Jim and their lovely kids had been taking care of Merlin for Christmas.  He seemed pleased to see us, although he had clearly been very comfortable - he was evidently far less traumatised at being abandoned at a cargo depot in Gatwick back on the 12^th Dec than I had been leaving him there!  It was lovely to see Sam and Jim too, and they had lots of practical advice about everything from secondhand furniture to getting UK TV – they’ve been here and been doing it for a couple of years, so it’s great to have the benefit of other people’s experiences.

Merlin protested loudly at the car journey, but soon made himself at home in the villa – running round howling at everything, trying to hide in cupboards and boxes, and endlessly swiping and pawing at us if we forgot to pay enough attention for a moment.  We had a quick skype chat with the family back in Wales, as well as Fiona, and Merlin joined in with that – seemed like the kids had actually missed him far more than they missed us!  But they were clearly well and happy, undoubtedly being spoiled rotten by all the grownups plus Adam and Rebecca, and though I missed them even more afterwards I knew it wasn’t going to be long before we all were reunited at the weekend.  And not long in terms of making a habitable home for them either.

We were both so knackered from the endless travelling, followed by a day of hard grafting scrubbing and sorting, that once we finally got the fire going with the damp wood, we took the decision that our first childfree New Years Eve this millennium would be celebrated… at home!!  Oh yes we know how to party.  But between the kitchen scrubbing, trying to get the fire going, writing up the journey blog and calming down a mental cat, the evening passed very easily and pleasantly.  When midnight came we watched the fireworks from the roof of the villa, and ate the 12 traditional grapes – you’re apparently supposed to eat one for each bong of the clock, and each brings you luck for a month of the year ahead… well we couldn’t hear a clock up there and didn’t want to drop our cava so we just ate them, and enjoyed the view.  It was almost as though the new year held so much promise and excitement and opportunity, we didn’t need a big or public ceremony to mark it – just the two of us and our grapes!  The fireworks were pretty too, and not so close as to completely freak Merlin out (any more than he was already).

Next day we knew nothing would be open, so we celebrated the big Spanish fiesta that is new year’s day by - carrying on with the cleaning!  The kitchen finally under control, we cleaned all the bathrooms, sorted out Cassie’s bedroom, and at last our own bedroom – everything put away, no more suitcase living, hurrah!  It was so good to see it starting to look like home, the boxes gradually emptying and places being found for things. Considering it had all fitted in or on a single landrover we seemed to have a phenomenal amount of STUFF to find homes for… but it began to seem it was getting there.

In the evening we walked in to Javea, which really wasn’t too bad – to the Arenal at least, about 20 minutes.  It was a very quiet evening down there, lots of places closed, but it was nice just to hang out and have a drink and a meal.  We found a pleasant scruffy friendly bar, where a detailed discussion about language ensued with the multilingual server – he said he found English simpler to learn but much harder to master than most latin languages, that Spanish was far more precise and less open to interpretation.  To convey meaning in Spanish you can describe something exactly, and it can only mean one thing, the thing you want it to mean – whereas to describe the same concept in English would be a lot quicker but understanding would depend on context/experience/interpolation by the person receiving the communication.  He seemed to be saying that English was a lot less precise and expressive, but actually on reflection it made sense, in the light of our limited experience of learning Spanish.  For example the verbs to have, to be and to know each have at least two Spanish equivalents – so depending on which you use, you convey different information, that in English  you’d have to work out as the listener/reader.  I hope this is a theme I can return to as our studies continue!  For now, it’s just also worth noting that they served a very nice Rioja, and also that the walk home was a lot further than the walk in due to the hill we live up.  Hopefully once I finally shake this chest thing I’ll be able to do it without coughing and nearly collapsing.  Or if not we need to investigate cabs…

The next day we woke up in a room that looked like a bedroom, and headed in to Javea Port to check out secondhand furniture, for the office and Lara’s bedroom.  But it was quite disappointing, overpriced and limited.  We popped in to see Bev, who had nearly rented us a villa, and she suggested we check out a company that go to Ikea in Murcia for you, as it would be cheaper and new… 

After enjoying a bocadillo on the harbour we drove back to the shopping centre in Ondara – very unSpanishly open all afternoon – where we strolled round the shops trying to find different things on our list.  At least we managed to get a car booster seat for Cassie and a cafetiere, but we’ve now resolved to open a shop in Spain selling only kettles to  beverage-deprived Brits – surely we’ll clean up?!  Entire aisles of hipermercados were devoted to coffee preparation in myriad forms, but could we find something in which to simply boil water..?  But we managed to get some stuff for Cassie’s birthday, and various household bits and bobs that were missing.

We also managed to pick up a scart lead and adaptor, and once we were home we managed to connect our DVD player to the incredibly ancient TV in the villa – square goldfish bowl, Richard is seriously in mourning for our widescreen packed away in storage, but there was just no way that was fitting in the car with everything else that had to go.  Bev had given us a number for someone who may be able to do something with the dish on our roof – apparently too small for Sky but maybe some free channels – but at least for now we could watch a film and try and get an early night.  Tomorrow the girls come home, and that can’t come quickly enough.