Life in Turmoil

     I am heartbroken and my life is in turmoil. Gail received a letter today from Levy County; the hateful neighbor turned me in. I have 30 days to get my RV off her property. The Goose is not operational, and the man who is fixing it is side-lined after major surgery. Even if I could get a tow to the park, I can’t take six cats with me. After everything I have sacrificed for my fur babies, I may end up taking them to Levy County shelter if I can’t find homes for them. The shelter has an 80% kill rate, closer to 100% for cats. Again, I have to ask why the universe is punishing me for caring for these animals. Mercury went retrograde and took me with it.    

A New Chapter

     I left the park in September 2015. After exhausting attempts to find a no-kill shelter or adoptive homes for the cats (I even offered free litter, litter box, scoop and food), I was at the end of my rope when my friends Gail and her partner Glen offered to allow me to move my rig to outside their home in Rosewood, about six miles from the park. Nothing, of course, ever goes easily for me.

     First, I couldn’t catch Simon. Sylvia and the three kittens were in the RV, but Simon bolted every time I approached. I had to leave him behind for the moment.
     Then the Goose ran so well on the way out, even after being parked for three years, I was lulled into a false sense of security. I reached my destination, lined up to back up to the house, and the Goose would not run in reverse. Then, once I turned it off, it wouldn’t start. Two weeks and almost a thousand dollars later, the determination was made I needed a new transmission. Cost, with towing to the facility, $4,000 for a rebuilt transmission. I don’t have that kind of money, so I got a tow back into place.
     Simon was so happy to see me the next day he almost jumped into the carrier. I was told he sat on our site and squeaked in dismay all night. Once here, he disappeared for two days. I found him living under some brush near the edge of the property where he had been watching me searching for him. He came home and now lives under the RV and has adjusted well. He comes in and eats, and even stayed in all night a couple nights when it was really cold. He lets me rub his head and even purrs.  
     I had the gut feeling that something didn’t add up about the Goose. How could it run so well, shift seamlessly through all the gears up to the speed limit of 60, and then blow the transmission when I tried to back up? I asked the mechanical genius work camper Gene to take a look at it, just to determine if the transmission was really the problem. To my relief, it isn’t. It’s a fried cable and rusted emergency brake. Gene is currently in the process of repairing it, although he has had to take a hiatus while recovering from surgery.
     As I prepared to leave, Roberta offered me my job back for pay. Well, ten hours a week of it, anyway.
     The first of December I had stopped by the cafe to pick up salad I had ordered for a party. A group of people was gathered outside my friend John Martin’s RV. John had adopted one of the cats in the park, a male marked like a Holstein, which he named Cow. John had taught Cow to come when called, sit, stay, and shake hands. John had just been found dead in his RV. Cow came home with me, and four months later is still recovering. So now there are six cats.
     In February I was repairing a spot in the chain link fence where my cats had tunneled under (and Gail’s yorkie Bart had followed) with Cow by my side when I was approached by a neighbor brandishing a firearm.
     “That cat comes twenty feet closer and there will be one less cat in the neighborhood,” he said. I grabbed Cow and raced him to the RV, then attempted to go talk to the neighbor. He stopped me at the edge of his property.
     “There’s nothing to talk about,” he growled. Four days later I saw him stop on the road and take pictures of my RV. A search of the county statutes reveals I am not supposed to be living in the RV beyond 14 days. Gulp!  
     After consulting with my friend Dan Bates, I built a catio of pvc and deer netting, 8’ by 10’, with an opening from the front window of my RV via a dog door, down an enclosed ramp. Pvc is hard to work with, especially by myself. It flexed when I tried to measure it, so the structure is not exactly square, but it’s not a bad attempt. It’s not in use yet; I ran out of money for furnishing it. The neighbor seems to have settled down (I heard gun blasts several times after our initial confrontation), and the cats seem content hanging close to home most of the time. I would like to get it done and get the cats confined. I worry about their safety and I hold my breath every time I call them in. Besides, Glen doesn’t like my cats. It might help ease some of my queasiness about intruding here.        
     In March I saw guys surveying and appraising the park. The park had always been for sale, and there had been several tentative inquiries over the years, but nothing ever panned out. This time it did. The Wilsons sold the park to a corporation. The best news is, the new managers are my awesome neighbors and rescuers Gail and Glen. I applied for the job of working in the office 20 hours a week, which will begin when we move the reservation desk back into the old office. This is the area I had renovated into a living room for Roberta four years ago (see the August 31, 2012 post), and is now turning back into a reception area. In the interim, I am doing some of the renovation (ripping out carpet and flooring, removing thresholds) and all the painting, plus still maintaining the gardens. I worked 35 hours the first full week after the sale, and will likely work the same this week. Gail is running the office 53 hours a week, and Glen is overseeing the renovation and move, while managing his accelerated treatment for breast cancer.
    March 19^th Gail and Glen had a commitment ceremony. They can’t marry or Glen will lose the benefits that enable him to obtain cancer treatment. They had planned the ceremony in the park, which was where they met, but looming bad weather made it more practical to have it here It was so beautiful! The rain ended, the air smelled sweet and clean, there were 50 friends here, Gail and Glen recited heartfelt vows beneath the arch Glen had built, and there was music long into the night. Robinsons provided a low-country boil (clams, sausage, potatoes, corn in a mesh bag for us Yankees). Glen’s favorite cake, red velvet, was excellent.
     April was a month of friendships gained and lost. My childhood friend, Russ Gibson (see my last post), came to stay in the park in his RV for a few days. We have known each other our entire lives—he was my best friend’s “little” brother (four years younger than me). We hadn’t seen each other in 30 years. We talked about our parents and families, shared memories and laughed about growing up in Fairless Hills in a simpler time. We ate chowder at Tony’s, toured the clamming operation at Southern Cross, listened to live music at the Tiki Bar, and enjoyed the easy friendship of people who share the same background. I really enjoyed his company, and I hope we can stay in touch.
    Dan and Roxi left the park. They have been such special friends for the past three years I still can’t believe they are gone. Roxi is the kindest and most thoughtful person I know. She always had little gifts of food, books, or other fun stuff for me. She never went anywhere that she didn’t text and ask if I needed anything. Dan has been my mentor, advisor, and work buddy. I relied on him to help me figure out problems and bail me out when I got in over my head on a project. He encouraged me to keep playing guitar, and even gave me his mandolin when he bought a new one. We text and email every day, but their destination is Silver City, New Mexico, and I can’t picture me going back to the desert.
     My cousin asked for an update on my health. In a word, terrific. I lost the 20 pounds I had gained since leaving Weight Watchers and am back at goal weight. I do yoga every morning. I limp when I’m tired (a result of getting run over by a car, read my first post) and I get leg cramps when I overdo it, but I’m 66 and I guess old parts just wear out.
     Gracie now uses steps to get up on the bed, and a stool to get into the car. Every four days I brown a pound of ground turkey and add cooked rice and mixed vegetables and divide it into four portions. Before I serve her I add ½ cup cottage cheese. Anything else throws her into bouts of horrible diarrhea. Her right ear requires cleaning every day, and now her left eye is weeping. She has a lipoma on her shoulder, and the lump where her leg was broken bothers her at times. Her eyes have the bluish hue of an old dog, and her face is nearly white. She’s really showing her age. I harbor no resentment taking care of her—she’s a wonderful dog and I am privileged to be her owner. .  
      I am grateful to have a place to live, but I hate living in fear of the neighbor hurting my cats or calling the authorities on me living here. I love and respect Glen, which is why I hate that he hates my cats. I miss my water view. The yard here is beautiful, but there’s no tide and no Gulf. The Goose is disabled until Gene recovers and can repair the brake line, which makes me feel trapped. I can’t go anywhere anyway; where would a woman with an old RV, six cats and a dog go? I made the really bad decision to have my teeth pulled and partials made, and I’m struggling to adjust to them. Eating is an adventure and I can’t speak clearly. The $4,000 plus dental bill drained the last of my reserve funds, so now I have to work to support myself. Every night I tell sweet Sylvia that she’s a good kitty and I wish I had never met her.
     Is the universe punishing me for taking care of these animals? But then again, the new park owners aren’t keen on workcampers, so even if I didn’t have six cats I might have to leave the park. So life is no longer the ideal amazing journey I was enjoying, but I’m employed, healthy, safe, and doing okay.