Sylvia's Diary 27-03-25

The alarm went off really early this morning. And when I say really early, I mean really, really early, the kind of early that makes roosters look lazy. Turns out, for some reason, my phone was set to go off in what was basically the middle of the night. Great.

The dogs, however, did not see this as a mistake. Oh no. They saw it as an invitation. Within seconds, they launched into their very own Dawn Chorus - which, if you haven’t had the pleasure of hearing, is like an off-key opera performed by wolves who failed their auditions for The Lion King. Brave started it all, throwing his head back like he was about to announce the end of days, and then the rest joined in, some in low baritone, others in high-pitched soprano, all equally painful to the ears.

I briefly considered rolling over and pretending I couldn’t hear them. But honestly, what’s the point? These dogs are relentless. The chorus would continue until I gave in. So, like the well-trained human that I am, I got up. After the last few days of stress, worry, and practically no sleep from collecting and settling in the new dogs, I was running on fumes. But my merry band of misfits and I stumbled downstairs and outside to start the day, because, let’s face it, they run the house now.

 Now, let’s talk about the latest arrivals. A vet once told me that a lot of designer dogs bite simply because they can’t see - their fluffy, poodle-like fur growing over their eyes until they resemble Claudia Winkleman on a particularly windy day. Well, the new dogs I picked up weren’t biters, but they definitely couldn’t see properly. Which is why today was officially christened National Grooming Day.

And let me tell you, it was not for the faint of heart. Some of these dogs arrived clean and sweet-smelling… but so matted, they looked like sentient tumbleweeds. Their previous owner, a lovely old lady, had tried her best, she bathed them and loved them dearly, but clipping them had become impossible. That’s where I came in, clippers in hand and bravery in my heart (and possibly a strong coffee in the other hand).

 One poor girl, who I’ve now named Riskie (since we had no names to go on), had a beautifully soft white coat, well, technically. In reality, it had transformed into one giant, impenetrable mat. It was so bad that we had to ask the vet to sedate her just to free her from what was essentially a fluffy straitjacket.

Two volunteers joined me, and after what felt like a lifetime, we made a small dent in the never-ending grooming marathon. It’s safe to say, the dogs weren’t the only ones needing a nap after today.

Tomorrow’s agenda? Finding out what other fun surprises these new recruits have in store for me. I suspect it involves more howling.

The Case for a Cattery (and the Truth About Cats and Dogs

Have you ever been abroad? If so, you’ve probably seen them, the cats everywhere. Lurking around restaurants, rummaging through bins, stealing scraps with the stealth of a trained pickpocket. I’ve seen them in Antigua, Israel, the U.S., and even in the U.K. They are the eternal wanderers, surviving against the odds.

I wasn’t always a cat person. Dogs were my first love. But working with cats changed everything. I started seeing them not just as fluffy freeloaders but as little individuals with minds of their own. However, I don’t have a cat now. I lost my last three after I moved to Many Tears. Despite being on a quiet lane, drivers still manage to behave like they’re in a Formula One race. Our feral cats, though, seem to have an unwritten deal with fate, they strut up the middle of the road, tails tangled together like they own not just the lane but the entire county. And somehow, they survive. Thank goodness, because we’re all ridiculously attached to them.

Over time, our feral have become semi-feral, which means they’ll accept affection, on their terms. Try bringing them indoors, though, and they’ll suddenly remember their wild roots. They prefer their freedom: raiding bins (I know because neighbors complain), causing traffic disruptions (I know because I’ve had to brake for them myself), and embedding themselves in the hearts of the people who feed them best.

A Cat Who Almost Had It All

Last week, a kind vet asked me to take in an old, frail cat who had arrived at their surgery in a terrible state. The alternative? Euthanasia. I agreed - on one condition: he needed an AIDS test first. I couldn’t bear to welcome him only to lose him days later.

He arrived in the vet’s arms, bedraggled, matted, with teeth so rotten they were practically a crime scene. He was scheduled for a dental procedure the next day, his coat was shaved, almost all his teeth removed, and the plan was for him to go home with the vet, to a life of warmth, comfort, and love. But life had other plans. Despite a smooth operation, he never woke up. He died in the arms of a caring vet nurse. We were all devastated. He had been so close to happiness, to safety, to knowing love. It felt like he had been cheated.

And now another cat will arrive today. Fifteen years old. Her owners had had her since she was a kitten, but now they are having a baby and have surrendered her to us to find a home where she can happily live out her golden years?

Cats, Chaos, and Corporate Reinforcements

Whether you’re a dog lover or not (and let’s be honest, I’m surrounded by them), cats deserve consideration too. They have their own set of rules, expectations, and, let’s face it, demands.

Take our local feral cat gang, for example. They live at an abandoned farm behind us, and after we trapped, neutered, and returned them, they promptly decided we were now their personal catering service. Twice a day, without fail, they show up, tails high, eyes expectant, waiting for service. We’re basically running an exclusive, reservation-only restaurant for cats who might tolerate us if the food is good enough. They didn’t choose us, we were assigned.

If you’ve ever been on holiday and made the mistake of feeding a stray cat, you know exactly how this works. That cat will return to the same spot every single day, possibly bringing friends, possibly moving in. Cats have excellent memories when it comes to food and, apparently, no hesitation in turning tourists into staff.

Speaking of strays, we’ve got some new at-risk dogs arriving from Spain soon. They’ll be coming over with a fantastic transporter who, very kindly, offered to take back supplies, dog, cat, and kitten food - for rescuers over there. So, I’m stockpiling like a squirrel before winter, and if anyone wants to help, please send donations before 2/4/25. Every little bit helps, and those rescuers are dealing with more abandoned animals than they have hands for.

Now, back to the cats already here…

• Fish was evicted because the resident dog refused to accept a feline housemate. (Unbelievable, I know.)

• Ace lost his home because his new owner wore skirts, and Ace saw this as an open invitation to attack ankles like some kind of deranged ninja.

• Ninja, speaking of which, lived in a car for two weeks after his owner lost his home.

• Lucky was found outside Many Tears with a horrific neck wound. Did he know we would help him? Maybe. Cats are clever like that.

These are just a few of the cats staying with us. Some will (hopefully) find homes, and some will eventually move into the new cattery, if we can get it built. The rescue is loud, chaotic, and full of barking dogs and constant activity. Some of these cats, who have already been through so much, deserve peace and quiet. And if anyone needs me, I’ll be at the Feral Cat Café, where the customers don’t tip, don’t pay, and demand only the finest twice a day.

Nelson, the Cat Who Knew No Bounds (Literally)

Years ago, when my children were little, we took a bargain holiday to Eilat. The kids quickly befriended the hotel reps and, in their excitement, told them all about my work in rescue. Next thing I knew, an official from the city showed up at my hotel asking for my help.

A wealthy American had donated money for a dog shelter, but the people running it were corrupt. They’d take money from kind-hearted tourists to “save” a dog, pocket the cash, then kill the poor animal anyway. It was horrific. My family and I spent days there, trying to figure out what could be done.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, a one-eyed Siamese-cross cat had decided we were his new family. We called him Nelson. At night, he’d sneak through the window, curl up on our heads, and purr like a motorboat.

When we left, I knew I couldn’t abandon him. The local authorities regularly poisoned stray cats by putting toxins in the hotel bins. So I made arrangements to get him to Tel Aviv, sort out his paperwork, and fly him to the U.K. Of course, I got thoroughly swindled by the reps, who took my money and then more, but eventually, after quarantine and a small fortune spent, Nelson was home.

He made quite the impression. He ran the rescue. When visitors arrived with bags of bones for the dogs, Nelson would break into their cars and steal the best cuts before they even noticed. Sometimes, he even hitched rides home with them, leading to several frantic calls: “Um, I think I have your cat?”

When I moved to the U.S., I couldn’t take him. Eagle owls would have made short work of him, and Nelson was not a cat who could be confined indoors. Instead, I found him a safe home with a vineyard manager. But true to form, Nelson decided that while his official home was fine for evenings, his days were better spent in the multimillion-pound mansion of the vineyard owners, sleeping on their grand piano, near the Aga, or wherever else suited him.

It was Nelson who truly made me appreciate how clever, resourceful, and special cats are.

The Cattery Dream

I want to build a cattery. A proper one. Not just a few makeshift pens, but a real, safe, comfortable place for cats like Nelson, for abandoned seniors, for the ones no one wants. It’s on my bucket list, and as I get older and less able to bend, lift, and chase after wild animals, I feel this is something I must accomplish.

If you can help - if you want to pick up things we have that can be sold, if you can run a boot sale, if you’re a cat lover who wants to make a real difference - please get in touch. Right now, this cattery exists only in my mind, but with a little help, it could become a reality.

And believe me, there are a lot of cats who need it.

The Truth About Lies (And What It Costs Dogs Like Promised)

A lie is a lie, no matter how well-intended. And in the world of rescue, lies can have devastating consequences.

We recently took in a six-month-old puppy. Her owners told us she “didn’t cope well with their child.” We believed them, thinking maybe she’d had a bad experience. We found her a home with a family who had no children, but the very next day, she was returned for biting.

It turned out she had bitten before. The owner had lied. If we’d known the truth, we could have worked with her properly. Now, she’s a dog with a bite history, harder to home, taking up space that could have gone to another dog in need.

Every week, we take in dogs who are minutes from being put down. Some were abandoned, some surrendered, some neglected. At least those owners had the decency to call us rather than dumping them on the road.

But for the ones who do? There are no consequences. No licenses, no accountability. Maybe there should be. A small annual fee, a fine for unlicensed dogs, with the funds going toward proper support systems, dog wardens, shelters, resources. Instead, we have bureaucracy that ensures everything is printed in Welsh and English but does little for the animals themselves.

A Hope for Promise

This week, Joyce is off to Norfolk. I’ll be juggling volunteer schedules, working with the animals, and, most importantly, trying to find the perfect home for Promise, a dog who desperately needs someone with patience, love, and understanding.

If you’re that person, please read his write-up.

And if you’re someone who can help me make this cattery dream a reality, please, reach out. It would mean the world - to me, and to countless cats who deserve better.

 A World of Suffering - And A Ray of Hope

When you own a car, you’re legally required to maintain it, to make sure it’s safe, reliable, and roadworthy. If you don’t, there are consequences. A failed MOT means a car is taken off the road until it’s fixed. That’s the law, because unsafe cars put lives at risk. Yet, when it comes to dogs, living, breathing, feeling beings - there are no such safeguards.

Unless you’re a licensed breeder, you don’t have to take your dog to a vet. You don’t have to make sure it’s healthy. You don’t have to do anything at all. A dog can suffer, year after year, in silence. And no one will stop you. No one will check. No one will care, until it’s too late.

When I lived in Tucson, Arizona, every dog had to be licensed. No exceptions. If a dog was found without a license, it was taken to the pound. Owners faced fines, small if they had a license, massive if they didn’t. Every dog had to be vetted, vaccinated, and registered. They wore a tag shaped like the state of Arizona, a simple but powerful sign that someone was watching over them. It wasn’t a perfect system, but at least it was something. Here? We have nothing. No checks, no accountability, no one making sure a dog sees a vet even once a year. They suffer, endlessly, because there is no law to protect them.

Yesterday, we took in a Labrador whose suffering has been unimaginable. Her ear has been infected for years, YEARS. The pain must have been excruciating, yet she endured it, because dogs always do. Now, her ear canal has swollen shut, trapping pus and infection deep inside, making even the slightest touch agony. The only solution? An extensive, costly operation that never should have been necessary. Had someone, anyone cared enough to take her to a vet years ago, she would never have known this pain. But no one did.

How many more are out there right now, suffering like she has? Scratching, crying, whimpering in pain, but ignored, because it’s easier, because it’s cheaper, because there’s no law that says they matter.

We live in a country where there are more regulations for selling a second-hand car than for owning a living creature. And the dogs pay the price.

But we fight for them.

Today, our sweet Labrador will finally get the help she’s needed for years. The suffering ends now. And while we can’t save them all, we can keep fighting, pushing for change, and making a difference for as many as possible.

And there is hope.

The Work Force: Chaos with a Paintbrush

This week, the corporate world has descended upon us in full force. Teams of enthusiastic, willing volunteers have arrived, armed with paintbrushes, lawnmowers, strimmer’s, and an alarming amount of energy. They’ve painted, mowed, strimmed, walked dogs, and, in general, transformed the place. The rescue is getting a much-needed facelift, and with it, my spirits are being lifted too.

It’s been a tough week in many ways. I could wallow in self-pity (and believe me, I have plenty of material for that), but instead, I’ll focus on today, push through, and look forward to tomorrow. Because, despite everything, progress is being made, whether in rescuing cats, saving dogs, or simply making this place a little brighter for the animals who rely on us.

Waiting for the new website

After years of waiting and planning, our new website is finally here! It’s been a huge project, but once it’s fully up and running, it will make things faster, easier, and better, for us and for the animals. And to celebrate, we’re launching something special: our Portrait Competition! I have put some links to the artist's (also my daughters) work. Please have a look as I hope it will tempt you to enter.

Please support

It’s simple. Send us your favorite animal photo - dog, cat, horse, any beloved pet. It doesn’t even have to be yours! For just £3 per entry, you could win a stunning, one-of-a-kind portrait of your pet, created by a talented artist. And every single pound goes directly to saving lives. No admin fees. No middlemen. Just help where it’s needed most. You would send the entry donation and the picture digitally (unless you preferred by post) but keep the original picture because if you win that would need to be borrowed.

So get your pictures ready. Spread the word. And know this: every share, every entry, every pound makes a real, tangible difference. Please continue to watch for when the official launch is announced!

Because while there is so much suffering in the world, there is also kindness. There is hope. And together, we are that hope.

And if anyone needs me, I’ll be at the Feral Cat Café, where the customers don’t tip, don’t pay, and demand only the finest twice a day.

Thank you all for your support and kindness, from Sylvia and the animals you all help.