Just Hold On... I'm Coming Home

There are some stories that feel too strange for reality.  As you live through them, you may find yourself wondering at the veracity of your own recollections.  At moments, in the thickness of uncertainty, you question your own senses to the point that you might be tempted to modify certain aspects to fit with some measure of comfortable sense.  However much I appreciate such a sentiment, this ill founded  impulse has roots in our need for order that can never account for the chaos that is life.

This story begins almost exactly one year ago when I took my chatty torti cat - Exile - to get her rabies vaccination.  As an indoor cat, adopted from the Edmonton Humane Society, there was never really any need for this procedure, but having a pet is a lifetime responsibility.  When your circumstances as 'the human' change, that is never an excuse to abandon a pet.  Such is my opinion, and I realize many people who don't have pets or a basic understanding of empathy will struggle with this.  So, you will be apt to also struggle with this story.

On August the 2nd, 2019, I moved to Texas to pursue my MA.  Exile entertained people on both flights with the worst impromptu operas - I'm sure - that anyone had ever had the displeasure of hearing.  This is putting it rather mildly, but we arrived safe and sound for me to begin the rather arduous process of acclimating to a new life.  I'm not sure I'd ever recommend moving from Edmonton to a place so oppressively hot that I struggled to breath much less read through the exponentially growing mountain of reading.

Cut to March of 2020.  Some of you might remember this as the time that King Cheeto was talking about the pandemic magically disappearing.  Some of you might remember this as the time that you were forced to wear masks as infringing on your personal freedom.  Some of you might remember this as the time that COVIDIOTS were poised to prolong a difficult situation.  I remember it as the time that I found out my roommate spouted alt-right talking points and the TX governor told people that the economy was more important than people's lives.  Both of which necessitated my quick departure from TX, because I am in a high respiratory risk category.  Despite constant management of depression, I'd rather not die from some manageable externality.

My first flight was cancelled, and I needed to rebook with the airline out of Austin instead of San Antonio, because air routes were in flux - to put it kindly.  During this call, I explained that I'll have three bags of luggage, some packaged foods, and my cat with me.  I was informed of the extra costs, and no questions or issues were raised.  A friend of mine, who we'll call V, agreed to pick me up early to drive me to Austin, and the airline would not let me on the plane with Exile.  The short version is they wanted paperwork that I didn't have and that I wasn't told I needed through a process that - I found out later - they had no right to put me through.  In that moment, my options were limited.

• Take 100% loss on the flight tickets, and stay at risk during a ramping up of cases.
• I'm a graduate student on and F1 Visa.  I don't have extra money for people being intransigent.
• My friend offered to take Exile in for a few days.  We assumed that we'd be able to arrange an airline or pet carrier within the next week.

Neither option was great, but she'd be well cared for, and we had a plan.  This was temporary.  I spent the entire flight in tears and reconsidered more times than I'd cared to count.  On repeat in my mind were V's words, "This is only temporary.  We'll get her home in a few days.  Few weeks at the most.  Don't worry."  

I'm not the kind of person that easily yields to the experience of anguish or anxiety, but there are certain triggers for me where I have no control over emotions: children and animals.  Over the next month we explored dozens of options to get Exile home safely without exposing ourselves or others to needless risk.  Since there's an international border involved, many carriers weren't operating, and if they were, they were charging thousands of dollars.  Charities were overwhelmed, and it's not easy for people to care about one Canadian wanting to get her cat home.  Nothing was going to work, and with cases increasing due to an overall lack of leadership and people confusing inconvenience with oppression, it was looking like there were no viable options to repatriate Exile without incurring significant debt.

By early June, I had time to make about 23L of wine.  As much as I can't understand country music or ingesting beer, I can sometimes appreciate the sentiment of 'crying in your beer.'  I had an idea.  What about a land crossing?  It's a long few days for everyone, but it's a thing.  So, I called CBSA to explain my situation and ask if it would be possible to retrieve my cat from the Coutts/Sweetgrass crossing if my friend would be willing to transport her.  A lovely lady by the name of Kim explained a few things to me.

• My friend from Texas would not be admitted under any circumstances.  Obviously.   He doesn't have a passport or a reason if he did.  He'd be turned back around to the USA. 
• As long as my cat was in good apparent health with her rabies paperwork, she's admissible.  Great.  That's also what the CAN government web pages said (and indeed as of this date, still says).
• I need to make sure that I am present at the CAN border to retriever her.  No problem.  I'm always early, and I'll walk from Edmonton if I bloody have to.
• The Proclaimers may or may not have been on repeat in my head.
• Maybe I don't have to delay my education to get her home?  That was the last option.

All I had to do now was work the details, and I can work the fuck out of details.  Flight costs from San Antonio or Austin to Great Falls were ridiculously expensive in the short term.  The most affordable option was going to be July 3rd and to get him home July 4th.  Fuck...  By this point, I knew that V was having some mental health issues, and he said Exile was very helpful to have around.  My heart ached, but I felt an iota better about this extended timeline, because I definitely understand the comfort Exile offers deign of her being.  Or, I did feel better until July 3rd came around.  I'd heard nothing from him in two weeks, and I began to feel panic set in behind the walls of rationality I'd erected to protect me over the course of the last decade.  In two months, this was the second lengthy communication black out that I'd endured where I didn't have any information during precarious times.  The morning of the day I'm supposed to be enroute to the border I get an apology and an olive branch.  

I'm so sorry.

Exile is fine.  

No one is dead.  

No one is ill.  

V is not keeping her.  

We'll do it next week

I have neither a vehicle nor drivers licence, so I've had to impose on people for favours through this process.  Initially, my sister and I were going to do the trip, but things don't always work out.  A prior coworker turned very good friend - Scott who is allergic to cats - agreed to drive me down.  Despite being a self proclaimed asshole, he's an amazing human being, and exactly the person I needed on this trip. The plan was that he'd come to my place Friday after work, and Mum was going to let us borrow her car.  It was newer and more reliable.  

Since nothing about this story goes right, on Friday morning, Scott's brake line blows on his commute to work.  Thankfully, his partner agrees to drive him to my house after work.  I spend the day making road food - egg salad buns, sammiches, homemade brownies, and water bottles (half full in the freezer overnight).  Mum adds me to her phone plan for emergencies, and I provide this number to my friend in Texas - text (SMS only).  I don't have data, but we need a way to stay in touch if there's some unexpected difficulty.  

July 11, 2020:  Scott and I get a good early start.  It's pretty uneventful up to Calgary.  As we're traversing the ring road, I get 3 MMS loading notifications that I can't download and one SMS.  "I'm so sorry I've been trying to reach you for hours."  The thin veils of my good mood yielded to panic, and Scott did a great job of maintaining my rationality over the next 45 minutes until we were able to find a place with public wifi.  V decided, on very short notice, to drive for over 24 hours rather than fly.  I understand that, but shit - ok.  He'd hit traffic, and he'd be delayed.  

Here's a few fun parts about this.  Exile absolutely hates being in vehicles.  In stresses her out.  She yowls and shreds an inordinate amount.  I'm still happy that they're on their way, but I'm very worried about her health, because she's a middle aged cat that's travelling - by conservative estimates - about 20 hours longer than I'd planned.  There's nothing I can do about this.

We're in Lethbridge by the time I get V on the phone.  I am having a difficult time maintaining, but he sends me pictures and gives me an update on her status.  She'd cried herself out, and she's been sleeping for a good chunk of the drive.  I manage to not be in tears for this phone call, because I'm grateful to just be having her home soon.  This has been two months of strain, and it'll be over soon.  It's just a few extra hours to kill.  So, Scott has the idea to detour a bit to see birds of prey, because we had a few hours.  It was a necessary diversion, because I was not doing well at keeping my head straight.

We leave in time to get to the border at least 45 minutes ahead of V, because I was told that I needed to be there when my friend arrived with Exile.  Let's be honest, this is already a ridiculous story, and it would be a good idea anyway to be able to have a conversation with border security to explain the events that lead up to this solution.  I am expecting some clarification questions and uncertainty tempered by an eventual "Well, ma'am, that's a hell of a story, we just need to wait for your friend to inspect the cat."  

What do you think happened?  

I provided the officer with a synopsis.  Before I was done, he shook his head, "No that's not something that we do."  I was dumbfounded.  Scott who was seated behind me chirped that I need to tell him the detailed version.  Kay fine.  He's the long winded version.  The officer does not look impressed and goes to talk to his supervisor.  Now, I've worked in service for years, and I didn't have the awareness at the time to process the officer's tone properly.  You know when you're talking to someone that you don't want to interact with anymore, and you go talk to your supervisor to get back up on making them accept the answer you've given as opposed to being a human being with feelings?  That was the tone.

He comes back.  The answer is no.  I am barely withholding tears, and I pull up the websites indicating there's no ban on cats crossing provided that I have the paperwork and she's health.  I'll happily quarantine myself for 14 days.  Please don't do this to me.  He doesn't even look at it.  I'm given two responses.

• We're not allowing exchanges in the parking lot.
• We need to contain risk.

If I had the words at the time to speak I'd have torn this person a new asshole, because neither of those track with logic.  All I could do was burst into tears.  The officer, with his arms crossed over his chest, says "Sorry, there's nothing we can do unless you physically cross with her."  

Sorry...  Sorry?!  Hah!  At first that's all I heard, and I couldn't process the rage through the anguish that threatened my breathing and my sight.  I had to leave the building with Scott following.  He'd not heard the exchange, and he's never seen me fully crack before.  I'm never not in control, but this broke down everything I had left.  Thankfully, Scott is staying collected, and he brings me back to rationality.  I have a valid reason to enter the USA, so let's try that.  Scott has to stay, because he doesn't have a passport.

USA border services listens and empathizes, but they have a few concerns.  I don't have a vehicle, and they won't allow a parking lot exchange.  They deny me entrance.  More tears.  Fuck, how do I have more tears?  The officer at least has the courtesy to act like a human being as I'm being escorted back to Canada.  The intake officer on the CAN side isn't Mr. I'm Sorry, and I explain that I was told I could cross over with her myself assuming the USA side let me.  Hahahaha.  Nope.  This, much kinder officer, is maintaining the story that Exile wouldn't be admissible under any circumstances.  Oddly, they've had a similar problem in the last 24 hours, and they need to talk to the 'higher ups' about this.  

I'm sorry ma'am.  Sorry!  I can't get the words out of my mouth.  Not that it would have helped - at all - to lean into the man with a tirade about human decency.  

By the time I get back to Scott, I can barely breathe.  

We go back to the car to call V, because...what else am I supposed to do?  He's literally driven for over a day to do this based on information I was given.  So, I don't have data, and Coutts is a tiny AB town.  There's no public wifi.  I'm calling my mum to explore transport options from Great Falls to Lethbridge or Calgary.  I'm calling my sister to get the information for my local MLA.  We're trying to work out the rough edges on getting Exile home.

Scott and I talk out some options after nothing is panning out.  We basically end up with two viable plans.  I'm already out money that I'm not going to get back.  I don't have the money to fly down, and fly her back, nor do I really want to expose myself.  

1. Cut our losses, send everyone home, and die a little more inside.
2. I have personal belongings in San Antonio.  I could road trip back and prove to USA border officials that I have a flight booked for a few days from now.

V agrees.  He's social distancing.  He's working from home.  It still sucks, and I'd rather not.  I don't see another path.  He's going to call me when he gets to the border, cause we're parked up from the border so as not to cause any additional needless friction with the people before.  He wants to try to see if they will listen to reason, take custody of Exile, check her, and relinquish her to my possession.  I don't disagree on making the attempt, but I express my doubts.

We see his car get pulled back around the the US border.  Of course, they're not going to admit him.  That's fine.  I haven't gotten a call.  We wait a half hour.  Still nothing.  I text saying that I was able to book a flight, and that the plan would work assuming the US border services will allow it.  I'm assuming he's being interviewed, because this is a ridiculous story.  Border officers are supposed to ask questions and be suspicious.  He's traveled a long way for a Canadian with a cat.  It's odd.  

An hour passes.  I call.  VM.  15 minutes passes.  I call.  VM.  Panic begins creeping back in.  30 minutes passes.  I call.  I call again.  I call the other number.  Nothing.  Scott wakes up from his nap.  I call.  VM.  Tears.  Discussion of options.

• Maybe his phone died, and he's trying to find a charge port in the next town up.  Not entirely unreasonable.
• Maybe he's been detained for additional questioning and isn't in possession of his phone.  I could see that being a thing.
• Maybe he's been arrested.  Sure, but this makes no sense.  He's a legal professional. 
• Maybe Exile is secretly a drug runner.  I mean... it was funny at the time.

In the absence or information, and the tension around this situation, we decide to go back to Lethbridge.  I call US border services.  

"Good evening, my name is Meghan, and I have been trying to repatriate my cat.  We might have spoken earlier today when I tried to cross.  A friend of mine was turned around to the US Border Crossing about two hours ago, and I haven't heard from him.  Are you able to tell me if he was sent on his way or if he's in custody for some reason?"  

"I'm sorry ma'am that's uh... ya for legal reasons that's not something I can disclose to you."

I'm straining through tears.  "I understand legal restrictions.  My concern is that my cat was in his care, and if he got arrested I just...I don't know what I'm going to do.  Can you at least tell me if my cat is there?"

"Yes ma'am I understand.  If you think your friend has been arrested, you might try contacting the Shelby impound lot and ask about any vehicle there with Texas plates."

Choking around tears, I manage - I think - to close the call politely.  It hits me shortly thereafter.  I hadn't mentioned his name, and I hadn't mentioned where he was driving from.  The officer knew who I was talking about, and he either dropped me a nugget or slipped.  I'm grateful either way.

The evening passes with little sleep and an exploration of other options.  I put my mum and sister on trying to find Exile's microchip information which is in storage back in Edmonton.  If she's been put in an animal shelter, that's the first thing they'll check.  I will have to call the Shelby Sheriff in the morning to see if V is actually there.  There's nothing else I can possibly do at nearly midnight.

The next morning, I call the Sheriff, and I have just enough composure to maintain my professionalism.  "Good morning Sir, my name is Meghan, how is your Sunday morning going?"  His response is standard enough, but "Unfortunately sir, I have not been having a good go of it these last 24 hours, and I'm hoping you can help clarify something for me.  A friend of mine by the name of V was trying to deliver my cat to me at the border yesterday, and it was indicated to me that he might be in your custody."

"Oh yes!  They brought him in late last night."  This poor man was not ready for me to break down into tears, and I don't clearly remember the rest of the conversation.  I remember that he was very understanding and tried to help me calm down.  Eventually, I was able to explain that I don't know where my cat is.  "Ma'am don't you worry, we have your cat.  She's safe.  She's got food, water, litter, and she's running around perfectly fine."  He explained to me that V will be seeing a judge regarding a charge for some substance that they found, and that if it goes well, Exile will be remanded back to his care.  If not, she will probably be given to animal services.  I am inconsolable by this point, but to his eternal credit, he is doing an amazing job at being a human being with empathy.  I explain that I'm in Canada, and I have no way to get down to his location.  He takes my name and number, and he'll keep me informed.  Thank you.  

I get off the phone, and I just can't anymore.  I am shaking.  I'm not sure how I'm still crying.  I didn't know that eyeballs could hurt.  In a weird kind of retrospect, it's almost funny to think about.  Almost.  Scott and I make coffee, and we try to work some angles.  Nothing is going to pan out for today.  I can't at all ask anyone to travel into the USA and submit to a mandatory quarantine, and I regretted even having the thought.  Desperation will do weird things to the mind.

We're just about to leave when I get a call from my favourite agency - the CBSA.  I begin the conversation through gritted teeth and a tone of incredulous strain.  The officer explains he's been in touch with the Shelby Sheriff, and he understands that I've been trying to get my cat home.  He asks me to clarify what happened yesterday.  He asks me to clarify when I entered the USA, why, when I left, and why Exile wasn't able to come.  I am barely holding the cadence of a conversation, but I understand when to be professional.  He cedes that this is an odd situation, and he says that he thinks we can work out a way to get Exile home today.  I almost fall to the floor.  He just needs to call the Sheriff back to confirm, and he asks me to stay in the Lethbridge.

Fine.  We do that.  We also go look at the coolies for a diversion, cause what else are you going to do in Lethbridge during a pandemic?

I miss the call due to bad reception, and my stress level amps right back up.  The VM message identifies the CBSA officer as Superintendent Nelson.  I'm not overly familiar with hierarchies here, but that has to be the head or near the head officer located in Coutts.  I call back immediately.  It's all good news.  His tone is professional tempered with empathy, and it is such a welcome reprieve when paired with the only good news I've received through this entire ordeal.  The Sheriff is driving Exile to the border, and all I need to do is get there by about 1:30PM.  I'm able to engage in some normal banter, and thank the superintendent for making this possible, because I've been crying for about 12 hours from uncertainty fueled heartache after two months of bullshit. 

Nothing about this feels real.  How did this even happen?  That Sheriff is a fucking hero, because he must have called CBSA about a balling Canadian that just wants her cat back.  Right?

As we drive back to the border, Scott reminds me not to be ungrateful, but my line between rage and anguish is very thin, and this is not an emotional ride that I have frequent occasion to navigate.  I manage to regain my sense of rationality after a time.  This almost starts to feel real.

We get back to the CBSA building.  I walk across the mostly vacant waiting area.  One woman is laying across some chairs wrapped in a large coat.  The intransigent puke (I'm sorry, but I don't like you, and I don't have to) I'd spoken to first yesterday is sitting behind the commercial counter wearing - what I'll simply call - poop face.  I ignore him, and I walk up to the traffic counter, because that's what Nelson directed me to do.  I wait.  I'm patient.  I've been waiting for months.  

Who else should walk up to the counter but Superintendent Nelson?  Of course, we never know what to expect when we meet people, though we often impose our assumptions.  To me, this man was practically deified, and I'm certain I looked to be an absolute mess.  Though I may have imagined the bounce to his gait, there is no denying that he wore a glorious beard on a face bearing the lines of a man who's done this job long enough to know when to be firm and when to be kind.  Despite the formalities of confirming my information and clarifying details for consistency, I'm able to make him laugh.  No one really wants to hear about my research, and it's an old joke - certainly not as well timed.  I almost feel normal again.

The rest feels a bit like a blur in retrospect.  After we go outside, he disappears for a few seconds around the corner of the building, and directs me to stay put.  I take direction well, but we don't need to get into that here.  If felt like so much longer...memory is a fickle thing.  From my perspective, he strides into view with these triumphant purposeful steps with Exile clinging to his arm.  

Wide eyed.  

Shedding.  

Panting.  

Distressed.  

I can't even think, but she's sunken into my arms like the day I adopted her.  I can feel how fast her heart beats, and it takes her a moment to realize that there are no more strangers anymore.  She's safe.  I can't thank him enough.  I can't hug him, because there's a pandemic.  I'm fairly certain that I'm blithering on through joyous tears about how I know it's her.  The little divot on her chin, the patterns of colouration of her face, people know their animals from any other, or at least they ought to.

He helps me with the door inside where Scott is waiting beaming through his mask with delight.  It takes me a moment to notice, but we're not as alone here anymore.  Behind the desks the area is flooded with CBSA agents that I hadn't seen before.  They're all bearing the body language and facial expressions of people who have born witness to one of the few happy endings 2020 has had to offer.  I don't know them, but they know me, and I emphatically thank them all while Exile digs several claws into my chest.  Before leaving, I briefly catch the eye of the CBSA agent I spoke with first the day before, and maybe I just missed it, but I don't remember seeing a smile breach his poop face.  Even if I don't remember it correctly, I find it a satisfying display to have walked across that same lobby with the only thing that I have wanted for the last two months: to get my kitty home safely.

The drive home is long, but Scott makes it feel shorter.  He comments on the exhaustion and happiness across my face, and he's right.  We're both emotionally drained, but we're finally satisfied, and we set our minds to the drive ahead.  The very next day, Exile wakes me up with her usual chattering demands for the morning meal almost like the last two months didn't even happen.  She knows the house, and she settles into her role as the Lord Commander of Everything soon thereafter.  

Relief doesn't come close to an expression of what I now feel, but there remained one nagging unknown until earlier this morning.  I'll not share the details here, but V was released from custody, and he's on his way home.  Though Superintendent Nelson did not indicate a requirement for me to quarantine, I will be doing so regardless.