The saga of Smudge
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My husband Paris has a weakness for kittens.

On one fine morning in the spring, we set out to shop in downtown Aegina – the island where we now live. I went into the bakery for bread, my husband went to the electrical shop. When he returned, he had something under his jacket that was not an electrical item. Cuddled up to his warm chest was a small, sick black and white kitten.

We took her home and nursed her. She survived but her respiratory system was badly damaged and she never fully recovered from that flu virus. Her nose was always runny, her breathing laboured, her chest congested. But she was anything but a pathetic cat. In fact, she was the character of the house and my husband’s favourite.

He called her Smudge or Smudgie. She loved him back, unreservedly, passionately, nuzzling him, sitting on him, purring beside him, looking up at him lovingly, watching TV with him; they were a pair. Because of her delicate health, we didn’t have her spayed; we didn’t think she could survive the anesthetic. In any case, she didn’t come into heat, at least not that first year. But one day, Smudge disappeared. Paris searched high and low for her all over the neighbourhood for weeks and just when he had given up, she appeared back in the yard, as sick as ever. Paris was convinced someone had locked her up. “She’s terrified. I can feel it,” he said. “That’s why shy didn’t come home; she’s been locked up.”

Smudge seemed very happy to be home and the nursing began again. She gained weight and seemed better than ever. Then, how did we not notice it? She came into heat and got pregnant. In our defense, we had a bunch of dogs and about 25 cats and it’s hard to be aware of everything that goes on. But it was soon obvious to us that Smudge was pregnant. She began to give birth on our covered verandah in what we call the ‘polykatoikia’ – an open cupboard with a series of shelves full of soft cat sleepers. After finding her with one kitten, we brought her into the house and she gave birth to three of them. One died almost immediately, the other two, a black one we called Murphy and a black and white one called Sylvester. Smudge loved being a mother and she put all her energy into it. It was the proudest moment of her life and we were all happy for her.

Smudge lived with us for about three years before she succumbed to the illness that constantly plagued her. We did get her spayed and she survived the operation nicely and got as healthy as she could ever be. But it was always an up and down situation as it is with any chronic sickness and finally, Smudge was so congested, she could hardly breathe; her fur got lank and greasy, her zest for life diminished. She enjoyed herself most sitting on Paris lap. Finally, she died. Paris cried.

Sometimes when I’m with her son Murphy, I remind him about his mother. “Do you remember her Murphy. She was such as wonderful cat and you’re a bit like her,” I tell him, and he looks up at me very proudly.

Written by Elizabeth Koubena





Ruby’s Journey
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I met Ruby and her two brothers Ginger and Sammy in May 1990. The three of them were born in a taverna to a stray cat. Unwanted, someone brought them to my friend Lucille’s shop. I had only met Lucille a short time before that, quite by accident. Shopping with my mother, I was drawn to a poster in her window of animals looking for home and upon finding out that the store owner was a fellow Canadian, struck up a conversation and one thing led to another and we became friends. She took in unwanted animals and homed them; the large basement in her store was full of clothes and animals. The day Ruby and her siblings arrived, Lucille had a number of other kittens that were sick with flu. “I have nowhere else to put them”, she told me, “they’ll get sick too I’m afraid but what can I do.”

“ I’ll take them for a few weeks”, I said. Famous last words. Ruby and Ginger have been with me for almost 11 years; Sammy lives with my mother in Canada. But back then, the kittens were very thin although not sick. I took them home. They got sick immediately. Ringworm, cat flu, diarrhea; then they all got the mange. Ruby was a little tougher than the boys and helped me nurse them, mothering them, washing them and keeping them warm. For herself, she asked little. As young as she was, she had strength of character and an independent air about her. She tolerated people but when she had enough cuddling, she would let us know with a low growl and we learned to respect her wishes.

One night I thought Ginger wouldn’t make it. I held him cuddled in my arms, keeping him warm, praying for him and Ruby sat beside me. The two boys did eventually get better and as they improved, Ruby lost interest in them. She really was her own cat. Today, even though she has lived with her brother Ginger all these years, she barely tolerates him.

But let me tell you about Ruby’s journey. Ruby grew up in our apartment in Athens; it was large with lots of balcony space but still an apartment. When we moved to a rented house on the island of Aegina in 1995, she slowly began to explore outside. We fenced in the last yard for the cats but they managed to make holes to get out. One day Ruby disappeared. I looked all over the neighborhood for her. No Ruby. A month went by. I imagined the worst. Then one warm summer day when the closest beach to our house was full of people I decided to take another road down to a small, secluded clove where fewer people went. As I was walking by a house, I saw some cats in the yard. One was a calico, just like Ruby. I called her name and she came to me. It WAS Ruby. I was so glad to have found her, I just scooped her up in my arms and walked back home. She came quite willingly, as if it was the most natural thing for her to have moved to this house for a month without telling us! But the story doesn’t end there.

The next summer we moved to the new house we had just built. We moved all the animals, at that time three dogs and 15 cats, including Ruby. Within days, cats went missing; they returned to our old house, about 5 km away. I brought them back but they left again. I gave up and decided to set up a feeding station in the old neighborhood. Up to this point, Ruby was still feeling her wings in the new house. I knew that she was unhappy about Deux Cheveux, a black cat she was petrified of, coming to live with us. (My husband had rescued him from inside the motor of a Deux Cheveux car in Aegina town.) But I figured she’d get used to him. But one day, she disappeared again! I returned to the old house to feed the cats but there was no sign of Ruby. A month went by. Again, I feared the worst. Then, one day, as I came into the yard of the old house, miracle upon miracles, there was Ruby in the driveway.

“ Ruby”, I said, “do you want to come home with us or not?” I opened the back door of the car and she looked at me for a moment and then climbed into the back seat of the car. Shortly thereafter Deux Cheveux left us and Ruby settled into our new home with a different attitude.

Ruby has class. She waits patiently for her meals and is a neat eater; she doesn’t mess in the house and doesn’t fight with other cats. She sleeps elegantly in my knitting basket. She has a weakness for sweet things. This started when she was young and my mother used to share her morning toast and jam with her. Now, if I am about to eat a croissant, piece of cake, toast and jam or chocolate, Ruby will suddenly appear before me and demand a piece. I have left chocolates on the table only to find the empty wrappings in the morning. You would think so much chocolate would make her sick but she seems to thrive on it.

Ruby has both self-respect and respect for humans. And when occasionally she shows her warm feelings for us and honors us by climbing up on my lap or on my husband’s chest, purring and gazing into our eyes, we feel privileged to share our lives with her.

Written by Elizabeth Koubena





The two Lives of Lazarus
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It was a rainy Sunday and we were driving on the sea coastal road of Athens on our way to Piraeus to see my mother-in-law. As we stopped at a red light, we noticed a dog lying by the side of the road; there was a lot of traffic and no place to stop and park but then we saw a man and a woman were walking over to where the dog lay and it looked like they were going to help him. We couldn’t get him out of our minds, however, so we left my mother-in-law’s early and turned off the road near where we had seen him and walked around the area. There was no sign of the dog but just as we were about to go back to our car, we saw the two people with the dog in a wheel barrow coming out of someone’s yard. It turned out to be a veterinary clinic. We approached them and inquired about the dog and they informed us that he had a broken leg but that the vet would only treat him for money and they couldn’t afford to pay. Looking at them, we understood. They lived nearby but had no car. They borrowed a wheel barrow in order to bring the dog to this clinic. They looked really upset that the vet wouldn’t treat him. We went back inside and told the vet we would pay the dog’s treatment and his stay in their kennel and would visit the dog every day until he could be released. We hoped to find his home before then.

And so began the saga of Lazarus. He was a big white Labrador type dog, very gentle, very intelligent, very grateful to be somewhere safe. We brought him extra food; talked to him; talked to the man who looked after the dogs in the kennel; paid the vet (he was a thief and not a very good vet either but our daily visits ensured that the dog got decent care). Finally, despite putting posters all over the area trying to find the home he had come from, because it was obvious he was not a street dog, we had to face the fact that he had nowhere to go. And we had no choice but to bring him home.

We had no other dogs at that time and our cats were not amused at having a dog in the house. We borrowed a dog house and put it on the large protected balcony. My husband walked the dog; I fed him. We got quite fond of him but felt that apartment life was not for him and looked for a new home for him. After eight months, we found a family willing to adopt him, but in another European country. Still, we had come this far and felt this was the best we could do for him. Early one morning, my husband took Lazarus out for a walk; within 10 minutes he was back with Lazarus and another man.

“ You’ll never guess what happened”, he began. “This man came up to me when I was walking the dog and asked me if it was mine. I asked him why he was asking. He said that about nine months ago, his dog had disappeared; he looked just like this one and his name was Gino.” Up until this point, the dog hadn’t acknowledged the man but upon hearing the name Gino, he suddenly was all over him. The man owned a business about 12 city blocks from us and Gino had gotten out of the yard one day when a female in the area was in heat. Obviously Gino/Lazarus’s accident and his subsequent life with us had prevented him from returning home. The three of us sat down and discussed the situation. After all this time, to suddenly find Gino’s old home came as a bit of a shock. We agreed that we would bring the dog around to them that evening and the man left.

The whole family greeted Gino and it was obviously their fondness was mutual. They offered to pay for his medical treatment and our keeping him for all those months but we said that we would rather they buy him a proper dog house. They agreed. “We’ll be back to visit”, we said. And we did indeed go back, at least once a week. Even when the family weren’t there, my husband would call “Lazarus” and the dog would come running and nuzzle his nose against my husband’s hand through the fence.

This went on for about two years and then one day when we drove around, Lazarus wasn’t there. We phoned the family and they told us that the dog had had a seizure and they were waiting to see what the diagnosis was; sadly he had a brain tumor and died shortly thereafter.

Lazarus was the first Greek dog we really got to know and he prepared us for our future involvement in SPAZ and animal welfare work and the many other dogs we would find that needed help.

Written by Elizabeth Koubena