Almost half way

When I can hold a newborn kitten in the palm of one hand
When the setting sun makes artwork of the evening sky
When a few remaining teeth line up in a smile for me
I think I could stay.

When the dogs in our street come running to greet me
When I understand a few words in Fijian
When I know what each market stall is best for
I feel at home.

But

When there’s no money at the shelter
When I stay in bed for a week with a chest infection
When an animal we cared for dies
I wish I could be somewhere else.

No sleep will come

A tangle of sheets around my body.
A lumpy pillow won’t hold its shape.
A kitten purring on my back.
A puppy barking outside my window.
A sliver of light glowing under the door.
A smell of smoke in the garden.
A cough crawling up my throat.
And thoughts of home won't leave my mind.
No sleep will come.

Red rope in our garden

With some old wood from the timber yard and a roll of chicken wire we had the makings of a puppy pen.

The sun was out so we tied Vuaka to a palm tree with a long red rope. He ran all over the garden and tangled himself up in everything: the chicken coop, rocks, pots of basil, coriander and aloe vera. All the local dogs stopped by to greet him. They got tangled up in red rope too.

Our housekeeper Aka and her family called us over to ‘mai kana’ – come eat. We sat on their big woven mat and ate two-minute noodles with hunks of boiled cassava: ‘Fiji food’. Aka's brother talked about lovo-ing a pig's head.

All day the sun shone and our neighbours Kola and Josi came to play in our yard. Two little girls as tall as the fence. We put them inside the pen and they couldn't stop laughing.

Then in the house and the girls blew gum bubbles on my bed while I cleaned Vuaka’s old room. Mopped it clean of poo and wee but couldn’t mop the smell away.

And inside our bathtub the mama cat and her babies meowed. All four kittens stretched, yawned and opened their new eyes to see.

A wise Lampshade once said

Sometimes your sanity
Is like a sheet pegged to a line
Flapping in the breeze

When there’s a strong wind
You have to hold onto it tightly
Hold on and don’t let go.

Asleep on the shore of the meat slop ocean

Through a tear in the flywire door I watched Asata sleep. Leaning back in an old chair, arms crossed over her chest. All around her, on every inch of bench top and floor, were neat rows of metal dishes. Filled to high tide with meat dust and rice. Clouds of flies hung low over this meat slop ocean. I watched Asata sleep, in her faded t-shirt and trousers, her mud caked rubber boots. As though my eyelids were camera shutters I blinked to save this image in my head. And I wished I could buy her a yacht to sail across the meat slop ocean.

Doctor Deb

Dr Deb is a real doctor. She doesn’t just get called that because she’s a cavalagi who works at the shelter. I know because I see her at work. We eat lunch together on the operating table and dry our dishes beside syringe jars and surgical instruments. I made her a name tag to pin to her scrub top. It says Dr Deb. Some people think she’s too young to be a vet. Maybe I should make her a bigger name tag.

Remember you can turn on the oven

Remember you can turn on the oven.
There is hot water.
The door will open,
If you slide the lock with a knife.

The clock does work,
It just doesn’t keep the time.
The bin is collected,
Three days each week,
But the truck only comes once.

There are no set days for the bottle men,
But you’ll hear them calling when they come.

Sure you can walk barefoot in the lawn bowls club,
You just won’t get through the door in thongs.
This shelter knows how important animal welfare education is,
We just can’t afford to spend any money on it.

The government of this country means well,
It’s trying to build democracy -
Before it has been elected.

Remember you can turn on the oven.
Even if the grill shudders and falls,
The gas will light.