The Two Cats We Were Never Supposed to Have

Before Paul and I left New Zealand to travel the world, we made a rule.

No pets.

At the time it seemed completely sensible. We were planning to spend years moving between countries and had no idea where we'd be living from one year to the next. Pets would make travel more expensive, more complicated, and far less flexible. So we agreed that animals simply weren't part of the plan.

Then we moved to Chiang Rai in northern Thailand.

Like many things during our travels, we intended to stay for a short time and ended up staying much longer. We settled into a comfortable routine, rented a house, and hired a housekeeper who quickly became part of our everyday life.

One day she arrived at our house on her scooter carrying a tiny ginger kitten in her tote bag.

There was no cat carrier, no special pet transport system, and no concern whatsoever that perhaps a tote bag wasn't the recommended way to transport a kitten. If you've spent time in Thailand, you'll know this isn't unusual. People transport almost everything on scooters, and apparently kittens are no exception.

That kitten was Biscuit.

A few days earlier, our housekeeper had been visiting her boyfriend on his farm when a tiny kitten wandered up out of nowhere and collapsed at her feet. He was hungry, exhausted and completely alone. She took him home, fed him, and cared for him until she could find someone willing to foster him.

That someone turned out to be us.

The arrangement was straightforward. We would look after Biscuit while we were living in Thailand and when we eventually left, she would take him back. It felt like a good solution for everyone involved.

Three days later she arrived again.

Same scooter. Same tote bag.

Different kitten.

This time it was Snowball, a tiny white fluff ball who had been rejected by his mother because he had a runny nose. Like Biscuit, he was only a few weeks old and needed constant care.

There was just one small problem.

I forgot to ask Paul first.

In fairness, I already knew what his answer would be. Neither of us is particularly good at saying no to animals in need.

The plan for Snowball was exactly the same as it had been for Biscuit. We would foster him temporarily and then our housekeeper would take him back when it was time for us to leave Thailand.

Looking back, that was probably the moment our original "no pets" rule quietly disappeared.

Over the following months, the kittens settled into our lives. We took them to the vet, bought them toys, worried about them when they were sick, and celebrated when they were healthy. They followed us around the house, supervised our work, and somehow managed to become the centre of attention despite their tiny size.

Without ever having a formal conversation about it, we stopped thinking of them as foster cats.

They became family.

When the time came for us to leave Thailand, our housekeeper's circumstances had changed and she was no longer able to take them back. Suddenly the arrangement we'd all agreed to was no longer possible.

We had a choice to make.

We could leave them behind and continue with our travel plans exactly as we'd intended.

Or we could take them with us.

For us, there wasn't really a decision to make. By then they were family, and family comes with you.

What followed was months of paperwork, vaccinations, health checks, permits, certificates, and travel planning. Anyone who has moved pets internationally will understand how complicated the process can be. The amount of paperwork required for two cats who had originally arrived in tote bags on the back of a scooter felt slightly ridiculous at times.

But we did it.

The cats travelled with us everywhere we went. We didn't leave them behind while we explored Europe. We didn't find long-term carers. Instead, we adjusted our plans around them.

Sometimes that meant driving instead of flying. Sometimes it meant choosing one country over another because the pet import requirements were easier to navigate. Sometimes it meant paying more for accommodation or spending extra time researching regulations before crossing a border.

Travel became a little more complicated, but it also became much more meaningful.

For the next eighteen months, Biscuit and Snowball travelled throughout Europe alongside us. They adapted surprisingly well to a life that involved new homes, new countries, and long journeys. In many ways, they became part of the adventure.

Today, they are still influencing our decisions.

As we plan our future home in Southland, we're thinking about where the catio will go, how they'll safely enjoy the outdoors, and where their favourite sunny spots might be. The house we're designing isn't just for us. It's for them too.

When I think back to that original rule, I can't help but laugh.

We were absolutely convinced that having pets didn't fit the life we wanted.

Then two tiny kittens arrived three days apart, both carried in tote bags on the back of a scooter, and completely changed our plans.

If someone gave us the chance to go back and make the decision again, we'd choose exactly the same path.

Sometimes the best things in life aren't part of the plan at all.

Biscuit and Snowball's story is one of many that I'm sharing through The Homestead Letters.

Each month I send a real letter through the post documenting our journey as we build a mortgage free homestead in rural New Zealand. I share the wins, the mistakes, the unexpected challenges, and the small moments that make this adventure memorable.

Subscribers receive a printed letter, photos from the month, recipes we are enjoying, practical tips we've learned along the way, and occasional little keepsakes tucked inside the envelope.

The cats make regular appearances too. Whether it's Snowball stealing pom poms, Biscuit trying to break into the wheatgrass, or both of them supervising our latest homestead plans, they're very much part of the story.

If you'd like to follow along as we build our home, create a slower lifestyle, and navigate all the twists and turns that come with it, you can learn more and subscribe here.

I'd love to share the journey with you.