Love will find a way

Holiday romances aren't meant to last. But fall for a stray overseas, says Justine Hankins, and you are only at the beginning of an incredible adventure...

'I've always thought a hotel ought to offer optional small animals," wrote Anne Tyler in The Accidental Tourist, "a cat to sleep on your bed or a dog to act pleased when you come in." Tourists make up for the absence of room-service companions by forming attachments with waifs and strays that congregate on territory occupied by soft-hearted, crumb-shedding holidaymakers. Like most holiday flings, these friendships are often dearly held then quickly forgotten, but some people find it impossible to walk away.

A week in Minorca in October can incur an unexpected £2,000 compassion surcharge if, like Susan Mulhall, from Honiton in Devon, you find you can't turn your back on two abused kittens and end up forking out for quarantine fees. Oliver was thrown into a swimming pool and Tabatha received a vicious kicking. "They wouldn't have survived the winter," says Mulhall. Oliver and Tabatha are now happily settled in Devon.

So is Pluto, a Peruvian dog recently released from quarantine, now living in London with Jessica and Long Luong. Jessica was born in Peru and during an extended visit last year her brother, Misael, rescued a tiny puppy from a crowd of children who were burning him with cigarettes. Pluto was nursed back to health and Jessica became besotted. "We were crazy," she admits. "Bringing a dog from Peru was a complete nightmare, but it was too heartbreaking to leave him."

Even a fleeting acquaintance with a distressed animal can lead sensible people into frantic paper trails, arguments with airlines and strained bank balances. You don't even need to like animals much to get embroiled in a costly and prolonged international rescue. Former Royal Marine James Sheldrake was "indifferent to cats" when he arrived in Sarajevo two years ago to work with the Nato-led peacekeeping force. But when Scrappy, a stray who'd been hanging around the camp, was shot with an air rifle, Sheldrake took the cat under his wing and eventually brought Scrappy back home to Ipswich.

What makes people go to so much trouble? The initial rescue is often an impulsive act of humanity, but once you've saved an animal's life, a sense of long-term responsibility takes hold, not to mention a strong emotional attachment. Sarah Smith-Pearse brought dogs Millie and Loulou back from Honduras where she worked for an international charity. "For me," she explains, "dogs are part of the family, it's not really an economic issue." Robert McCann was working in Sofia, Bulgaria, when he plucked a puppy out of the path of a tram and took the dog home. Eko, "a retriever with a fox head on him", is now living in London. "There was absolutely no question that I would leave him".

Sonya Harding was teaching English in Japan when she adopted Sayuri, a kitten who'd been found stuck to a glue rat-trap. Japan is covered by the pet passport scheme, so bringing Sayuri home was relatively straightforward. Still, some of Harding's friends have wondered why she bothered, telling her, "There are cats in this country you can save". True enough in the cold light of rationality, but this is an individual pussycat we're talking about. "I took him on, he was my responsibility and I couldn't just abandon him."

In many countries, rehoming strays isn't an option. The choice is simple: abandon them to their fate or bring them home. These extravagant rescue missions also bring a sense of achievement. Sheldrake says, "I'd achieved something that a whole bunch of people told me was impossible." McCann adds, "If anyone who works abroad is thinking about bringing a pet back, just do it. The feeling of elation when the dog gets through Dover is wonderful. It's an adventure."

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