Two months should have been enough to find a new home. Yet little did I know that by the end of those two months, I would have lost the roof over my head and that it would ultimately change my life.
The unexpected notification
Moving in a hurry, after my mother had a car accident and needed help, resulted in my 23-year-old cat and me living in a room in a house share with the landlord. It provided a space for me to continue coaching clients, while my cat could wander the property and garden. The arrangement worked well for both of us.
We got on well, so it was a huge shock when, six months later, he informed me that he was giving me notice to leave. Suddenly, at 64, the stability I had taken for granted disappeared.
Looking for somewhere to go
I began checking online for house shares that would accept a cat. It sounded like a reasonable request, yet it quickly became clear it would be my biggest obstacle. Very few shared properties were willing to accept pets.
As the days counted down, I explored every option available to me. I was willing to consider almost anything within reason, but there was one non-negotiable: my cat, Saffy, came with me. After 11 years together, I was not willing to place her in a cattery or hand her over to a rehoming charity. Whatever happened next, we would face it together.
I reached out to the local homeless support service, only to be told they could not step in until I was officially homeless. Packing felt strange. With nowhere lined up to go, I could only decide what I might need for the days ahead, while everything else was boxed up and placed into storage at my mother’s retirement flat.
The day we left
Packing my car didn’t take long on the day we left. Saffy, who had never worn a collar or harness, calmly allowed me to put one on her without fuss, then stepped into her soft expanding carrier without the usual resistance, which was a small gift in an otherwise difficult moment.
My first stop was my mother’s flat, where I unloaded as much as I could from the car. We would be sleeping in it, for as long as it took to find our next home.
Our first night outside
We spent our first night parked in an unofficial space on an unmade road leading to private stables in a local wood. I let Saffy guide me through the woodland paths for a short walk before we settled for the night.
The night was uneventful – and surprisingly secure. Saffy settled on the front seat, while I stretched out in the back with the seats folded flat.
By the morning of the third day, I knew we couldn’t stay in the same spot – we were being noticed. There was still no update from the homeless services, so I had to make a decision.
Life in a tent
The decision led to a tent, a campsite, and a more practical approach to being without a home. The tent was a new experience in itself – both putting it up and living in it. I often laughed at Saffy’s attempts to escape at night to hunt mice. Camping felt safer than sleeping in the woods.
What began as a frightening situation slowly became a time of unexpected freedom. There was nothing I could do to change it, so I chose to treat the experience as an adventure while I kept looking for somewhere to live. I came to appreciate how little I actually needed – just my laptop, my work, and Saffy.
Over the following ten days, both Saffy and I adjusted to the shifting weather, ranging from wet, windy days to sunshine. I grew used to walking across the site to use the facilities, leaving Saffy to wander freely, occupied hunting mice. Every time I returned, she would be waiting for me without a mouse.
Adjusting to brick walls and a door.
Our homelessness ended when I was offered a flat in a small countryside village on a main road. On the day we moved in, Saffy slipped out of her harness during our walk around the communal garden and never wore it again.
While I wouldn’t want to be homeless again, I found myself missing the simplicity of life in the tent. It changed what I thought home was.
I realised that home is within me, not a location or a building.
Where is home to you: a place, a person, or a feeling?
By Karen Bashford
Bio: Karen Bashford is a mentor, speaker, author, and healer specialising in supporting women through profound personal change following trauma and life disruption. Drawing on her own lived experience of breakdown, illness, homelessness, and rebuilding her life from uncertainty, she works with women who feel trapped in repeating cycles and are ready to reclaim their direction, confidence, and sense of self.
