Between rock and hard places is probably not the correct way to say it, but it both signified that we're in a pinch, and we're in a pinch. Or should I say, we're off the skillet right down to the stove?
Hmmm... not sure that's the good way to say either.
So, let me tell you the story, you help me decide. Like usual, listen to me babbling with a cup of coffee, or chocolate, or juice, or tea, whatever makes you comfortable.
This guy in the photo has been staying with us forever. I mean, I didn't remember. He joined us when he was smaller, maybe four months old. He is a ghost.
Seriously. He never plays with others, he never fights, he never scratch, he never claw, I have never seen him running around, I have never seen him merry making, or sleep with abandon like the other play-mirth in the sanctuary.
He doesn't have a name. He never had a home, he didn't knew what family is.
But he's always around. I've seen him walking from end to end in search of a new place to just snuggle and sleep among his peers. I've seen him drinking from the bucket of fresh water that is always available for everyone. I've seen him using his litter box, I've seen him sitting under our lemon tree, I've seen him march with everyone when they paraded me and my cat food bucket for breakfast or dinner.
I've seen him perched on top of the table, right there by my side as I pour down ration into bowl after bowl; but unless you specifically look for him, or not aware that we do have him, chances are, you won't even realize he exist; even after you come and visit us several times. Trust me, that happens with all our guests except for one.
I knew that one of his eyes is like that because of Chlamydia, most likely. That's the most common sickness found on street cats around here; the whole town actually.
I knew that, if only he'd gone worse then, he might lost that eye, but he went to The Whiskers' Syndicat soon enough for treatment, and we managed to pull together.
I knew that that eye isn't doing him any good; that he probably couldn't see with it anyway, but he doesn't seem to be in pain, he doesn't seem to be bothered, he eats well, he sleeps OK, and in some cases, that kind of eye got better, very slowly, but the chance is there.
However, I've noticed that it got bigger. not overnight, not over a week, longer than that, but it got bigger; and he is thinner, and he often sit there with his tongue out and drool dropping. And he started to eat less. Unfortunately I never have enough money to get him all the test needed to decide, so I did the painful inevitable: stay alert.
Now, here's the catch: you make a crack on the wall.
Over this past two weeks, people come see us in droves and we are finally able to get our debt paid. Not really, we still have credit on the cat food, but it's manageable. This week, our matching challenge have been met and everybody is saved.
So I am going to do my leap of faith, being ungrateful for what we are given, and ask you to help me help our ghost over these few days left of the week.
I am going to take him to the clinic today, with Donna, and see the chances. I've told the vets that I might not have enough money to cover all the test, or might. The vets have cleared their schedule regardless, just in case the examination verdicts that that eye has to be removed before it burst inside and infected the rest of his head. (eyeballs are all water and you know that eye won't contain anything good)
Meanwhile, I am counting on you. I'll go out there to the front line battling for his life with the vets, but please help us with the ammunition. I'll go out there negotiate with death to overturn his threat and give him a good life, a few more healthy and happy years with us at least, but please help us with the ransom.
And a name, yes. I can't call him "ch ch ch kitty kitty" forever. He deserves a good name, but only if he lives long enough to remember he's now part of the family.