For months now, after I first saw Elinor and Merida, I have visited her place every day.
For months now, knowing what I did, a woman who sold oxtail soup had tried to have me clean that place up by taking all the cats away, especially Elinor, citing that she “claw an innocent child to a bloody finger”
No feral cat claw a child for no reason. Cats are not as obnoxious and idiotic as human.
I explained to her what feral cat means, and that getting them is not as easy as sweeping dust away from her little less-than-crowded stall, but I didn’t hope much. It’s hard enough explaining to common people, and she didn’t like cats to begin with.
Soon I learned to show up at the other side of the restaurant so I won’t be bugging anyone, and the young crowd there who gather around their vape and apparel shops accept cats better.
I understand that the primary reason cats are not accepted there is because it’s a restaurant. It’s not quite a great idea to have stray and feral cats beg to visitors; it’s not helping their status. So I am trying to help by keeping the cats full and stay outside, by setting up two bowls outside, at the furthest, dead corner of the restaurant.
Every day, a guy there, sometimes a driver, sometimes security, sometimes cleaning service, would chase me and say in various tone “take the cat away”
I took it in a friendly manner once, but then his incessant bugging got me, and I start ignoring him. An intern at the apparel shop told me that he often sack cats who went there and dump them away, but the kids there do nothing because the premise is not theirs, the shop belongs to their friend, and because the cat belongs to no one, although she claimed that they love the cats just as much.
One day after Ramadhan holiday, I found the bowl moved to the street. I figured soon enough that the shopkeeper who fed the cats and leave water in front of his shop got a reprimand from his cat hating boss, and like others, it doesn’t worth standing up for, and he needs his job.
Those cats are feral anyway, stray cats at best. Even in the best part of the world people kill them for no reason at all and they are hated everywhere. Even in the best part of the world, their caretaker got harassed, intimidated, and abused just like the non human people they try to care for, so I keep my mouth shut, and endure on my own.
Every day when I come, I found the two bowls moved to the street.
Every day, I move it back to the road side; a pedestrian that somehow was shifted into parking lot by the restaurant and claimed as theirs, though the place is definitely outside their fences.
All of a sudden, none of the young crowd who were usually friendly to me talked to me anymore. All of a sudden when I come they would turn their faces away, though guilt was raw on their face.
All of a sudden those cat slandering oxtail soup woman, the cat hating bike shop guy overcome the owner of the premise and have that security cum driver cum cleaning service guy come approach me one day, last month, when I was eating, that I should just go out and eat outside.
I took a spoon of rice and drop it on his feet with a smile across my face, and walk out.
A few days later the cat hating bike shop owner saw me outside the fence feeding the cats and he screamed his sissy lung out calling his employee that he should join them eating outside. While he was screaming (not shouting) he peered at me.
His cat loving employee felt ill at ease, and stall moving, I pulled out an imported swiss chocolate Sibylle sent me and enjoy it in front of everyone.
They all ended up eating inside, boasting and laughing, with face full of defeat.
I don’t dress as fancy as them, and I am not as rich either, but that doesn’t make me any less from them.
The next day it’s another trick, and I still manage to pull out imported food never found in Indonesia, sent by Christine.
The next day, another trick, and another, and another.
One day I showed up with full make up, salon hair do, and Uniqlo head to toe. Uniqlo is still elite here in Bandung. I got them because I worked for them and I opt for their clothing instead of money. I arranged for an acquaintance I helped before to drop me off his Mercedes, and those cat hating showoff disappeared. The security cum driver cum cleaning service dropped his jaw and stayed away from me since.
They never know I am a psychologist, and I have been living in psy war every day against various kind of thugs from one end of town to the other.
I didn’t ask much, really, I just want the cats left alone.
Two days ago, someone ran over the food bowl I left for them. I knew the henchmen watched me from the other corner, and they saw me pulled out a new pair of bowl to replace the broken one.
Last night the bowl was gone.
Of course I replace them as well, but I knew it then I had to do something. People like them hate to lose, and when they are out of their wit, they would lash it out to the cats. Their wits are very short by the way.
Still losing my Etsy shop, which cut my income by 20%, losing Adaggio out of procrastinating vet, losing Tiger and the mangled black kitten from virus, and the customs mess that I had to handle while still munching all of the above blew my anger up to the sky as I swear to God for hitting me non stop like some sort of Pinata.
The cats did nothing. They never even poo in the yard. They just lay there sunbathing in an empty parking lot and they never took anything from those people’s table. Cats didn’t dirty their clothing and cats never even get near them. They just sleep on the door mat and when someone walk near they would wake up and go away without prompting. Cats didn’t take their money and cats didn’t sit on their table eating, boasting empty achievements with smug face.
Cats eat on the street, in open air, with dust, bacteria, dirt and whatever left by the sole of their shoes. Cats drink from the sewer, cats didn’t bother.
And God promised all His creature protection, but still push them further into the ravine.
So I came home with mottled heart.
It won’t be good dry food and fresh water anymore, it won’t be the privilege of a food station anymore. There won’t be food in the morning anymore, and there will be risk that the cats will go back to the restaurant begging from patron to patron, but begging from patron to patron will get them kicks or bones. It’s better than have someone put poison in their ration. I can’t be there all day.
But it will still be me showing from another side yet, and get the cats to get used to wait for me there. It will be me with paper plates and whiskas pouch again, feeding them further from their premises, and then slowly, pull them away further and further. It takes time, and anything can happen, but I promised death I will keep coming back and get as much lives of these little non human people and wrangled them back from bad fate and I am keeping my promise.
Their small yet cocky mind will think they win, but it takes the working of a functional brain, heart with compassion and a large dose of courage to train the whole colony of feral cats and bring them to safety without killing them, dumping them or strangling them, and they wouldn’t even think of it in a thousand year.
You go low people, I go high.