O come, girl, be faithful, joyful and triumphant!
It’s not that parking lot, cold and dark, any more. It’s not the hot machine of that fancy car any longer.
O come ye, come ye already to our home. It’s not a castle, it’s not a dungeon, but all of us here, behold with love and adore.
Yea, girl, I got thee; abandoned, trapped and scared and screamy. It was dark outside here, and you have no one for company, but I heard you, and I am coming back to that security. I am asking if he can crack the gate for me, to the parking lot of that fancy building behind you, where people we elect deck their halls with our money.
I was filthy. I was smelly. I haven’t had a bath for three days, my bathroom is in mess. I wore only T shirt, and discolored jeans, dirty flip flops and dust on my knee.
But I am coming, wait for me.
I opened a pouch of Whiskas, and pour it down onto a paper plate, push it a little bit under the car, hoping she will jump down by herself, and safe and happy; but there were no more cries. So half an hour later, I was on my way walking out to the building that is supposed to represent the commoner like me, when she was again crying.
And I found where she was hiding.
“Come and behold her”, I told the security, “She is stuck between that Henderson gate.”
The security won’t buy me. Though I cleared all the distance away from him he won’t turn his back on me.
“If I intended to trick you or to kill you anyhow, you would have been dead half an hour ago”.
He moved one step forward, but then doubted again, and look at me.The kitten cry again, the answer of my honesty.
Another security came from inside the building and asked me what was going on.
“A kitten got stuck between this Henderson gate”, I told him. “There, at the corner”.
Him too, doubted to peek between the glass door and the Henderson.
And the kitten cried again, answering for me.
He was about to push the Henderson open, but I won’t let him.
“If you open it you will squash the kitten to death. Are your brain so cloudy with prejudice, you become an idiot?”
No woman called a man idiot in Bandung. Local guys have mountains of pride more on their cocks instead of their brains.
“Take that broom and knock on the glass beside her. And then you use your handcuffs, or staff, or your booted leg over there to knock on the Henderson”.
For some reason they listened, though they kept their eyes on me, squatting in the middle with my hand between the glass door and the Henderson.
With every bang the cry just soar louder; and louder, and louder. She has nowhere to go. It’s a dead end ahead, and me on the other side.
She looked at me straight in the eye. She has no choice.
One hard bang from the metal wall next to her and she ran straight through me, but I got her in my arms.
She bit and scratched, but I am not letting her go.
As I turned to my bag and wrap her in my rain coat, because my jacket was dusted with cement, I heard the security from the inside whispered to his peer, “What a pity, it’s good cat, we an sell her.”
The other officer asked me “Are you going to take her home?”
I looked at him straight in the eye, and I can see it in his face that he saw by determination only, I have already defeated him.
“Yes, I bring her home”
I walked out and thank him for cracking the gate open for me. “Next time you see a raggedy girl, please remember I pay my taxes so those people up there who called themselves “citizen representative” can make you their dog.”
I put her in my studio, which temporarily looked like the Titanic when I throw things inside at the start of the renovation. I hope a room for her own will calm her down, and give her peace; but she burrowed into the piles of stuffs and made herself a guerrilla warlord.
In the mornings, when I was busy with the builders, between my rushed mornings and tired evenings, I would slip inside with a plate of warm food, and soft spoken words. I don’t have such a fancy building worth one hundred billion, I don’t have marble tiles down. I only have little dusty feet, and my house is not even paid in full.
She would come to me then, take my offer and disappear, but after three days, she let Bandit join and welcomed all others who slipped in and welcoming sniff.
She still stays in her guerrilla fort, and she is still there today, but she let me touch her, on her own terms, and she sat still when I talked to her.
I guess it will take a little bit more time. When she is ready, she will follow me to her new home.
Maybe then, we shall see the eternal splendor, of the second chance that was given to her by the heavens. Veiled in this humble abode.
And may long the days will be, when she is loved and supported, by those who appreciate her little life, and those who come to adore her.
This post is adapted from and using part of “O Come, All Ye Faithful” (originally written in Latin as Adeste Fideles); a Christmas carol which has been attributed to various authors, including John Francis Wade (1711–1786), John Reading (1645–1692) and King John IV of Portugal (1604–1656), with the earliest manuscript of the hymn bearing his name, located in the library of the Ducal Palace of Vila Viçosa.