I put down the dish I was holding in my hand, and soapy sponge in the other; open the door and walked across the cattery in what could be the quietest walk in the universe.
It’s not like a reeling; it’s not panic either. Just dead silence around me. Just dead silence inside.
When I stepped into what is now the cat’s playroom, Susan showed me the litter box she was holding.
It was all blood and it was thick.
“It came from this crate but I don’t know which one of them has it”
Between Sassy, who walked around the cage asking for food, and Blossom, who crouched on the platform, looking at us, my heart point its finger.
“I think it’s Blossom” Usually she will be just as busy as Sassy when someone come near her cage.
I went back to the house and called my vet. I walked outside so I have a good signal, and I made sure to explain to the nearest exact of how the stool looked like. What seemed to be, is the authority of the vet.
She said she will be coming at night to pick her up. She came at ten.
I told her about Blossom, who came to join us around Easter, four years ago. She survived Chlamydia outbreak at the cost of one eye, who turned cloudy and never cleared out like it supposed to. She was three months old then.
Alongside her was our ugly Prince, then still crusty and scaly. I have several cats I would like to send too, actually, for spaying, one of them is Bandit, the other is Nellie; but donation was not very good then, and I didn’t know how much it will cost so I want to be careful.
A few days and my vet texted me “Have she been spayed? Did you know how the spaying goes?”
I told her that Blossom are one of a dozen female spayed only halfway by the previous vet, the one who has particular obsession about hormones and practice new age veterinary technique. I told her that because of that halfway spaying, Blossom is still coming to heat every month, and it probably contributed to her panicky behavior because she was one of the calmest, good tempered cats before.
She also sprays, at times; especially when she is in heat.
Honestly, I want to get it over with all this hormone balancing and the half assed spaying. It was a bad food at the bad time, but it just keep haunting me. One problem after another, and not only a row of females screaming their oestrus out every month for maybe the rest of their lives.
She stayed with the vet for over two weeks; and when she returned, the same day Susan left Bandung to go back to Australia, the diagnosis is longer than a soap opera TV series.
She has infection due to the unfinished spaying, the infection spread to her urinary tract, affected her gastrointestinal tract, and the discomfort caused by all those crawling infection changed her behavior.
Of course. If I have discomfort all over and no one understand what is going on after I scream it out in many different languages, I’d turn into a someone else myself.
Her treatment is just as long, and the cost appropriately follows.
I was charged USD 700 for her treatment only. Even food for the whole sanctuary for a week is less than that.
But then again, if there is such thing as third chance, then she deserve it. She has had her second chance when she survived Chlamydia at such tender age, it will be totally ridiculous if she died because a kinky vet did a brow crinkling spay.
Besides, she is the Blossom I used to know, four years ago. A gentle and kind kitten who meow less and sit on the lap more. A little wee soul who looked at me with hopeful, bead eyes.
The only difference is that now she is four years old woman, who walks gracefully, who sits on the side watching the world goes round in silence, though not the twinkle in her eyes.
The only difference is that now she no longer scream her heat out. She no longer sprays, and the best part it, she is no longer keen of slamming herself or scaling the wall like the movie Exorcists.
She no longer tried to climb the roof, and everybody loves her, just as should be. She no longer need to stay in the crate. She can join others, she eats with them, lounge with them, sleep with them.
For all of those, USD 700 is less than a fair price.
It’s just that, I was in the middle of trying to re-establish my business, so I can stay home more. So I have been reducing my side jobs to one or two smaller ones. It is precarious time for me because if donation drops, we’ll all be dead; there is no way around it.
And then comes USD 700 bill, which for us is about nine million Indonesia Rupiah. The sheer enormity of it whacked me square on the face and punch me straight on the gut.
There is no way around it either, and all the more reason that the fund raising cannot fail. We cannot miss another week reaching less than USD 600, because otherwise it will be impossible for me to catch up. If I defaulted, we will lose vet service for everyone. All the weekly fundraising is to pay for food, so if I take from that to pay for the vet, there will be no food for everyone.
Mortgage is due on 7th, so I cannot snitch on that either, like I always did before. If I take from that, there will be no roof for everyone.
Something, I forgot what, made me looked into the cats playroom two days ago.
There was Tuxedo Sam, the master licker; grooming Blossom.
Four years ago after that damned spay, I thought the chance of life that came with her recovery from potentially fatal disease was lost forever, but now, it’s more real than ever before.
I took a deep breath, and I took my phone.
And there lay my seven hundred Dollar woman.
You can help me keep Blossom’s charm and good luck longer by sponsoring her for USD 10 per month. Click here: