Maybe not, but sure feels like it; and a lot more.
I need to check on the entertainer cat by the fried chicken outlet, so I drag my hurting ankle one more time, so I think, made a quick check, and go home.
A swollen ankle should be OK within few days, though some sore feeling might linger, but mine hasn’t got the time to heal because I just keep walking and keep standing the whole day, at work and everywhere else cat related.
Hence the plan. In a skillet hot Sunday like that, it’s a good plan.
The entertainer kitty (and some more) checked and cared for, it’s time for the next step: walk a little bit further to find a ride home.
What I found, was a grisly looking cat running out of her mind, being chased by traditional tricycle rider.
Of course he found me standing on his way.
“What! this is public road, I have the right to use it as I like, and if that cat doesn’t want to be run over, walk to the side!”
“Well, this is a pedestrian, dude. I have the right to use it as I like and if you don’t want me to scream thief at you, go back to your own lane”
There sure will be some altercation because men here won’t like to lose from a woman, and especially of minority, but I have got no time for him. I need to chase this grisly looking cat to see if she is all right.
That and, my ankle is hurting like crazy.
It didn’t take me long to find her. She was practically running haphazardly to whatever direction until she hit something, otherwise she just keep running.
I let her hit my leg, and as she gasp for air, I took a pouch of Whiskas so she won’t be running elsewhere.
She has thick scabies from the tip of her nose to the end of her tail. So thick she looked like storm trooper and even walk like one.
She can’t see because the mange crusts over her eyelid.
I didn’t have my backpack carrier with me because it wasn’t suppose to take too much of a stroll, I wasn’t going anywhere with an excruciating ankle, but I can’t leave her there.
I couldn’t leave her there like that either.
I took my jacket off and wrapped her, took her in my arms, and started walking. She struggled at first; I can only count on my good will to vibrate itself through as I muster all my strength to carry her all the way to the other end of the market, two miles away, and into that pet shop around the area where I buy my litter sand.
Surely I tried, but no one wanted to give me a ride when they looked at the demon-like creature in my arm.
So I just keep walking. My ankle was screaming harder and harder and it’s getting more and more difficult to walk, but if I stop even for one second, I won’t be able to walk anymore so I just keep walking.
The pet supplies attendant stood aghast when I popped into his desk, with sweat and winces.
I asked him if he has a box that fit her, and he rushed to the other end of the room.
“Poor thing looked like a demon”
I know, though the real demon is my ankle.
I called for an online ride, and it wasn’t too much of a riot, because the other demon sat quietly inside a cat food box. My ankle is still screaming, and I can’t stand the whole day.
It’s as big as grapefruit when I finally tend to it, and I’d be swearing if I can’t work because of it at this time when fundraising failed and our lives are precarious.
Just as precarious as her, perhaps. If she is not treated immediately, the mange will eventually enter her system and it will be slow, painful death for her.
But even if she receive treatment and is getting better, it probably won’t be long, much less complete. We do not have much left. On Thursday, we only raised USD 45 out of USD 600 needed to stay alive. Hope is ridiculous.
Still a man got to do, what he got to do. If she is the last one who would feel the touch of Whiskers’ Syndicate, then, let her be the prelude of our end.
It’s just too bad that I won’t be able to see her original beauty.