At the end of the muscle-wringing chase to replace our stolen money, I climbed the stairs with wire cutter on Friday to disassemble the mesh that has been protecting our cats from climbing out and right onto the pikes of glass shards and barbed wire.
It is already brittle so it doesn’t take more of any small bits of energy left in me after working two shifts back to back the whole week so I can pay for bills and food. Fundraising efforts are very much deserted when everyone goes for summer vacation, but the mesh is old style and it’s not coated; so it’s rusty and dangerous because every little bit is potentially infectious even when I put safety gloves.
For most, the hardest part is fighting against the urge to sleep, which I forgo so I can care for all the cats in the shelter beaten down by the freezing 50 F that cyclone Maria had blown us to demonstrate what Christmas in July would feels like. It certainly doesn’t evoke festivities though.
But all of those won’t be happening, because the young welder who learned to love cats after he worked on our laundry room (and Sierra sleeping on his motorbike) had asked for USD 300 to replace our 6 sqm (64.5 sq ft) window. In all honesty, I cannot make it; especially because it’s summer and fundraising is dead. I am at my limit. I can add more job, but it will mean abandoning the sick cats and bottle babies on their own because I will be working 20 hours a day.
I hated it so much to say it, but, que sera, sera. All I can do is remove all the steps and shelves that the cats like so much to climb, so they cannot, one magic trick or another daredevil trade, stab themselves on the mesh, or kill themselves on their landing. Some cats just hate me so much because they have only got those shelves for about four or five months, and now already lost it. Some protested by climbing to the roof and got stuck there until I am home to get all of them down. I don’t know if it’s better or not, but expecting the world to be fair because I have been playing fair is like asking a lion not to eat me because I don’t eat them.
On my way home from purchasing chicken for the cats food I came across the old man who sold me the secondhand steel rack that now stores the cats’ life support. He had recently acquired several panel of iron mesh panels where a supermarket nearby had used as a partition. I asked him how much he would sell those panels, because it’s sturdy and painted and in good condition, just dusty and dirty, and he asked for USD 60 for four panels, which will cover the whole window and a little bit more.
Recalculation of the window work, that would bring the total repair cost into USD 150, only half of what it should be. One day off work which means I lose chance to money for vet care through the weekend (bank close) but 90 cats life safe and secure.
Que sera, sera, and that curse again, “Have you read about Job, sweetie?” but that’s for another day.
Our young welder have just put the first panel in place, as of the writing of this post. Besides, I need to treat the many cuts and punctures on my hand before I got tetanus.
Sierra just gave me her death glare because she was all giddy on climbing his motorbike again, but with green snot down her nose that makes her looks a la Hercule Poirot, it’s hard luck I am going to let her out of the house in the cold, even when she keeps showing me her fat deposit on her center.
In sharing all that happened to a friend, comes that USD 125 caturday challenge. Unfortunately we only have small window (of time) to match, but the good news is, it only takes a dozen of good people with USD 10 and 50 cents to have it done by the end of the week.
It’s hard luck that we can match, really, but, if there is a will, there should be a way, or I hope so.