There is this story about Domino and Tashi that raised my sister Lori from the dead and back into rescue;
Such a profound day that was. Tashi, who shouldn’t have made it due to his back injury, had a number of good years including a loving home, and a little kitten who had nothing wrong with her, who should have had years, was starved to death (by the owner).
And not so far beyond, the story about three little kittens who were abandoned by the front door of the clinic where she volunteered, and one of the three kittens managed to go into the drain pipe, and required massive troops of firefighters and volunteers, working non stop under crazy rain.
Just at the end of the chaos, a young woman holding a kitten at the corner, because her mother will not allow her to bring the kitty in, and she was just out of options, driving from rescue to rescue, seeking one that will take the baby in.
The three of the kittens, with all the spectacular, made it through the rain, the one with lonesome weeps and silent cries didn’t made it to life.
All of those fanfare in rescue will just be a dream where I live, and that little girl in the corner, with broken heart and despair and desolation, will be me in all days.
I have always choose life. Whether it’s a bunch of kittens thrown deep into the forest, or those abandoned at my door. Whether their rescues requires such (one man show) of fanfare or a silent cry in the corner, in a dying hope.
The verdict, however, was and will never be mine. Sometimes help comes too late, sometimes even never. Sometimes there is no help available, sometimes everything is in hand, yet the means is not there. Sometimes the slightest effort brought me such massive lending of time, chance and courage I desperately need, sometimes my loudest of begs and questions did not return a single click.
All that I know is I try my best.
In the days I was supposed to retire, Lori had said, that I have no way of breaking away from rescue.
I have taken in four kittens, two with advanced stage of Calicivirus, and two others with surprise attack of Panleukopenia. One other kitten who joined us at later date had Coccidiosis and Chlamydia. One supposedly carrying cat, who turned out to have nothing but grapes of malforming pregnancy, and one case of a stray kitty, who got stuck in a fence and, in her effort to break free, twisted her leg and torn all her ligaments. So much so, she can turn her leg 180 degrees to either side.
Even with all the experiences, all the help, all the fanfare, none of the kittens made it through, and I can only sat by their cold bodies, tears streaming through my cheek, in silence, every morning. It is how I start my day through my supposed vacation. Mourning one more loss that the world will never know to exist.
The lady kitty with malformed pregnancy recovered, the yellow kitten I had rescued from car engine survived, and the other who twisted her leg and torn all her ligaments awaiting surgery.
Still I choose life. When it bangs and kicks my worn out door or knock gently into my home.
Whether it comes to a bitter end or a sweeter new beginning.
All I know is I try my best, I do my best, I care my best, love my best.
All I know is I hope my best, I pray my best, walk my best.
And all I know, is that whatever verdict is delivered to all the effort, brings only the best.
The best of people who walk with me through the tunnel of darkness. The best of donors who gives big or small, the best of advises, the best of support, the best result; whether it was the freedom from pain in heaven at the cost of my tears and heart broke open, or health and hope on earth that needs fund to cover.
I choose life, and the best love can offer.