Every time I felt the light of new sunrise, from the floor of my studio, where I slept for a week on the cold floor of my studio, I felt the hand of the universe. Here comes the new day: on my left hand, a hope, on my right hand, a chance.

But what is on your face, universe?

I wouldn’t know. The sun is bright and blinding.

I can only see Souffle. That’s how my new Syndicate call him, or Pancake, as Christine Alice would name him. Either is a fit because he likes the Japanese Pancake Souffle, a new trend that swept into homes and breakfast, just like it washed into mine. It’s soft like Souffle, it’s filling like Pancake, and a breeze to make when the pang of reality kicks in as we brace through the day.

He always curls up on the pile of my pillow, soon should also go, on the thinning sheet of my bed comforter, which has no comfort left on it’s ripped and worn out quilt. He always sulks when the sun comes because it means he will lose the neck that he loves so much to curl up against, lest he will cry his fears and vulnerability all night long.

But outside of this room that now provide you a home, dear child, is another kitten just a little bigger than you are, slowly winding to his end. He came before you and his name is Carol that brings joy of the season of giving and hope and joy. He is waiting to see me. Unlike you, he did not have my neck through the night. He will have the most comfortable bedding, and blankets, and my jacket; while you have none but worn out place mat.

But outside of this room that now provide you a home, dear child, is a future in the making that I will have to provide as soon as possible, before the rest of its danger find its way from behind that closed door.

Outside of this room is the challenge that I have to deal with and conquer as fast as my decrepit hands and my tired legs may move, because every second spent elsewhere, death is looming closer. The window is small, but if we slim up and run fast enough, we can go through and perhaps survive.

And outside of this room, I finally collected large bag after bag of the poison that I scraped off the wall and floor for you, so that you can grow into healthier, stronger Pancake.

When all is scraped and done, comes the fun part. A little runaway every time the pain of watching my soon-gone Carol will join all his brothers and sisters who passed before him. Sometimes I hoped his growing FIP will come take him quickly and painlessly, but most of the time its bite sinks to me painful and slow, as I remembered all the days that counted near last Christmas to near this Christmas that I spent nursing him and he spent growing up.

First the wall; though dark and brooding, it is slowly filled with spatter that will remind me of the foaming ocean. The ocean I always missed, the foam into which the little mermaid turn to at the dawning of her fate.

Then the floor, wooden and laminate, to stop the cold from stinging my bare footed stand.

And through all the bustle in this tiny house, Panda invented herself a cat tree and climbing through the unassembled bed; although it’s Grizzabella who claimed its peak.

Beardie had never lost her spot, on the box of a new mattress that I dared not touch before time. It’s a spring bed, but it had been packed in the last technology that suck all the air and flattened it as thin as duvet. As with all that is vacuumed, though once the air slipped through, it will popped like a bomb and fill the whole living room.

Oh, when that happened, who is the kind Lilliput who will help me carry it into its new, permanent home?

I saved the amusement for the last. I need to dry mop and suck all the dust away; I need to install the bed while the old chap who looked just as handsome with his stitches on his cheek watched all the magic unfold that he never saw through his lives on the street.

Soon, he will be back on that street, though a little bit different. He will have a place where he can rest from rain, from heat, from night, from wind, from all that steals all his years from him. He will not have a permanent home, he will not be indoor, but he will have as much food as he needs, as much fresh water to quench his thirst after all adventures, as much care and love as his new caretaker willingly affords.

After a week, that cold, damp room where walls will no longer stay white, is now a small room, so small it can only host a bed and a little cabinet with two tiny drawers, and no more. So plain it only can offer a restful sleep, even just a few hours, but a restful sleep for a tired legs or few worn out paws can make a difference.

After a week, the labor completed, and the little joy that I will gladly share with everyone, with you, shall be in place.

After a week, we shall see whether the trust with which I entrusted our lives to you will be returned, or should I just sling my bag out of the door, so I can provide what I have lost through all my labor.

~ Josie

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Josie And The Whiskers' Syndicate

The first and only cat refuge in Bandung (West Java - Indonesia) a capital breeder of a nation without animal welfare law. We care for Bandung's unwanted animals, operate a TNR as much as our budget allows, and continue to educate people about compassion to animals

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