It’s still raining. It’s been cold for the rest of the day; it’s been wet for three days and counting.
There are many prayers. Of gratitude that storm is over, of relief that the river did not run over us just like few months past, of anger that some cannot work, of the jamming traffic, of the flood on the road as result of people’s own ignorance, but none like ours.
We cannot hope that the rain will stop, because we could not interfere with the force of nature. We cannot hope that the sun will come, because our farmers need it to grow our rice, we cannot hope the weather to be nice all the time, because the storm and rainbow will restore our forests, ravaged and then abandoned. We need them to protect us from landslide.
We know we took so much. Of a decade of our service, this year’s kitty season is the worst. Within the first month of monsoon, we took in sixty seven kittens, while we only have the capacity to host twenty.
We know we ask for trouble, we know we are calling for outbreak, still we cannot walk past them on the street, where they can only look at us, with no longer the strength to sent out a meow.
People said, what does not kill us, make us stronger.
Maybe yes, maybe no.
Through the storm, we stand vigil like no other. Giving medicine, nursing the sick, caring for the elderlies, nurturing the babies.
We lost some, but those whom the storm did not kill, are getting stronger.
When the sun comes out for the first time, this morning, we lost everything in our saving, and our medicine cabinet is empty.
But out of sixty eight kittens, some with genetic deformities and incurable disease, we lost twenty.
There was this video I watched, of a woman director of a humane society who failed to save all of her charges during outbreak.
We cannot save everyone, but for each we cannot save, we help many more.