Two weeks.

And we lay here, flat on our back against our bed, two a.m. in the morning. Our minds were burned, our bodies were beaten, but our eyes were open.

Just a few steps away behind that broken door, the dust of our war had started to settle. Every morning break to the next dawn we had wielded our swords and rolled up our heart up our sleeves.

Some of the cheerful calls we heard every morning, had turned silent. A part of the merry making that made our day had moved on. Those that stayed in our journey to Canaan, had long called it a day. Their fight is almost over, but a thousand miles walked one step after another takes a little bit of time.

We wouldn’t call it a victory, so we won’t feast over our winnings and got lost even in one day we were told we deserve.

We wouldn’t call it a loss either; and the war is even still far from over, so we wouldn’t call our retirement, and break down over memories on the lane.

Our next battle, starts with this little kitten. Eight weeks old.

Born sightless, among other deformities, she can only rely on fate when she was dumped motherless by the bin on the open, right next to a quiet road, on which any car wouldn’t slow down.

A young woman contacted us on her behalf. Though her stories were all inconsistent, we went still to the other end of town, because she is the reason of our existence, and the purpose of our lives.

Most of all, because she is worth it.

So even comes the day when we thought all hope were gone, we look at her, who followed us all her best through her ears, though tripped over her uneven length legs, and our faith will born anew.

So even comes the day when we are just about to call it quits, when we thought there were nothing left of us, we look at her, who hunt for food we put on the floor through her tiny nose, though bumped and rolled on terrain unknown, and full of alien.

So even comes the day when we thought we failed, we called upon her name: Florence. Beautiful inside and out as the Nightingale.

Then, our spirit burned anew.

And our journey of a thousand miles continue.

~ Josie

We are small and insignificant. We do not have fancy facilities, we do not have admins or customer service. We have not been in shows. There are only two of us caring for ninety cats, and many more we keep on the street. Every dime of your contributions goes to their care.

Of all who comes to our care, we have lost many; but we do our best to give them a chance.

If you find it in your heart to help us help them, join us. We appreciate all your donations and shares.


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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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