Whereas kittens her age play and cuddle with their siblings, she has none.
Whereas others run to their mother’s purr, she has none.
Whereas her peers enjoys the nurturing love from their mother’s milk, she ate what she could, whenever she could, wherever it was from.
And Whereas her fellows has a home, the sky is her limit, although it’s too big for her little feet, that roams on rocky roadside and sore of hot asphalt.
She had missed a gamble with death, and lost one of her eyes while the other one left is crossed; but then came another devil eating her intestines away.
And came the hand of God; who took her onto his chariot and took her so far, she can no longer smell home.
She was kicked away from that moving motorcycle, flew, and crash land on the dirt road by the market.
It was Sheilla who stopped her motorcycle in the middle, picked her up, and bring her along the many chores she went by.
There was nothing else she can do but cry, there was nothing else to do but cry. Life has many travails, and it all crammed onto her in a speed no one can fathom, let alone two months old kitten.
Whereas all other kittens in our home gathers, she sets herself apart.
Whereas all other kittens in our home play, she withdraws and hides in the corner.
Whereas all other kittens cuddles, she curls herself and braces against the cold.
Whereas all other kittens eat a full plate, she couldn’t take anything without pooping them back out.
Whereas all other kittens run a mile, she couldn’t reach a drinking bowl without trailing foul drips behind her.
Whereas all other kittens live in peace, she has many to swallow against her will.
But eventually, whereas all the other kittens go, she go.
Whereas all the other kittens eat, she eats, sometimes more.
Whereas all the other kittens cuddles, she stays. Sometimes just briefly, sometimes longer, but the little mat by the bathroom door is now often empty.
Day after day, whereas all other kittens has licks, and cuddles, and pats from our mother cats, she has one too.
Whereas one of us pick her up and carry her around, she learns to settle.
She learns to roam around, runs around, and finally, climbs around; jumps around.
She learns that her rear is not in pain, as it should be.
She learns that her fur is soft, as it should be.
She learns that her meow is joyful, as it should be.
She learns that life should have love, as it should be.
She learns that, all kittens have their own name, as it should be, and hers is
Then, whereas other kittens responds to each of theirs, she too responds to her; first with a silent look, second, with a waving tail, third and foremost, with a run toward the open embrace.
Whereas Anya is now safe; every day, there are hundreds and more kittens suffers what she had been suffering, maybe even worse. In a breeder capital where 99% of its residents (including the vets) are backyard breeder, two women trying to do their utmost means nothing in the sea of desperate pleas.
But whereas saving one cat does not change the world, it changes the world for Anya, and ninety six other cats under our care. Most of them have disabilities that prevent them from living freely and independently as they should be. Whereas our several dozens of TNR cats means nothing in the sea of strays and feral that blows in number all year long, helping one more have a better future means preventing millions from having to be born only to experience the pain and deaths of their ancestors.
Whereas we do not have the capability of saving them all, we have the capability to reach out, both into our hearts and toward others, in giving voice to these cats’ otherwise silenced pleas.
Here is our voice, let the rest hear yours.