Looking at how Lucky goes now, the backstory that led him to joining Whiskers’ Syndicate will be beyond the wildest imagination.
He was six weeks old when someone dump him and his sibling at the market; and I was with fourteen pounds of steamed tuna for our buddies at home when a lady from whom I used to buy fresh mackerel came shouting at me.
She was barely audible, except for her racing breaths, let alone comprehensible, but I saw it as it happened, when I looked in the direction where she pointed with her other hand.
A red car drove slowly through the dense traffic among stalls and booths, and many of its people. Two kittens were trying to cross the street, and many of those people were screaming and flailing their hands trying to warn the car of the incoming disaster.
It’s not a fancy car, though it’s red, but it seems fancy enough for the owner to ignore the whole world and crushed one of the kitten, with some spattering red to the clothing of screaming women who watched in horror.
It’s driver is not ugly, but he is ugly enough to ignore numerous people who ran after him and his car, cursing and demanding responsibilities.
While he has to stop and deal with the angry mob, I put my tuna aside and crawled guerrilla-style under his car.
One of the two kittens was lucky enough to be in between the two wheels, one of which spatter his sibling’s blood and remains to one of his sides.
I brought him home, and we call him Lucky.
He was quiet for two days, but then, started to shine back through. He is one heck of a happy-go-lucky cat, and he eats so much, we soon changed his tagline to Lucky go round.
If anything startles him, he’d jump, petrified, then darts around insanely and crash everything on his way when he hears motorized equipment: motorcycle, water pump, washer, grinder, blender, anything the like.
For those we can only bear the pain when he claws us or bite us as we reach our hand to hold him and run him away to calmer places. It’s really nothing compared to his bad memories of having to watch his sibling blown up into pieces just a mere inch away.
For all of those we can only hope one day he will find peace, and joy, and happiness. We can only hope he will realize that he is now safe, and loved
Though for all of our hopes, he seems to know how lucky he is, and so, he lives to the fullest.
Every day, there is a new adventure. Wrestling with the big guys, eating new things, climbing to the kitchen counter and setting a bad example for all that comes after him (and gives us a lot of trouble), scaling doors, running laps around the house, running laps around the cattery, playing with the chase ball toy the whole night, stealing raw chicken breast, running across a hot stove, and jumping onto our shoulders whenever we squatted for whatever the reason.
He was gravely ill with respiratory infection last month, but even when his tongue was full of sores, he ate like a king kong. He climbs like a sloth then, but he climbs none the less, he stayed in the nebulizer basket and breathe all the medicines. He made a recovery and once again lived for two.
He treats everyone as his sibling: big, small, old and young.
And when we hold him in our arms he will wrap his short little leg as if holding us by both our shoulders and lean his cheek as if he has always been ours.
With each day comes new adventures, and one more step toward the day when Lucky can finally put his past hauntings behind him and see the brighter future.
We took many inspirations from his motivation and spirit, and we hope that in return we can provide Lucky with the best of life he always love.
Join us and give Lucky his happy (go lucky) days:paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate