It was dark and it was cold, but there was nothing the two can do. Holding each other in fear, holding each other to the thinning heartbeat, holding each other through the cold night, and the hot day, or windy through and through.
And then the door cracked, but there was nothing the two can do. Holding each other with round, fearful eyes, yet hopeful look.
I extended my hand, swift and stealthy. First the small, then the other. They are powerless; they are limp in my grasp, they are silent in my jacket.
I stood up and didn’t look back. I went down two steps on my toes, the road was empty, it was one hour into the new day, and I ran like the shadows of the leaves blown by the wind.
It was like, the trees crouched and bent their fingers to cover me in the dark; it was like, as soon as Sheilla turn on her motorbike engine, the gust of wind hush our presence, long enough until we were far gone.
We are decent persons, but we are thieves. I am; she is just an accomplice.
She is complicit when I told her about three kittens, all looking alike. Long hair,cute appearance. Like stars falling into the sky, their stray mother gave birth on the porch of that man, and he scooped them in, raising them with as little capital as possible, so he can sell them after a few months.
After a week of bad weather, only one left. Scrawny, emaciated, sick, and dying. We no longer see his mother, we never more see his siblings.
For three nights we saw him alone, in a bedraggled cage, with broken espresso cup filled with water, and a can of dirt-cheap dry food in a biscuit can taller than twice his height.
On the open porch where he was born.
There was a part of us telling us firmly that if it is inside the property of others, it belongs to others. There is no animal welfare law in this town, there is none in this country.
But there were more part of us tugged and wrecked by his pitiful slow death.
And he was only two months old.
I stole him, and the other kitten locked with him whom we never know before, but couldn’t, wouldn’t left behind.
If I can burn myself from within, I will. If my drip of blood can quench them, I will cut myself open. There were nothing left of the two, and I fear they would end by the time we reach home.
We wrapped them in many layers of blankets, we give them warm milk and warm food, we made everyone jealous. We bathed them in the morning and that warm mountain water turned black. Deep black.
And every time our eyes meet, I told them: You are safe now, we love you.
They love us back.
And every time our way crosses, they look at us, and there will be pats on the back and a rub on their head. There will be cradle and coo, there will be kisses, and they will stand on our shoulder, cheek to cheek.
The girl is Dika (dee-cca, from Dilute Calico), and the boy is Toby.
Every morning when we pass that road where we stole them, we cannot help but peek. The cage where they kept was discarded, and the can of cat food kicked all over.
Sometimes the man who lives in that unkempt small house sees us; and we see him back, but he would never know, or if he does, sorry not sorry.
The start of their mobster life is like a movie.
Together, let’s end their lives like a fairy tale.
And they live happily ever after.
How it is possible to provide for a cat with cancer, a cat with concussion, a cat with liver disease, a cat recovering from fading syndrome, and now helping two kittens regain their lives? Until August 5th all donations made to The Whiskers’ Syndicate will be doubled. No limit, no “up to” Each and all that you shower toward these babies will be doubled.
That is how we change their impossible lives into I’m possible living. You can make it happen here: