What was that voice? The third time I rose from my seat, after the third time I tried to write in vain. I walked about my studio and found nobody inside. I went out and checked everyone, and found each and every kitten inside.
When I sat back down and tried to bid my luck for my daily bread that day, one more time, the cry started over. The cry of a terrified baby, the cry of a lost child, the cry that pierced the sky.
That kind of cry would not attract attention, much less mercy. If it went on a little bit longer someone is going to lose their temper and spray water, if it’s not worse.
I rose one more time, and turned the other side, toward the front door. I climbed down the stairs and peeked through the fence.
The cry stopped, and then, started again.
The mother who fed her baby just by my fence said “The kitten is over there. Is it yours?”
I looked at her; I must be insane. There was nothing by the tidy rock arrangement that lined the sewer across the street.
“There”, she pointed to the empty point again. “Go and you will see. She just fell into the sewer. Someone just threw her into that empty lot”
That got me running. I don’t know how old is the kitten, but from the sound of it, it’s pretty small.
The sewer, however, it’s pretty big. The current is even bigger.
I saw her hanging on the sewer wall by her teeny weeny claw, but then that’s it. I went into the sewer and blocked her from being carried away with my feet, and scooped her up before she drowned.
I told the woman, who was still looking at me, and read her mind.
“This is not my kitten, but even though I didn’t see who did this, I call a curse on his filthy soul, and to everyone who didn’t do anything to help their lesser brethren while they have the power to do so.”
Her face changed.
“Not you” I said, but I left the ending of my statement for her to ponder.
She can stand and she can walk. She was a little bit limp and I can feel the pain that stung on both her hind and front legs when she walked.
She cannot eat yet. Her tiny fangs have yet to grow tall and strong, so she has to be nursed with kitty milk and a baby bottle.
In her full moments, she would walk from the front to the back; in her hungry moments, she would look for legs and sit close, with two round eyes looking straight into the heart.
In her business time, I learned she has tapeworm, but despite all the hassle, considering her age and weight, I gave her dewormer,
Certainly, between worm dead or she died, I choose worm died. You know, I am familiar with taking chances.
Sadly, there is nothing I can do with her two limping legs. She would have to decide whether she will heal or not. I can only help with healthy food, supplements, and a lot of love.
When she feels better, she would journey to the living room, far away for her small being, sniffing elder cats one after another.
She found comfort in the mama we picked up from the slum. Wherever her new mama goes, she goes.
Soon she can walk better. Then she learned to eat by herself. There is a requirement for a second dose of dewormer, but this time I decided to wait just a little bit longer, until she gain more weight.
Every morning I would find her by the door, looking up with her two round eyes, glistening from the sunlight in the morning.
Every night I would find her by the door, looking up with two round eyes, sending us her best wishes for a good night.
Miranda is her name. Little girl Miranda who was cast away in a “rotten carcass” of a boat to the ocean to die alongside her dad.
Miranda who bore the last name Prospero
Miranda who took her second chance in life.
Miranda who is seeking hope to live long and prosper.
In receiving care, Miranda took her chance for better life, but she has a long way to go. There are many years ahead of her, and no one knows the future.
However, throughout the week that will end on August 5th, today, comes our chance to make her wish come true. All donation, without limit, without “up to” will be doubled.
Would you find it in your heart to help Miranda get her chance?
Miranda is the daughter of Prospero, one of the main characters of William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. She was banished to the Island along with her father at the age of three, and in the subsequent twelve years has lived with her father and their slave, Caliban, as her only company. She is openly compassionate and unaware of the evils of the world that surrounds her, learning of her father’s fate only as the play begins.