Just few minutes ago, I was thinking whether I can finally take one breath and make myself some tea.
One of the vets at the clinic sent me two pictures. One of a scribbling on a torn off scrap of paper, the other one of a severely injured cat.
Written in poor Indonesian and lack of manners, the anonymous letter said that the writer “found” the cat, didn’t know what happened, and that they don’t know how to take care of “it” and if they do, they don’t have money anyway, so “they drop it off here”.
I took a deep breath, and put my cup back on the shelves.
These (mis)happenings are getting notorious.
About three weeks ago, a little boy knocked at the back door of the vet clinic where I help often (and they often help me). To the young vet who opened the door, he told us about finding cat babies who haven’t even open their eyes. The young vet told the boy that babies that age do not usually roam around by themselves, and advised that the boy be kind and return the babies where he and his friends had picked them, because most likely the mother will be looking for her children. The boy nodded, the vet closed the door, and we found three cat babies wrapped in socks in a box right under the door where the boy must have left the babies.
The babies came home with us.
Just two weeks ago my vet showed me an anonymous letter scribbled behind a torn envelope. Whoever wrote the letter can no longer afford their cats so they left it by the clinic just in case someone is interested.
That Persian – domestic mix inside the basket that came with the letter (and left on the clinic’s open air porch at dawn or before) was so depressed he wouldn’t eat for days. He just curled up at the corner with both ears flattened, and eyes that makes me want to cry.
The next day, it was similar letter, different person, a little shoe box, and ten weeks old black kitten who was so terrified he cried day and night unless someone held him in their arms.
Eventually both cats went home with one of the clinic’s long time client.
In this past week were several boxes of an ailing mother with her newborn babies, or newborn baby with dead sibling starting to rot beside him, left in various places where people make sure they will be found. We cannot turn our head away and let them die so within one week we have twenty newborns, eight of them premature, the rest have infections from the mother’s bad health, and some even almost lost their chances, because their mother was too sick and malnourished, they have been without mother’s milk for days before they found us.
On my face was the responsibility to update and report to Whiskers’ Syndicate’s supporters about the mass spay and neuter;
but looking at these helpless, hopeless babies and suffering mothers, I took a deep breath, put my project aside, and went into week long battle to save as many as we can.
Seems like it’s been a while since I hold my phone as it felt a little bit different. Luckily I know my way around and give my vet a call.
The little girl in the photo has a broken jaw, but we wouldn’t know how bad the crush she sustained until X Ray becomes available on Monday. Two senior vets in the clinic did their best, she started to be stabilized, and if her condition improved, they will send her to another senior vet better equipped and experienced with orthopedic condition.
A regular client to the clinic, upon finding out about her, offered help with food; but instead of stating her noble intention directly to the vet she said so to the parking lot guy, and the parking lot guy is the same parking lot guy who sells queue number in the morning and is a member of a notorious motorbike gang at night.
The clinic is famous. Famous for offering good service with low prices, especially for people with less income and people who took cats off the street and keep them as they should kept. The clinic is always full, and often forced to stay open until late at night because of the overflowing patients. People from far away places will call the parking lot guy to register for them, so they will not have to wait there for a long time with sick animals. Upon arriving at the clinic, they will pay him some fee for his semi legal service and he made quite a lot for his family and membership with those tips, otherwise his brothers and sisters will not drop their meagre jobs and become middle men there as well.
The word “money for food” rings well with this guy, so he took the cat, told the kind person that he will personally care for the cat (though he never before care for anything) and the kind person put the money on his hand, in front of my eye rolling vet.
If I can throw a rock all the way to heaven I will lance God’s butt. He has a bad taste for joke and putting an ass hole in the Oval Office to ruin the world for four years straight is not the worst. It’s torturing already desperate creatures, human or otherwise, that makes me loathe Him often. He needs a shrink, unfortunately He is God.
Still my vet told me to hold my rampage, take a deep breath, and walk with her on this journey. She knows it seems like it’s an uphill battle and that death is near. She knows that I am spread too thinly. She knows that we both love animals so much we often didn’t see the line.
However she is a veteran who learnt directly from the infamous Dr. Doolittle of Bandung and has been dedicating her infamous skill to save various animals, most of them rescues, from before she graduated as a DVM to the day when her granddaughter turned eighteen. She is a respected member of community, who has a network in various places, and knows when and how to employ those trump cards at the right time, in the right place, for the right cat. If she told me to hold my ground, it means she has something up her sleeve, so I will trust her judgement if it will help save a kitten and give her a chance in life.
We ended the conversation strengthening each other and I checked my balance. There is not much left, but there is no other in this town has the experience and back up to help cats like this girl if not the Whiskers’ Syndicate.
So I will start knocking at heaven’s door from now, and hope the door will be opened in time.
First, however, I hope all these ignorant bozos wouldn’t be obsessed with movies so much, be a man, and talk to the vet instead of dropping off dying animals in the middle of the night with nothing to keep them warm. No one is going to jail or anywhere for stating in private conversation that they have no money. An anonymous letter is not always romantic. Even if they have money, anyway, please speak to the vet and not to the parking lot guy who sells queue places in the morning and is member of a motorbike gang at night (the name of the gang is Exalt to Coitus).