I’m dreaming of a wide Christmas, where those who roam the streets would find warmth and safety in the rainy afternoon. Where their children can sneak into my yard following their mother, and leave the cold windy night in licks and grooming full of love.
I’m dreaming of a wide Christmas, where wildlife full of terror, haunted by creeping men who cut their homes to build theirs, creeping stealthily down the mountain to find their food that’s no longer there. The bats, the civet cats. Night birds, and stray cats, wild rabbits, scared squirrels. They find food in my front yard, but no protection.
I’m dreaming of a wide Christmas with a semi basement for them to hide, to stay, to run from the elements, and cruel men.
I’m dreaming of a wide Christmas, just like the one I used to know. Where everybody would run, run run! when rain suddenly swept the mountain and into the corridor. They’d climb the shelves, curl on warm blankets, side by side with all the others. The young cuddles with the old, the old feel safe with the strong. But years of weathering the earth, whenever it rains it leaks all the way to their fur: between the cracks of the roof tiles, running through the electricity cables, and even from the light bulbs. When the rain or storm is done, there will be puddles in the halls where they used to run and roll.
I’m dreaming of a wide Christmas to pay builders to turn back the shelter into warm and dry safe house.
I’m dreaming of a wide Christmas, with every kitten I wipe. They used to have a place to run, a place to roll. A place with soft fluffy blankets where they can learn to walk, a wide empty floor to conquer, and little blocks to help them learn: how to hunt, how to climb, how to use the litter box. That room now has a big crack on the wall; and we are afraid to lean because it might give in and there will be no nursery anymore. The windows are rusty and their glass cracked, so we removed them lest they would fall and kill our babies; but then, whenever it rains, we only have a shower curtain to cover those all.
I’m dreaming of a wide Christmas where those babies and their mothers, discarded by men’s world, can see the the future that they filled with their hope.
Said, with the help of our friend Elyssa Tappero, and some of the compensation we got from our dispute with the fundraiser (who kept the money they make with our cats until we fought them tooth and nail) we took our chances in the middle of Covid uncertainty.
Clacking our knees and biting our lips, we pushed our luck and started building our semi basement, so that stray cats and kittens can have a roof to run and wildlife has a place to hide as storm La Nina settles in.
It might not be much. It won’t be Noah’s ark. There will only be so much we can offer; but fewer birds will have to endure the rain on the leaky branch that’s ready to give in, fewer squirrels slammed by cars because the next branch is too far, fewer moles squashed by motorbikes, bats have their fruit back, civet cats can chew coffee in their corner, and stray cats of all sort are welcome to spend the night with our own kind.
May their Christmas be merry and bright, and may all their days be a little bit more white.
While construction work is ongoing and my time and ability for the job is limited, help me keep the bowl filled for everyone who counts on us for a living. https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate