I saw him curled up on a piece of corrugated board in that parking lot by the market, and feltl sorry for him. He was so small.
It was cold, it was pitch dark, it was damp and it was dirty with all the rubbish from the market. The smell around was horrible.
I touched his head and nudged him, trying to offer some food, and a little love. I have no space in my home, though plenty in my heart. He was so warm.
There are so many things that can give a kitten fever, especially those thrown away to fend for themselves in bad weather and a bad environment.
I lift him up and carry him, place him in my bag, and took him around, visiting the colonies; those who face the cold and the wind, the dangers of the night, laying low, hiding in despicable places none of men would want to be, waiting, listening for us in great expectation. Waiting for hope and a chance to live, just one more day.
There was bumps twice as big as my thumb on his back; soft and bouncy like water balloon under his skin. He’d be crying every time I tried to gather what might it be, he’d be biting if I tried to clean it. He is licking and gnawing and roll up whenever the bump seems to shoot him pains.
I cradle him in my arms, I told him happy stories I’ve had in the past, I’d comfort him as much as I can, while my partner was busy with a clipper and sterilized needle.
He was mad and he was wild. The bump had ruptured and it oozed rotten pus. The smell was horrible, the sight was terrible. He hold on to a roll of terry, and lashed out his blazing anger as we raced to clean his wound.
He was bitter. He was robbed from the care of his mother, and was left behind in a place he never knew. He was forced to grow beyond his age, he was beaten by people ignorant of his plea.
He was bitten. He never knew any better but run and hide in the corner. He has only a shred of corrugated paper.
A shred of corrugated paper, in exchange of a world robbed and torn, as his wound slowly rots and gives him burns.
I wrapped him in the softest blanket, I gave him his favourite food. I shared him warm milk, and he is purring his heart out.
I saw him curled up on a piece of corrugated board near our front door, and feel sorry for him. He was so small.
I touched his head and nudged him, trying to offer some food, and a little love. There is space in my house after all, and much more in my heart. He is no longer barely warm.
I lift him up and carry him, place him in my hoodies, and took him around. He jumped out and climbed down, and joined the others for breakfast, then he sat by my leg for a lift to the back.
There is a room that he likes. Where he can lunge on rugs and fight feathery toys. There are others like him he’d like to watch.
There is the whole new life in front of him. Unlike those he wished he had back, but those with hope and a chance for life.
Happy New Year!
Whiskers’ Syndicate is the only sanctuary in Bandung, where 98% of its residents are backyard breeders, even the vets! We do not have government support. Kittens like Raphael (featured in this story) can have a chance solely by the grace of donations from kind individuals like those who follow this link: paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate