The day we’re knocking on heaven’s door for Grey; Bara was downstairs, getting ready for his own battle.
In so much extent, his situation is better, though the risk of the surgery is just as great. The guilt from failing to bring Grey back is still an overwhelming pressure. Though cats are said to have nine lives, we would never know which life Bara is on now and we would rather be safe than sorry – life is life, and each one, whether it’s the first or the fourth, is just as precious.
Quoting one of our most respected allies, however: the surgery was always going to be risky, but it was also necessary. And even if it ended badly, we owed it to Bara (and other cats the same) to try. Bara, as with the ones before him, and many more after him, only have us. We are their chance, their voice, their hopes, their lives. They put all nine lives on the line trying to find better days, so if those nine is all they have, we will be their tenth life, or the eleventh, or the twelfth, or the thousandth.
I kneel on the floor so I can see my guy in the eye, and be burned with that flame one more time. The flame that gave me confidence, the flame that emboldened me, the flame that gave Bara his name.
I patted his head, and off he went to the surgery, and I sat there, in the same seat where I spent seven hours sending our best wishes when Grey had his, just ten days ago.
It was not a great sight, when he went back out. There were sutures jutting out and pipes in and out of him, bottles dangling on top; but just one and a half hour it seemed like Bara has done wandering around the after life and thought he’d rather go home to us.
He was grouchy as hell. He was unpleasant to be with and was irritatingly demanding; but that’s what tenth life is supposed to be, so we put up with it.
Few days later, when he insisted he no longer wants his iv, we put up with it. Yet another few days and he thinks he can stand (yeah right), we put up with it. We have our hands full, no really. We have twenty four babies, 4 weeks and younger; they all need mama and there are only two of us, not to mention the blind, the sick, the half dead… But we put up with it.
Of course if Bara is super duper mega ultimate annoying, he’ll get the look that can freeze the flame of hell.
Bara takes his revenge by taking things in his own paw. He stood up, he dragged, he limped, and he walked outside to the hallway all by himself.
He will scream his lungs out whenever someone even sniffs him, but eventually we learn to ignore him. A sniff or two won’t kill anyone, and he was the one who insisted on going to the hallway and join others in the first place.
Bara learned to climb, as of yesterday. He didn’t even make it to the bottom of the shelves that we call Catpartements, but life did not hinder him before, it won’t hinder him today, nor it will hinder him tomorrow. That flame is the one thing that kept him alive with a rotting, twisted leg in that back alley for God knows how long. That flame is the one thing that carried him through the surgery. That flame is the one thing that gives him power to stand up, and live again.
That flame will be the one thing that will keep him going.
It cost us USD 600 for Bara’s amputation, further treatment (medicine, physiotherapy) will cost us another USD 300 for two months. It’s a humongous amount, especially at this time. Fortunately we have two kind donors who offered USD 500 matching challenge that will end on Easter, so we can pay Bara’s medical cost with half the effort!
Please do not let this chance pass us by. Help Bara walk into the better future he has been fiercely fighting for. Link below will take you to the right place: