THE GOOD NEWS ABOUT PATTI, THAT MAYBE WON’T HAPPEN

Day after day, Patti takes her time, putting one paw in front of the other, toward the good old days.
Though it’s living on the dusty road and scavenge rubbish, foul and rotten, it’s the world she knows.

She has the same sun above, she looks at the same moon. If she knows how, just like us, she would whisper to the same stars.

What remains of that fateful day, when traces of what should be “advanced civilization” robbed her of her already uncertain future, was her sheer will; sheer hope.

Hope that brings her the power to her efforts, will that moves her to her food bowl, no matter how many times she ended up diving into her food; no matter how many times she plunged into her water bowl. Humiliation only polished that hope, brighter and brighter.

It was also that hope that shines in her eyes so much, that it transcends the language barrier. One glint in the eye and we relate to her. That she feels comfortable, that she is hungry, that she was in pain even though we tried our best to be gentle as we move her around for the X Rays.

My vet very kindly used a container cover, so she can lay comfortably as we carry her into the exam room, like the ladies and princesses in the stories of Scheherazade. She inflates a special pillow so Patti does not have to the endure cold, hard table during radiology. My vet tech even carried her back, like queen of the queen on her palanquin.

Patti’s eyes glimmer with amusement and gladness; we all need the laugh.

The car that crushed her broke her spine in two places. It must be her virtues that she was lucky enough, because the broken spine only calls for her long, beautifully ombre tail to be removed.

The unfortunate part is that one bone segment, where the spine had been crushed, is now swollen. We have procured a prescription to help her handle the swelling, so her spine surgery can be done as soon as possible.

That her injury is no longer life threatening, is like watching the rising sun. Bright, and hopeful.

That we have not yet secured the means to ensure her treatment until the surgery can be done, brought that rising sun far away to the horizon.

Giving Patti back her life is so close yet so far, and though we know she will be there, we cannot be sure whether we will be there in time or how.

That hope, those gleaming eyes, that sheer will to live, is now in our hands. Patti had entrusted her only light upon us, and it is up to us whether to carry that dream into the morning sky she used to enjoy, or ignore her stretched out paw and leave her in the dark until her life whither.

I rest my prayers where I kneel, now I will embrace that stretched out paws and lift her up with all I have.

What is your call?

~ Josie
paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

Patti

Every year on September 9, I bow out of the world to be with my dad. Climb the mountain, hike through the forest, stay still by the ocean, looking at the stars, watching the sunrise, and count our blessings.

My blessings, actually; for it is his lessons that equipped me, his wisdom, his grace, his love, his respect of all living beings. For that one day I will look back and find him again: his kindness and protection of the weak, his generosity to the poor, his sense of justice that sent him to law enforcement, his dedication to the call of duty that eventually took him to the plain across.

For that one day I will walk through the life path we once shared: with laughter, with tears, with blood, fist in the air.
And when the next sun is rising, I will stand by him as we are back at the porch of my home, and send him off to the flaming horizon, with a promise that the next September 9 when we meet again, I am the better daughter he can be proud of.

But then, this cat was run over by car and left dying in the middle of rushing six-lanes road. I took her and rushed her to the vet clinic, waiting in line with her crying her pain and terror out loud.

The car crushed her spine, and she was paralyzed from the hip down. The vets are working on every possible way to get her strong enough to learn how to walk again, yet I have to be ready for a paraplegic cat in addition to walking the thin red line of running an overcrowded shelter. But one way or another, how can I provide with just two hands with overflowing jobs?

I reach home at four in the afternoon, and look back to an emerging dusk. I sat with her through the evening, until she calmed down and accept new friends who readily welcomed her and were trying their best to comfort her. I watch over her through the night, and prepare to defend her from any symptom of shock that might steal her life.

At the next dawn I looked away to the sparkling town down below, and see the sun rise.

I saw my dad walking away with his smile, waving his hand up high; back to his own place, until the next September 9.
Instead of me going to meet him, he came down to meet me. Instead of me walking with him, he walked with me. He stood by me, enlightened me. He lent me his calm, his patience, his grace, his wisdom. He lent me his kindness and protection of the weak, his generosity to the poor, and ultimately empowered me with his dedication to the call of duty that is the life we choose.

I waved back at that empty red sky.
This year I missed his birthday;
But the next September 9, I will be the better daughter he can be proud of.

~ Josie

Help me provide the best care and win a second chance for Patti: https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

Injured cat needing costly treatment

Update on Pippa

Away from harm, Pippa, the mother we took from the park last week, gave birth to six babies.

Despite a week in a friendly environment, with good food, fresh water and warm bed, past time taumas after she was thrown away at the park, chased by dogs, her babies eaten and her food stolen, gave her a difficult delivery. Pippa refused to be left alone, and will be stressed every time we went out, even just to refill her bowl with milk and egg. She lost too much energy trying to catch up to us that her two last babies were almost delivered too late.

Her post partus bleeding won’t stop for two days and we were worried that she will become anaemic.

Bree, went through a similar experience. She was put in the box with her five newborn babies and was left by an ATM chamber, where we found her and took her home. She found her way into our room, sat by the suffering mother, and even helped Pippa clean and take care of the babies, so our new kitty mama can be few steps away to calm down.

We are so lucky to have Bree with us, and are grateful for her grace. We are glad that the mother and babies are now safe and hope to see Pippa and her little family settle down to their new found peaceful world to live their second chance in life to the fullest.

I am extending my arms to you all with my utmost gratitude, for without your support, the mother would probably still be alone in the dark, cold park, fearing for her life and terrified over her newborn baby.

I am bowing to you with my ultimate gladness, for without your benevolence, Pippa and her little furry angels wouldn’t get a second chance.

As we celebrate this happy moment, please be kind to remember that there are many more like this mother, clinging to dear life in places we have not yet been able to reach. Please allow me to ask you to continue to give Pippa your support and encouragements. Please help us continue our work, so that more life can be saved, and more mothers like Pippa will have the chance to deliver in peace, and in due time be given a humane spaying to prevent future pregnancies.

Please stay with us and help us create the harmonious world we all dream to live in.

~ Josie

To send your baby shower gifts, please follow this link: https://paypal.me/whiskersyndicate

Pippa’s story: https://web.facebook.com/wearethewhiskerssyndicate/posts/1430060163858381

GATA

Two years is a long journey; but it’s a longer journey for Gata, biding her days on the street, with meager to no food, with polluted water, and little place to hide when there came the rain, the cold, the thunder, the sun.

When she was pregnant, it was impossible. No one would offer even a tiny corner; maybe just one house, whose rubbish bin she often rummaged if any, but even that came with a price. They will take her babies, fluffy and puff with luxurious hair, just like her.

And they will kindly shove her out their door once she managed to raise her children, barely enough to wean them, and sell her kittens.

Every four months, over and again.

She would then come back to the streets of that alley, to an unwelcomed bunch of children who would play with her. Put a rope around her neck and drag her just like those other people with their dogs, poke her with a stick, pull her tail and swing her around.

She was less and less keen to keep her stance. She wouldn’t have enough power anyway.

Four years old, she was just 8 ounces and then a little bit more, when a new member of that alley; young and educated, came with a stern look and drove the children away. Put her in a box, brought her to the vet, and sent a message to The Whiskers’ Syndicate.

When I held her for that first time, limp and lifeless, I promised her that if she held on long enough to wake up the next day, she would come to see a different world.

The very next day she woke up to a steamed porridge of minced chicken and pork, soft and fragrant.

The next few days she would have egg stirred into soup with crab and fish.

We got rid of her parasite first, as it already started to damage her liver.

The next month we made it to the vet, and for the next four weeks, Gata endured three surgeries. First for her intestinal damage, second for her displaced shoulder blade, third for another intestinal surgery and spay.

When she came back home, after three months long crusade back to health, she was 3 kilograms (6 lbs) and something. She then gained another two pounds on her way.

We went to parks where she can roll over on the grass without a stick poking on her sides. We run back and forth chasing ball all the way from one end of our halls to the other. We stayed awake all night, weeks and weeks, hand feeding abandoned newborns and raise them all into kittens, and then to a cat.

We pouted our lips at bad cat food, according to Gata, and we ate dinner together, her with the best food I can afford; she approves, and me with the rest of the money, if any left from those bags of cat food.

We saw many sunrises, and weathered many storms. Days when we rejoice for a new bag of food,a newcomer who rose from their illnesses, those who are kind. Storms when there were much ado but we have nothing.

Tragedy when a neighbouring wall leaked into our kitchen, a gruelling three months of dust and dirt, worrying about food safety, cooking in the living room because there was only enough money to fix our home one bit at a time, and the victory when somehow the magic of love brought us enough to see a new kitchen.

All the laughter we share, all the tears, all the pain we went through together when Gata’s battered and tired body just wouldn’t hold up, and her health was steadily declining.

We knew what’s coming. Of many sun rises that we watch together, there will one day be one sunset.

We walk through that sunset yesterday, and see the new sunrise today; still together, just on a different side.

~ Josie

When Gata joined Whiskers’ Syndicate, I can only afford to feed 20 street cats a day. Today I have a chance to reach out to more like Gata then: abused, neglected, street cats and offer them the better world Gata had left us to cultivate.
For two cans of cat food we manage to raise, a pet food company will donate one more. There is no limit to the cat food we can raise, but today is the last day of the challenge.
Help me honor Gata’s legacy, and pass her good life so there will be less like her in the past, and more like her when she pass.
https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

Gata, a rescued cat

PIPPA

For days and weeks now, we marvel over Pippa. How she finds an empty space somewhere in our overcrowded house to stretch, or sneaks out into the porch and sleeps, tummy toward the air. How she took it easy and climb the stairs back and forth even with her heavy pregnant belly.

We marvel first, of course, about how she always finds a perfect roadside strip, and sits like a Sphinx so tidily upon it, waiting for us, one a.m. in the wee hours of the day. How a cat can fluidly adapt into such wilderness, right after she was ripped off her home and thrown away in that abandoned park when Covid began. How she kept herself clean, how she brought about herself still gracefully, as if she is still a house cat. How she managed to walk from one hidden end to the other, avoiding mean park squatters and dogs, until she found us and made that same journey for a packet of steamed tuna or soft, watery wet food she must have missed so much.

The dogs. There are three of them, belonging to a house at the other side of the park. They are fed, but kept hungry enough to keep some extent of their fierceness, and especially so as a pack. Every night their owner will crack open their fence and let the three roam around free on an emptying road.

For most of the time they are just running after each other; round and round the park. At other time they found scraps of food left by people sneaking into the park to have some quiet space, or to rest from their homeless journey. If they think they aren’t that lucky, they will be robbing tiny bits of food from stray cats by ganging against them and sometimes made them wounded.

At special ocassions, they will find delicacies, just like when they found Pippa, tired and weakened after labor, and ate her newborn babies.

So outrageous it was that we couldn’t believe our ears when one food stall owner told what he saw, but many others, like this man said the same story. These people are afraid of those big dogs, so they went and tell their owner what happened, with their complaint and abhorrence falling into the deep crevasse of ignorance.

Not us. We took it personally and stand guard on the cats whenever we come and feed them, even if we ended up spending the whole night at that cold, dark, windy park. We chase them away even when those dogs think they can trick us by spreading around and attack from three different direction. We’d stand our ground even when they surround us, howling and barking like rabid dogs. We’d let them think they can outsmart us when one of them tried to distract us while the other tried to steal the food or even bite the cowering cats under our feet.

They never knew the sting of a balloon filled with ice water until they met us.

It really not that fierce at the beginning because we always bring extra food for the dogs. We always prefer kindness, peace. We always choose love; but once the owner saw us feed their dogs, they either feed them less, or stopped feeding them all together, and things went out of hand in no time.

An animal is an animal, but so do we.

It’s just that we still choose love, if all else failed.

When Pippa was too slow and heavy to run, we brought our cargo carrier with us, and Pippa came home.

It’s a different home. It’s much more crowded. There’s much less space. There’s much more noise, a lot of kittens running, and food is always shared.

But just like the first time she made us marvel at her intelligence and grace, she fits herself right in and always found a cranny where she can find her own zen.

We were worried that she would run away or go somewhere else when she burst out of the door one sunny afternoon; but looking around and sat quietly upon the town from the tip of our fence, she knows that she has a second chance, and her babies will be born to see life.

She knows she is home.

~ Josie

Pippa is one of many benefiting from the pack of food we took around town every night. She is safe now, but there are more like her still in the parks, closed markets, landfills, and parking lots. For every two cans of cat food we raise with your help, a kind sponsor will donate one can to help more cats.

We won the game for Pippa. Help us win the game for more:
https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate or paypal email: whiscraft@gmail.com

Pretty cat named Pippa at The Whiskers Syndicate rescue shelter.

Another kitten rescue

Hello Josie,

I am truly sorry to bother you again. My friend and I found a baby kitten in a desolate location in the middle of a rice field. We tried to see if there were siblings or mother, but the baby seemed to be alone, so we took the baby home.

We gave the baby kitty milk. One brand, but since the baby did not like the milk, we changed brand. The baby is getting weaker and weaker, and the more we tried, the more kitten refused. We are truly afraid that we would harm kitten instead of helping it.

May we bring the baby to you, so you can check on it? We know we brought two kittens to you already, but we don’t know what to do.”

“Sure, bring the baby to us”

They showed up the next evening with large bag full of padding and towels, and old shirts and everything, and pulled out a teeny weeny crumple of black fur with dripping yellow feces all over its hind leg.

They did all the right thing. Give the kitty eye ointment, keep the kitty warm, feed kitty every half an hour, as much or as little as the baby wants.

It’s just that people here are so obsessed with cheap things: cheap food, cheap milk, cheap supplements, cheap medicine, cheap whatever, that they wouldn’t care to check on the composition (if exist) so long as the pet shop keeper said it’s good.

Pet shop keeper are usually employees. They are given only one mission: make money, as much as possible.

So, everything is good.

These girls have a long way to go, but they are doing really well learning and doing, I don’t mind even if they call me in the middle of the night when they are out of luck with their rescues. Hey, other girls their age are more busy with selfies and narcissistic insta story. They waited ever so patiently for colleges to reopen so they can enroll and study by saving cats in their remote residential clusters.

And they pay for these cats with their own money, as meager as a teenager can produce.

The baby has coccidiosis. The baby had cold, the baby has sinus block. The baby has painful cold sores on the tongue, the baby has fever. The baby has bajillion of fleas, the baby has worm.

The baby wants to live.

The baby took food we blendered to a mousse. The baby took kitty milk (the good one, not made of powdered skimmed milk repacked from bakery) The baby took electrolytes. The baby took vitamins, the baby took appetite booster, the baby took probiotics, the baby took immune support.

The baby survives.

The baby was 1 ounce 30 when it came to us about last week, the baby is 2 ounces 30 today.

The baby wants to love.

The baby followed us even though one small step from us, is a marathon for its tiny legs. The baby climbs as best as it could when we were down on our knee. The baby clung to our hoodies, the baby pat our wrist and want our attention, but of course it’s angry when it’s time for another eye ointment. He thinks he’s ok, we say not yet.

The baby lives.

~ Josie

Please let the baby lives long and prosper. We can’t do it alone. We have 160 cats and do various paid jobs to keep ends meet. May this little one count on you?
paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate
or paypal email: whiscraft@gmail.com