I can see the sparkles on her eyes returning, brighter and brighter, like the sun rise. Those jade coloured eyes that used to look down, no meet me eye to eye.
She meows to her name. She answered yes or no. Sounds the same, but feel different.
We only have one message: that the vets spend the whole eight working hours struggling to remove her tail that started to rot even before her inflamed spine went down, and so we hope she will be merciful be leaving the stitches alone until it heals.
She looked at us and back to her leisurely grooming, but we know we can trust her.
It is me that she cannot trust. Many, many times she meows and turned around, hiding her butt when I tried to take pictures. Each and every time she told me, in all gestures she knows, that she doesn’t want that area for public consumption, because like Sheilla said “It looks like a chicken butt”
“But it is the public that contribute to your surgery!” I squealed. “I need to be responsible and people will be happy to see you are OK!”
So she gave me two not so great pictures. In one of them you can see her killer peer as I snap on and off.
So comes the end of a chapter, and the beginning of a new one.
A new chapter where Patti can start again, brand new like dawn. A new chapter where Patti has chance; a new chapter where Patti has hope.
A new chapter we both owe it to all of you, nine lives and beyond.
If God was a regular person in management, I’ll punch Him in the face. He’d just shrug it off, I know, most probably just laugh. He knows he has a bad taste for humor.
In few hours time, we will be at the vet with Patti, and a kitten we found curling at the roadside of super busy intersection. On the other side of that intersection, just across the street of where the kitten was curling, is the entrance of Bandung’s busiest bus terminal.
The kitten was crushed on the hip, dragged to the roadside and left there in the open on her own. She was scorched by the hot paving by the day and frozen by the cold of the night. She is helpless against the creeping hunger and thirst as she endures the pain. She is defenseless against flu and pneumonia that rode along the dooms of her fate.
Her only escape to the slow painful death, was sleep.
I woke her up. I dropped my groceries with abandon and woke her up, craddled her in my arms, and let Sheilla deal with the rest. I only know I want to bring her home. I only know I want to charge forward, plunge into the battle for her life head first.
It must be long agonizing days that she spent on that pavement, because all the blood over her wound had dried out and start to crust.
But it must be heavenly bliss that her eyes suddenly turned bright when we lay her on a fluffy mat and bring her soft, warm food and fresh water.
It must be the call of hope that she cried when she saw Nightingale, calling for a mother.
It must be love when Nightingale, herself currently fighting cold, came and laid around her.
Look around the world. There is fear, and there is frustration. There are desperate people and some of them desolate enough to think the unthinkable; and I am no different. We are all no different. We feel the pain, we feel the fear, we have worries.
But then look around her. That tiny little stranger, unworthy next to nonexistence, keep one tiny hope and her prayers for pain relief was heard. At least there is roof, at least there is food. And even though it’s not her own, at least she has the love of a mother.
And who am I again, blessed with so much power, so great strength, many devices, working brain and complete limbs adorned with health, dare to whine at life’s bad joke and cruel twists, while this speck of life holds herself with courage to the very last of her might, still vying for second chance?
I, like all human kind, have many prayers, and various needs, and endless demands for all the vanity in life and if any one of those is not granted I’d throw a tantrum like a two years old.
She has only one. Only one: a chance for life; her birth right, that until now had been denied by us humans, who think we are important and grand enough to play God, and she doesn’t even throw half a fit.
Shame on me. I will stop throwing tantrums and be silent. Then one more time, I will pick her up, and be sure that her one prayer will be heard, and answered.
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.
Working together for over a decade, my vets and I are connected to each other beyond client – patient – doctor formalities. I watched the whole clinic taken over, after the passing of the clinic’s founder – dearly remembered by people everywhere as Dr. Doolitle of Bandung – to carry his legacy and love for all animals there is. I have watched them grow from two vets in a tiny clinic in the living room of their mentors, to five vets and two vet techs, in a strong clinic whose business never goes down.
They have watched me grow from one rescuer girl with her bike and old bag, six cats strong, to a fully operating shelter and now a “business partner”.
There are things we know without the need to ask, and things we can freely discuss without fear of judgement.
When I fell silent with Patti in my arms, that afternoon on September 9 at the behest of an X Ray, my vets knew that I was not ready for the cost. I am not as strong as I was financially after Covid, if I cannot say miserable.
She told me that Patti certainly has broken her tail, and that it needs to be removed, there is no other way. However, we can wait for three days to see whether Patti learned to stand. If she stand on her own, there is no need to have at least three pieces of $40 X-Ray.
Unfortunately, Patti has not yet stood until today, though she is a lot better. She is more alert, she cleans herself, she can eat, she can drink, her faeces is good, there was no parasite except for some fleas.
She can even sit like a Sphinx statue in Egypt.
Since none of those can be called “standing” however, I still have to bring her in for an X Ray to see other damages, and I made an appointment tomorrow.
But I haven’t go the money.
We raised USD 150 for Patti through the weekend, but it will just be enough for 3 sets of X Rays (she needs approximately four). We have not yet raised enough for the surgery to remove her tail before it starts to rot and give her blood poisoning (resulting in slow painful death), we have not yet raised anything for another surgery if the X Ray show other damages, and certainly we have not yet raised for her post surgery treatments and medicine; without those all the effort done prior will be useless.
I know I am not alone. Everyone is on very tight financial situation at this moment and we all live with a lot less. Should that mean that Patti’s effort to stay alive and fight for her better chance in life will go down the drain? Should her hopeful progress mean nothing?
You know I never ask. If we do not raise enough, I went out of my way and make up for the rest; but this time, I am asking, because there shouldn’t be moment when I look into that beautiful jade eye and said “Sorry Patti, you have done a great job holding on to life, but it doesn’t matter, you just have to die anyway”
We did this before, the magic of Whiskers’ Syndicate’s collectivity. We lift many lives from hell and into happily ever after, $10 at a time. USD 600 calls for 60 persons to donate USD 10 each, and we have over 10,000 supporters.
Can we do it one more time, and give hope to Patti, even though just once?
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.
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.
