The man at the other side wrote that he cannot afford to do anything else for that cat beyond feeding him.

I told him we all do what we can.

He said that he cannot take the cat in, that the cat would live on his porch under the car.

I told him, we are grateful that someone cared enough.

In each of his sentences, there is the word “pity”

But then he told me that the cat is mangy, so they do not want to touch him.

Oh well, some people just don’t understand.

He told me his location, and I fell silent.

I know that place; but he went on to describe how good is the environment, how large is the area, how safe is around there.

He lives in the most elite part of town, with gates and securities, tall fences, and houses as big as a football stadium.

I told him we can take care of the cat, but we will neuter him and return him where he was because we are already over crowded.

Once he learned that we are willing, he told me that it’s actually his girlfriend’s house, and it’s his girlfriend who feed the cat and many other strays around the area, and that the girlfriend will contact me.

The girlfriend contacted me and went straight to ask that we picked the cat, whom she called “Sicko”, on Sunday evening because they both are working out of town.

I told her I will confirm when we’re on our way, and done as I said.

When we arrived, she told us that she has been waiting for a long time as she and her boy friend shook our hand for few seconds, and then point her hand to her shiny clean porch: “That’s the cat”

Straight to business is better, at times. It cuts off time so I can be done before my curiosity takes over and I start asking question too frank for some people.

Truth hurts.

It was brief. The cat was just sitting there. It was like lifting a pillow and put it in the bag.

They only grin as we went away.

The next morning they went mad because I was thinking about what happened out loud in my personal page.

He said everybody have limitation. They can only afford to feed the cat and many others

I am familiar with limitation. I am full of those; but he made one hundred times of the average people in town, and lives among the elites.

The vet surgeon who helped us numerous times, and has been in our stories every now and then, is less than a half hour drive from his place.

He said he never hurt the cat. I believe he ever hurt the cat, He just doesn’t want to touch the cat because it has mange.

He said he feed the cats twice a day.

When the cat arrived, he can barely stand straight. He walked like a drunkard, and he fell every three seconds to one side or the other..

She said she was so compassionate to animals, she took in cats even though her parents were against it.

She said she is getting married so she shouldn’t touch stray cats to avoid toxoplasmosis.

When I saw what must be her cat in her profile picture, I cannot help thinking about the story of a rich man and Lazarus who lived by his table scrap and crumbs. The difference is too obvious.

The video in the comment is the cat finishing his fourth plate of steamed beef loin. You can decide for yourself whether that is the behavior of a cat fed twice a day.

She claimed that she has been trying to give the cat medicine and ointments for months to no avail.
He said that they don’t want to touch the cat because the cat is mangy.

The cat does not have mange. He lost in a street fight and suffered claws, scratches and bite wounds, Those wounds got infected, and the infection gives the cat blood poisoning.

And the expert vet surgeon and his entire team, who are always friendly to rescues and people who rescue, open practice less than 30 mins drive.

For the whole day the two of them sent me their angry defenses and accusations.

I read everything, but I didn’t bother to answer. I have a lot more important things to do.

The more silence, the more she rant; and the more she rant (and she rants on social media), the more she exposes herself.

He said I am not sincere in helping them. I helped the cat, they can help themselves.

She demanded a public apology within 24 hours.

I will give my apology.

I came over to the cat she called “Sicko” and rename him “Arthur”

I hold Arthur in my arm and tell him “I am sorry I took so long” I really do.

I will give him as much chance as he needs to heal and reclaim his dignity.

I will stand by him as he fights his way back through and through.

And I will let my actions speak louder than all of their words.

~ Josie

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

I have expounded many lives and death in the past decade, but just about today, the words escape me. We have had so many matching challenges before, and after ten years of tepid reactions most of the time, the passion with which you have answered my call swept me off my feet. Never, never in my life I have been so afraid for our lives because this time is especially challenging. So many cats with terminal illness come to us, so many kittens dumped on the street, there is not enough time for us to give one a name.

And yet, here we are; in the heart of the glorious victory you all give to the abused, neglected, malformed and homeless cats of Bandung.

Here we are, basking in the warmth of the sun you made to shine upon the lesser of our brethren.

For all of those, there is not enough gratitude ever in the world to offer you.

If there is any regret, it was the power failure that crippled the whole nation on Sunday, August 4th.

Electricity went out at noon in Jakarta, our capital city, and soon widens to the whole of Java and Bali. What we all thought would last only a few hours, ended up keeping us dark for over twelve hours.

Followed right after, internet went down, then ATMs went down, then the cellphone signal went down.

For one whole day our country was thrown back into the stone age.

For twelve hours, Romeo and Maki were on their own, as their life support equipment died down.

All of the progresses we made thus far, were gone.

It was painful watching TV, when the power went back on the next day, despite only in major areas. It was painful watching the director of the electrical company in all her calm and composure going round and round like an idiot at the face of our angry president.

It was painful that this woman, impeccable French manicure, perfect make up, skin as glass, and that brilliant large diamond ring around her finger, shrug the catastrophe off as a mere accident. In many thousand years she wouldn’t have known what sort of hell she brought into the country’s economy and life aspects of the small folk she will never come to know existed.

Never the less, we are grateful that despite all the setbacks that we have to catch back up, Romeo and Maki survived.

Whatever happened is a glaring reminder of how fragile we are, and much more so, how vulnerable are the animals who never chose to be born in this lawless country, yet have to survive the hell hole anyway.

Whatever happened reminds me that everyday, we could lose someone at any moment, and therefore I would love them more fiercely and freely, and without fear, not because there is nothing to lose, but because everything can always be lost.

Whatever happened underlines and highlights the importance of our work.

So, as we celebrate the glory of our love, I hope we would not stop too long. I hope we will take this chance to move forward and keep building the wall that will keep our little friends safe.

I hope to see you again soon as we go through more ventures to safe life today. We can change the world tomorrow.

Thank you, everyone. Truly, there will be no salvation for these cats without you.

~ Josie T Liem

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

What was that voice? The third time I rose from my seat, after the third time I tried to write in vain. I walked about my studio and found nobody inside. I went out and checked everyone, and found each and every kitten inside.

When I sat back down and tried to bid my luck for my daily bread that day, one more time, the cry started over. The cry of a terrified baby, the cry of a lost child, the cry that pierced the sky.

That kind of cry would not attract attention, much less mercy. If it went on a little bit longer someone is going to lose their temper and spray water, if it’s not worse.

I rose one more time, and turned the other side, toward the front door. I climbed down the stairs and peeked through the fence.

The cry stopped, and then, started again.

The mother who fed her baby just by my fence said “The kitten is over there. Is it yours?”

I looked at her; I must be insane. There was nothing by the tidy rock arrangement that lined the sewer across the street.

“There”, she pointed to the empty point again. “Go and you will see. She just fell into the sewer. Someone just threw her into that empty lot”

That got me running. I don’t know how old is the kitten, but from the sound of it, it’s pretty small.

The sewer, however, it’s pretty big. The current is even bigger.

I saw her hanging on the sewer wall by her teeny weeny claw, but then that’s it. I went into the sewer and blocked her from being carried away with my feet, and scooped her up before she drowned.

I told the woman, who was still looking at me, and read her mind.

“This is not my kitten, but even though I didn’t see who did this, I call a curse on his filthy soul, and to everyone who didn’t do anything to help their lesser brethren while they have the power to do so.”

Her face changed.

“Not you” I said, but I left the ending of my statement for her to ponder.

She can stand and she can walk. She was a little bit limp and I can feel the pain that stung on both her hind and front legs when she walked.

She cannot eat yet. Her tiny fangs have yet to grow tall and strong, so she has to be nursed with kitty milk and a baby bottle.

In her full moments, she would walk from the front to the back; in her hungry moments, she would look for legs and sit close, with two round eyes looking straight into the heart.

In her business time, I learned she has tapeworm, but despite all the hassle, considering her age and weight, I gave her dewormer,

Certainly, between worm dead or she died, I choose worm died. You know, I am familiar with taking chances.

Sadly, there is nothing I can do with her two limping legs. She would have to decide whether she will heal or not. I can only help with healthy food, supplements, and a lot of love.

When she feels better, she would journey to the living room, far away for her small being, sniffing elder cats one after another.

She found comfort in the mama we picked up from the slum. Wherever her new mama goes, she goes.

Soon she can walk better. Then she learned to eat by herself. There is a requirement for a second dose of dewormer, but this time I decided to wait just a little bit longer, until she gain more weight.

Every morning I would find her by the door, looking up with her two round eyes, glistening from the sunlight in the morning.

Every night I would find her by the door, looking up with two round eyes, sending us her best wishes for a good night.

Miranda is her name. Little girl Miranda who was cast away in a “rotten carcass” of a boat to the ocean to die alongside her dad.

Miranda who bore the last name Prospero

Miranda who took her second chance in life.

Miranda who is seeking hope to live long and prosper.

~ Josie

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

In receiving care, Miranda took her chance for better life, but she has a long way to go. There are many years ahead of her, and no one knows the future.

However, throughout the week that will end on August 5th, today, comes our chance to make her wish come true. All donation, without limit, without “up to” will be doubled.

Would you find it in your heart to help Miranda get her chance?

Post script:
Miranda is the daughter of Prospero, one of the main characters of William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. She was banished to the Island along with her father at the age of three, and in the subsequent twelve years has lived with her father and their slave, Caliban, as her only company. She is openly compassionate and unaware of the evils of the world that surrounds her, learning of her father’s fate only as the play begins.

Anya’s world started out quite dim. Here is her original story, but there’s an overview below.

Despite her sunny character and loving demeanour, she found herself taken away with a motorbike and was thrown to crash land on hard asphalt by the parking lot of a traditional market.

If you’ve ever considered setting up a recurring donation, now is a great time to start; anything sent before the end of the day on Monday 5 August will be matched by one of our very kind supporters.

During the matching challenge, your donation goes twice as far. So if you send one month’s sponsorship, it will actually cover two; three months will cover six, and six months will cover a year!

Sponsorship is $10 USD per month, and can go to the care of any or all of the cats at the shelter, and/or the street and colony cats.

All our cats can have multiple sponsors, and we’re very grateful to all of you for your help 💚

https://www.paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

It was dark and it was cold, but there was nothing the two can do. Holding each other in fear, holding each other to the thinning heartbeat, holding each other through the cold night, and the hot day, or windy through and through.

And then the door cracked, but there was nothing the two can do. Holding each other with round, fearful eyes, yet hopeful look.

I extended my hand, swift and stealthy. First the small, then the other. They are powerless; they are limp in my grasp, they are silent in my jacket.

I stood up and didn’t look back. I went down two steps on my toes, the road was empty, it was one hour into the new day, and I ran like the shadows of the leaves blown by the wind.

It was like, the trees crouched and bent their fingers to cover me in the dark; it was like, as soon as Sheilla turn on her motorbike engine, the gust of wind hush our presence, long enough until we were far gone.

We are decent persons, but we are thieves. I am; she is just an accomplice.

She is complicit when I told her about three kittens, all looking alike. Long hair,cute appearance. Like stars falling into the sky, their stray mother gave birth on the porch of that man, and he scooped them in, raising them with as little capital as possible, so he can sell them after a few months.

Free money.

After a week of bad weather, only one left. Scrawny, emaciated, sick, and dying. We no longer see his mother, we never more see his siblings.

For three nights we saw him alone, in a bedraggled cage, with broken espresso cup filled with water, and a can of dirt-cheap dry food in a biscuit can taller than twice his height.

On the open porch where he was born.

There was a part of us telling us firmly that if it is inside the property of others, it belongs to others. There is no animal welfare law in this town, there is none in this country.

But there were more part of us tugged and wrecked by his pitiful slow death.

And he was only two months old.

I stole him, and the other kitten locked with him whom we never know before, but couldn’t, wouldn’t left behind.

If I can burn myself from within, I will. If my drip of blood can quench them, I will cut myself open. There were nothing left of the two, and I fear they would end by the time we reach home.

We wrapped them in many layers of blankets, we give them warm milk and warm food, we made everyone jealous. We bathed them in the morning and that warm mountain water turned black. Deep black.

And every time our eyes meet, I told them: You are safe now, we love you.

They love us back.

And every time our way crosses, they look at us, and there will be pats on the back and a rub on their head. There will be cradle and coo, there will be kisses, and they will stand on our shoulder, cheek to cheek.

The girl is Dika (dee-cca, from Dilute Calico), and the boy is Toby.

Every morning when we pass that road where we stole them, we cannot help but peek. The cage where they kept was discarded, and the can of cat food kicked all over.

Sometimes the man who lives in that unkempt small house sees us; and we see him back, but he would never know, or if he does, sorry not sorry.

The start of their mobster life is like a movie.

Together, let’s end their lives like a fairy tale.

And they live happily ever after.

~ Josie

How it is possible to provide for a cat with cancer, a cat with concussion, a cat with liver disease, a cat recovering from fading syndrome, and now helping two kittens regain their lives? Until August 5th all donations made to The Whiskers’ Syndicate will be doubled. No limit, no “up to” Each and all that you shower toward these babies will be doubled.
That is how we change their impossible lives into I’m possible living. You can make it happen here:

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate