Sweet Mochachino

Mochachino originally is an espresso, mixed with whips of heavy cream and caramel, and warm cocoa. While it’s addicting biter sweet, the combination of chocolate and coffee is divine, just like someone I know I will love for a lifetime.

Josie was born in Indonesia. Quoting herself: a mix breed between Eastern Asian delicateness and unity to universe, and South-Eastern Asian’s resilience, loyalty, and courage.

Josie is intelligent, inquisitive, and analytical. Combination of talents that shoot her to the short row of straight A students (she got scholarship on both of her double degree: Psychology and Journalism/Creative Writing), but at the same time expel her to the group of nerds.

Josie love to write. Writing is her way to communicate with her self, to connect with her soul, and writing save her from direct opportunity to be further abused. At least – according to herself – no one would need to be sad because she cry. (sheesh)

Josie learns a lot from the nature, a divine blessing that she inherit from her grandparents and her mother, and a bloodline she proudly bear. Even as a small kid, I almost never seen her without  her mini Pringles cans, one filled with grains for the birds, the other filled with dry dog/cat food. In holidays she will ride her bike, with double rations and vegetables, and I have never seen her face more happy than when she bend down to feed whatever stray she met along the way.

One experience I never forget was when we went to the zoo one day, she was carrying big big backpack, and to every single cage, she throw either fruits, or cat food, or peanut according to its inhabitants. She then suddenly drag me outside, begged for all my money, and ask me to take her to the nearest market. There she rushed inside, buy few kilos of beef, and drag me back into the zoo.

“Why? What?” I asked. “You see that pair of snow fox back then? They were starving, the female was weak, and the male gone out to see if people can give him food”, “A wild snow fox should be way back in Japan’s snowy mountains, not in tropical island, more so BEG for food to the PEOPLE”

I have never seen her so upset, but due to that event, I never doubt how much she love nature.

Josie is well-mannered, gentle hearted and willing to help. A celestial combination that put her in the league of angels, but at the same time make her a perfect target to be used by opportunistic people.

Though she readily help others, and do it so marvelously at times, she unfortunately cannot do so for herself and instead, keep all pains alone. A bad habit that dies hard, and it is that bad habit that put her in this pinch right now.

Though she never told me, I know she has been skipping meals, delaying rest, and work harder for all the sick and dying animals she is trying to help.  When she told me that she is writing this blog  to appeal for help because she has been using all of the loan money for a campaign in Malaysia, I know she is running out of option, so it’s time for me to take action.

Because Josie is, for me, a warm, sweet Mochachino in a rough, cold, foggy, long day that called “life”.

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

Picassa: Long Journey Home

It’s a cloudy Sunday after an additional job when I suddenly decided to take different road back home. The small paved road was empty, but recent repair on it left a few rocks left by roadside, and a black thing too dark to be a stone. Frankly, I thought it was a lump of asphalt.

I drove my bike to avoid it, especially because I see a hint of white sedan behind me, when I realize that…. the lump got eyes!

So instead of driving away, I throw myself between the “stone” and the car, that immediately brakes but still hit me on time. I fall down (of course) and meet eye to eye with a black, extremely terrified kitten.

I sacked her up and brought her home, wondering why she didn’t run away from the car. After all, it is an empty road, and the car is slow. Slow enough for her to avoid it, if she wanted to.

4517062279_e8902959da_m

The problem is, it wasn’t that the kitten didn’t want to run, but she couldn’t run. She can’t even stand up, because her hind legs were dislocated. Something must have hit her before, hard enough to threw her to the road and dislocated her hind legs, making her unable to run.

Since no vet is open on Sundays, and there’s no animal hospital in the city, I had to do it myself. I relocated her hind legs back to its place by the same principle that I was learning back in PE class.

I called the little kitten “Picassa” due to an abstract “print” on top of her eyes that made her look as if she is wearing a masquerade.

The next day, however, I brought her to the nearest vet.

The vet said I did a great job relocating her hind legs, and said that she has nothing to worry about. I told him that she can’t walk properly, and that her left leg seems to be higher than the right one, so she kind of walking abnormally. He said it was a simple muscle strain, and that her right leg is the one that got a little bit swollen. He gave me a prescription and told me to leave. My heart and mind rejected his statement in choir, but I took the prescription in silence. He is the vet, not me.

Given the prescription twice, Picassa was crying whenever she littered, and I saw blood. The third prescription, more blood. So I stopped the medication and brought her to another vet, the vet that used to handle my other cats. I show her the prescription, and she said “The prescription is to hard for a kitten. It’s acidic to her intestine and the blood is because her gastric and intestine kind of scalded”

My heart sank. This little kitten, away from her mother, alone on the streets, got dislocated leg, cannot walk properly and now has scalded GIT (Gastro Intestinal Tract). Not funny.

The vet told me to treat her GIT first, then we can go and treat her leg, and by the way, it is the left leg that has problem, not the right.

I wish I can go back and give the other vet a good punch.

So Picassa spend weeks drinking gastritis medicine, and eat special gourmet I personally designed: brown rice powder, milk replacer, and multivitamins.

The special recipe cured her GIT, but her leg was damaged forever. Her left hind leg was higher than the right, so Picassa walked with limp as if her left leg is shorter than the right one.

We can have her leg operated, so that she can walk properly, however, the surgery will require a vet to put some metal pen to attach her bone, and such technology is very rare in Indonesia, and that would mean, it’s extremely expensive. Plus, like the vet said, Picassa is 2 months old. Forcing a surgery may crush her bone, so she suggested series of physiotherapy that will help her cope with her physical condition, in the hope that she might grow more or less “normal”

I followed the later advise. So starting the next weekend, Picassa drove with me to have a physiotherapy, and her condition improved as time pass by. She can now walk almost normally, she can run, she can jump, and the multivitamins as well as extra calcium gave her a very healthy appetite. The therapy itself was not cheap, but if that would mean giving a new hope for Picassa to be adopted, I don’t mind spending another IDR 4,000,000.00 (more or less USD 400.00), at least, I will figure out how.

Picassa is two months old,  has gone through a lot of pain, and passed a long journey home. I can at least appreciate her perseverance and faith.

Please consider Chipping In to help Picassa heal. Remember that  1 US dollar will worth 9,000.00 Indonesian Rupiah. It means your support will be multiplied ten thousand fold. There has never been better investing opportunity.

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

Renoir’s Midsummer Dream

It is impossible to write about Renoir without mentioning Picassa, and the other way around. The two of them seemingly have inseparable fate, though each ended in different timeline in the Syndicate.

We met a few weeks after I met Picassa, on one of our journeys to the vet for her physiotherapy. Our route home incorporated a makeshift traditional wet market that we always wish we can avoid. First, because it’s dirty, second, it’s smell, and third, there are heaps of sad sightseeing that includes dying or miserable cats or dogs that we hope we can save. It’s a double edged knife, and we always have to kill ourselves thrice. We have to kill ourselves as we brace their pitiful stare, begging to be saved, we have to kill ourselves as we move on, leaving them behind because we cannot save them, and we kill ourselves once more because of our inability to save them.

On this particular day, we spotted a small lump by the puddle near the sidewalk (supposed to be, but people used it to sell vegetable and all sort of things so we can’t walk on there).

Though it was only a few second, I knew it was a small kitten; so I stopped and nudge the soft lump.

It didn’t move, so I tried peeking lower to see his face, and found out that both of his eyes were glued with yellowish hardened pus, and his nose is almost gone below the pile of crusty sinuses.

In short, I think, the kitten doesn’t want to be disturbed. He just want to stay there and die in peace.

But I am an uber nosy person so I scoop him up, open my bag, apologize to a bewildered Picassa inside it, and push the dirty and dying kitten in.

4448238598_327f42072c_m

Later that night when I , remove the pus in his eyes, clean sinus crust and wipe him clean with an organic anti bacteria, the ugly fur lump slowly turned to a very handsome, 3 months old, kitten, with an unusual lump on his left belly. So I tried to lift him up much to his chagrin, and found out that his left belly is indeed bigger than the right side, hinting me that this kitten might have suffered from Hernia.

Since I don’t have any more money left to pay the vet, I focus to cure his severe sinus first. Really, this kid has slime filling up his throat that he has to breathe like fish: gaping with mouth open and sleep while he sit.

Within a few days when his ticks and mange are fully removed, and his sinus is getting better, he is now close friends with younger Picassa, and since the two are inseparable, I called him Renoir, which he seems to like because whenever I pronounce that name, he meows.

The next week, I got some money so I get him to the vet, which only shake her head with my persistence in saving street animals, despite my financial famine, but that is not the big point. The real breaking news is: Renoir does have Hernia, and the fact that he is 3 months old doesn’t help, because kitten that age tend to run and jump, and it make the hole ripped bigger and bigger.

I had the option of sedating him though, so that he is more “calm” and “subdued” but I vehemently against the idea, because it will be the same like ripping Renoir his youthful days.

The vet, in the other side, refuse to perform a surgery on him because he is too small to handle it. She told me that it is best to wait until he is 3 or 4 months older so his physical condition is better fitted for the surgery.

Meanwhile, I have an extra hard thing to do: making sure Renoir doesn’t go wherever or do whatever that can cause a wound on his belly, because one wound can directly affect his intestine, also, because of that lump (which is getting bigger) pushes his hind left leg away that Renoir cannot walk or run properly.

Have a difficulty to imagine? Well try to walk, or run (if you can) with your legs spread as widely as possible. Then Renoir would be completely offended because you are definitely mimicking him. 😛

During that three months, I also have to keep Renoir well conditioned, with special food, vitamins, that will give him not only balanced, but most complete nutrition to ensure him a perfect growth and condition when he undergo the surgery.

My biggest challenge is…. money (yeah, right). I tried adding extra hour on my night job and on weekends, but the extra income won’t even match the price of his food. I dare not imagine what should I do when the surgery day come because it will certainly, cost me more than IDR 3,000,000.00 (after a huge discount from the vet). In total, he would need at least IDR 5,000,000.00 (approx USD 550.00).

4517067337_678092e7fd_m
Help Me?

The good news is…luckily, this is Indonesia. a country where USD 1 will worth approx IDR 9,000.00. In Euro or Pound the number will even exceed 10,000.00. How great that would be? A single coin worth ten thousand time across the ocean?

One good karma multiplied ten thousand fold? I can guarantee that this is not an April fool joke.

Are you willing to try?

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

We Are The Whiskers’ Syndicate!

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Our Founding Mobsters

We came a long way from all over the world, well, mostly Indonesia, an ever developing (who knows until when) country down between Indian Ocean and the Pacific. If you used to know South East Asia you will come to know us more easily, but if you still need a clue, we have that surfer’s paradise people called Bali.

Nope, we don’t surf, of course, but we roam on the nasty streets with hardy living. Got poisoned, ran over by car, left to die, forced to breed, dumped like trash, caged in zoos, circuses, or perform spectacular jump from a tiny tank in exchange of our vast ocean we called home. We know no such thing as “freedom” and “life” It’s humans brag o nonsense.

That is, until some weirdo passed by with her bike and while we are ready to accept just another kick or slap (we don’t think we did anything wrong but that happened all the time *sigh*), she instead extend her hand, smile, and said one or two words before scooping us and throw us in her canvas bag, along with… well… pencils, books, shreds of what she called “bills”, and… something that rings some tune once and a while.

Most of our friend got scooped before and never returned, so we thought we’re history (history? No one even know we exist!), but a few bumps and a couple of times later, she saw us into a small room, with a bed, some clothing, and a lot of other of our kind. Some we know, most not.

If we’re lucky, one of us or two will meet their long-lost siblings.

It’s no heaven, really. We have to share one bed at night, and queue to use the litter box. We can’t play in the green field, what we got is a red, hot (at midday), endless roof just outside her room window, but at least the air is nice, and we can scratch wherever we like or run and play as we please. We got our own plate, yes, but the food is definitely not premium grade. It’s more than certainly edible, though, compared to those we used to pick up from the trash.

And we’ve got a lotta love.

The girl will pick us up, put us on their lap, and wash us clean from those irritable manges. She force us to swallow a pill or some dark liquid that tastes some hint of chicken that will make our stomachs go awful the whole day and drop lousy numbers of worms (yuck), but yeah… we’ll then be as good as new.

Every once and then she’ll ride us to that group of young people who would never let us go before they successfully sting us with their needles, but after some time you can see that some of our sickly neighbors will get better, though some don’t. And when that happened, that weirdo girl will sit silent by the edge of the bed, cradling the fallen in her arm and shed tears (yes, we’re sure she shed tears, not fur).

Occasionally, she’d told us I have always dream of running a shelter, just like grandpa used to have, but I’d never thought that I’d have one now while I am in tight money. Are you guys sure you’re all right living poor way like this? I only have one room though… aah, we don’t answer that, but we just stay there. One room is better than no room, meh.

At the other time she’d company us eat (she eat her own food, those eaten by the rabbits, we eat our own share), and mumbles something like You guys are no different with a band of mafia when you eat…. you practically raid your plate.

Why of course! We’re the Whiskers’ Syndicate!

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate