Everybody knows this taboo: never look at the mirror at certain time of the day at certain day of the year and say “Bloody Mary” three times. Well, some people even say just once can set a certain tragedy to happen.

But not everyone listens to a good advice.

Everybody knows tuna is big. It’s a heavy haul to nail them out of the ocean; and no pan nor wok nor pot will fit that size of a fish. Well, some people said the meat’s taste so great it’s worth the trouble.

But not everyone listen to a good advice.

Everybody knows cats like tuna. Mobsters at The Whiskers’ Syndicate would claw each other to get a piece more than they are allowed to. Well, some people said fish is bad for cats because of the possible mercury contamination

And the price. People told me buy it just once can set a certain tragedy to happen.

But not everyone listen to a good advice.

I am not everyone, I guess, so I lined up on a certain fish seller, one of only two in the market nearby who sell fresh tuna. I always choose the chubbiest, longest, healthiest tuna and make people next in line grumpy because it will take so long to clean it out, cut it up to fit my 24 inches pot, and when the seller is done with my share, he himself will turn grumpy because his waste bucket will be full.

So he pick it up, haul it to his shoulder and dump it to the sewer behind him.

Don’t give me that look. I told you Bandung is two centuries behind everything.

And not everyone listen to a good advice.

I heard a hack sound when all those guts and skulls hit the sewer, but I thought it was just me; besides, the view is gross and the smell is unbearable.

But then I heard another hack and a sort of a muffled sneeze.

And the skulls are moving; as if the tuna came back to life.

The other buyers were intrigued by my horrified face looking at the moving fish skull and some women started to scream when a bloody creature with hair made of fish intestine crawl out from the sewer like that girl in Hollywood’s “The Ring” and scramble its way toward us.

Some customers ran away in terror

That was when I lost it. I looked at the terrified fish seller and said “Bloody Creep! You dump the whole bucket of filth on a kitten?”

It snapped the seller out of his horror. “Huh? What? Kitten?” and he look again, and deliver his defense “I didn’t see that kitten in there. How should I know. Why would a kitten be in the sewer?”

I was helpless thinking that I will have to throw away yet another shirt picking up that blood dripping, intestine draped wee little hacking thing. It doesn’t even look halfway like a kitten.

The wife of the fish seller read my mind (or my look) and pulled some plastic bag and give it to me. “Use this, if you are going to pick it up. Yuck.”

It cost me gallons of water, whole bottle of shampoo, a liter of tomato juice and half a pound of lemon to get rid of her halloween eau de parfum.

And her name is Bloody Mary.

Not everyone listens to a good advice.

~ Josie

Despite her look, Bloody Mary is a sweet kitty. She is always ready for a many headbutts and plenty of purrs and she runs like wind across the valley when she zwoosh from one end of the cattery to the other for extra tuna; or whenever the door is opened. Once she almost fell off 3 feet down onto solid concrete when she zipped out of the front door and forgot to pull the brake.

She never listens to a good advice.

#HappyCaturday , the first in 2016

1. Click the donate button on The Whiskers’ Syndicate’s Facebook page

2. Go to PayPal and send a donation to (Lori) or (Miguel/Josie)

3. Follow this link to make a donation:


Once upon a time, come two women into King Solomon’s hall carrying a baby. With each of them a story claiming that the baby is hers and the other was trying to steal it.

At the heat of the swear spitting, hair pulling, punch throwing bickers (I feel sorry for King Solomon but it comes with the job) the wise king lifted the baby by its heels and draw his sword.

“What about I split this baby in two and you each have half of it? Then you can go to hair salon and have all those hairs pulled out in an artistic manners if you like”

One woman said it’s a great idea, the other was horrified and admitted that she accidentally smothered her own child when she sleep but she would rather not have a child than the King kill the baby. The confession brings the light of truth: the real mother of the baby, but also a twist: the real mother of the baby is a jerk.

When I brought home two (4 days old) cat babies without mother, I found out that Tabitha and Libby were fighting over them. Tabitha: young, energetic, with a penchant of going the wrong way due to her crossed eyes, is more aggressive. She’d beat the crap out of Libby who often ended up bloodied and sore, especially on her delicate lips. At all time I find Libby sitting there quietly, watching the two babies rolling and wiggling and crawling on the blanket, as if she wished her long forlorn look will bring the babies to her side.

Everyday is the same femadrenaline dot com. Alas we don’t have King Solomon, we only have me.

Tabitha never had a baby. I got her spayed before she reached womanhood but she picked up all 11 kittens from the bamboo bushes and cared for them really well (especially in fiercely bashing whatever thing passed her lair even if it’s me), but her crossed eyes made her miss her target destination and most of the time she ended up sitting on the babies. And then, as she never have kids, she doesn’t have the expertise and she has too many (five remaining of the 11 babies)

Libby has the expertise. You can count on it on her growing number of greys. I am told that even if a female cat doesn’t have litter, if babies suck onto them they will produce milk but I don’t know if it is truth or just dare.

So when Tabitha went out to the back to play (she is still 8 months old herself) I took both babies and give them to Libby.

She put her experience to a great length of use; and Tabitha never even realize there’s something missing.

One survive out of the two and when the little baby start to wander around. Libby, without proper upper lips and front teeth (only two fangs) took all the trouble to get her kitten out of the box, put it on my door mat, and call me to get out of the room.

Libby never called before. She just sit there and watch and I should figure it out by myself.

When I opened the door, she walked in and call the little baby to follow her.

Seriously Libby, one month old baby cannot naturally follow you like a four months old.

I carried the baby in, and Libby proceeds to go to the corner of my room, drag one of my training pants off the bed, and the rest should be history, I guess.

Happy #Caturday everyone!

~ Josie

I am not too close to Mona of Colony Cats and Dogs of Columbus, Ohio, but Lori is; Mona is an amazing leader of the rescue group and she is currently fighting against infection, just like the baby fight for her life so I call the little girl Mona or Mona Lisa, for the heck of it, or you can find out why in her photo below (hint: round face and muted smile).

It’s a tough job rearing kids but I do hope you can help me make Mona Lisa smile and live happily ever after by one of these three ways below, it’s really easy:

1. Click the donate button on The Whiskers’ Syndicate’s facebook page

2. Go to PayPal and send a donation to

PS: Seriously aren’t you tempted to share all those cuteness overload and help us fund raise? We are falling very short of donation this week, eek!

Winner Stands Alone

I have just finished helping the traveling vet fixing the last adult males of The Whiskers’ Syndicate, and tomorrow I will have the last two females. I will then have a few months, maybe two, or three, before the next batch of cats reach maturity and the cycle continues.

In part, I am grateful. Eventually, after trying and struggling and dragging myself and the finances to fix everyone at the sanctuary, the job is done, for now.

In other part, I know that I still have a long way to go. I still have four in the colony nearby, two standalone on nearby street, and another six, if not more, in other part of town.

It sounds like a good plan; once all of these colony cats were fixed, the time will come for me to come back and fix my own refuges: Donna and the babies, who will then reach maturity.

In between my preparation earlier that day a close friend popped up on Facebook Messenger with her usual bouncy merry happy attitude.

Hi! How are you doing today? I am with my dog doing this and that and whatever and it’s fun! I want to do this and that and whatever and you should do this and that and whatever and I am going to take a beat now hugs!

So, um, what happened to “How are you doing today?” I guess it’s a rhetorical question; but she done that to me all the time so I just shrug and move on with my own life. It doesn’t really matter how I am doing today as long as she has fun and I figured she just popped up to tell me that she had fun.

At around the same time I was trying to reach out to my other close friend who is getting ready for her big break and flew half way across USA to meet her family. She is a busy woman. She volunteers with various animal rescues and she still squeeze time to help The Whiskers’ Syndicate. This must be a very busy time for her so I thought I’d help her as a little token of gratitude so I nudge her through messenger and offer my help. I didn’t know, and she didn’t tell me that she has another event that she coordinated so she did not reply immediately and when she finally did, she replied to my questions with short, telegraphic message that immediately put me in my place: out of her way.

She has been that way even when I told her my plan of a fund raiser week. Every other rescues I know all over the world have events on line and off so I thought I’d join the them and have a little online event to fund raise and celebrate the new lease of lives for a dozen of baby cats that I recently pulled out of the brink of death. I thought it will be fun to share with everybody and I thought everybody would like to come over and be happy knowing that they have a great part in saving lives.

Usually she can catch the spirit, but with such short messages (funny thing is she always feel awkward if I am busy and give her a telegraphic conversation) I knew it there and then that she was too busy and she is not interested in my plan or at least not too much. She has the matching challenge with her and that’s all that matter; but to appreciate me she is willing to adopt some of my ideas and for that I am grateful. I re arrange my schedule so I can be more free to post during the week and work at the event so I don’t add to her burden but I am not sure if she even see that possibility and let me help; hence I gratefully step aside.

However, it seems like the world revolved without me. The event was a disaster. No one come; no one responded to the matching challenge, and it took a few days for a single quiz question to be answered by ten people (thank you Eve Corbett!).  My friend sweep the page back from my hand and deliver her own writing and people start to look. I realize it then that the event was a bad idea, and that public might have liked her posts more than mine (and therefore responded better to her articles) so I thought of cancelling the rest of the events and stick with her never failed matching challenge.

During the surgeries the vets and I conversed about how people asked vet about things and bring their pets to be examined, but out of the vet practice they look around Google and laymen’s forums to look for cheaper way to handle their animals. Many if not all then choose to treat the animals their own (cheaper) way and many if not all of those animals ended up dead or worse and owner pressurize the vet to fix whatever mistake had been done (they cover their own sin of course, by saying they don’t know what happened and the pet is just found that way) If the pet is (as expected) dead, they can blame it on the vet.

That’s Indonesian reality.

So what is the point of asking a vet’s opinion if you are not going to go through with it? Some don’t want to bring their pet to the vet or the vet to come to their place. They prefer to ask by text or whatsapp or Blackberry Messenger or you know what else because then they will have a professional opinion for free. They don’t care that vets usually just give general ideas because they cannot diagnose without physically examining the pet, but who cares; it’s just an animal and they can always put two and two together between the vet, forums, google translate and half ass logic.

We also talked about how expats, who comes from “first world countries” or “sovereign nation” treated other people from the second or third world and the rest like a piece of shit and that we all should be grateful that they are so generous to us because otherwise we are still slaves and even now some of us would rather be their slave because they pay with US Dollars instead of our worthless money.

It’s not that we are as good as them anyway. We know that we’re way behind the rest of the world, but it doesn’t make us less human than the others. Some of Indonesian youth do move on, get out of their cave (read: comfort zone) and try to build a better place that can be proudly called Indonesia, our homeland.

During the surgery Milk left her pack and sleep under my chair; occasionally peeking out to see if I am done and when she saw that I haven’t, went back to her curling spot and back to sleep. At times,  I will look straight back at her with my eyes speaking out loud

Thank you, I am sorry I haven’t done. I will go back to you so please hang in there.

She didn’t say anything but I know it in her eyes that she does understand before she walked back to the fluffy mat under my chair and back to sleep.

Verily, there are times when animals has higher understanding than human being and it humbles me more that it comes from a discarded, ill ridden baby cat.

When we’re done I asked the vet if she can give me a ride downhill so I can buy more sanitizer for equipment to be used for tomorrow and to get myself some lunch. I offered to buy her some but she said she got her lunch paid by the clinic.

She gave me a ride and when I am done, I walked home alone under Bandung’s scorching heat that reached 42C (107F) and complete dryness to bake you to crisp. Bandung usually moved from 17C to 29C (62F-84F) but now the temperature at the peak of the day can reach 42C(107F) to drop to 15C (59F) at night. The extreme rise and drop between day and night temperature is detrimental to animals, especially street animals that does not have a good immune to protect them. Many become sick and the antibiotic abuse (thanks to the smart ass forums all over the internet) make the bug resistant and expose animals to even greater risk.

Milk was the first to greet me as soon as I put the bottles down on the table. I picked her up and cradled her in my arm. She looked pale, but content. Her eyes have been telling me that she is not well. Two other kittens were pawing my legs and trying to climb my jeans. One has watery eyes so I pay attention for the possibility of Chlamydia, and the other one looked lethargic so I made mental note to give him extra B12.

At the back of the cattery Jack is still fighting distemper. Harley, Torbie and two others have just gone out of their own bout of URI. Bon Ami’s UTI is coming back so I will have to give him tomato juice again. One of the colony cat also has trouble with health lately.

Aside from all that I have to divide my attention to Lance’s mom who is dealing with her first case of distemper, and recently rescued a small kitten who has bad diarrhea. Gratefully she is careful and is consulting experts and vets instead of following some smart ass forum or Google who gives strong GUT antibiotics to treat URI. Oxymoron, I know, but that’s the reality here.

I have just Peta and Split Ear to calicivirus but I told no one about it because one of my two closest friends woofs around looking all happy and it seems likely that she is too busy to stop bouncing and listen to my answer to her “how are you doing”, the other one was too busy with other things and I need time and space to process the whole hell that broke lose on me.

I took Milk to my room and lay her down my own blanket which is also her favorite. She rolled over and hugged my fingers like milk bottle and start purring. Since she came from different litter she never really fit in with the others and follows me everywhere as her mom instead of Tabitha, and later Jane Marple, who stepped forward and become surrogate mothers for the babies, including her.

I saw her swollen eyes and the thick mucus that made her breathe through her mouth instead of nose. I put her in the nebulizer in the morning so I cannot give her another one until later at night.

I got a message from a Polish woman about a single survivor kitten at the edge of the forest near her boarding.


I looked at Milk. She is struggling with her breath and she is still hugging my fingers. so instead of typing I dictate my phone to say the following:


So that you understand what I mean: if “normal” Indonesian houses looks like yours, houses in Dago Pakar, that lady’s place, is Buckingham Palace or The White House. It’s no joke, though I hope it is.

This is Indonesian reality.

If possible, I don’t want to leave home. I have enough cats, I have sick ones, I have Milk, and I don’t have money, time, space and energy to care for another. If possible, I want to just turn the request away by the spell of “we cannot save them all”; if possible I want to stay with Milk because I had the feeling that if I left her now, I will never seen her again. Last time I have that feeling I denied it and I lost a cat who is half my brother and I don’t want to repeat the same sin even in another seven reincarnation.

But I remember Tortie, who lived the rest of her life in a forest park without tooth and was on her way to starvation had I didn’t meet her and I bet no one would want to pick the kitten up if I turn the request away.

This is Indonesian reality

I also remember three kittens that someone dumped in a box on a bus shelter that required me to run half an hour back from where I dropped off my boss’ car (I was on a job interview and he doesn’t like animals) and two of them were already flat on the street and the only survivor, who will be known as Monday, only lives for less than two months with us.

This is Indonesian reality

And talking about reality, when Monday’s story went viral by the courtesy of Harmony Fund, people wrote me these things:

This woman is a fake. I would have stopped the car right there and then and scoop them up.

In Asian countries like Indonesia, Malaysia and Thailand traffic can be so horrible you can’t stop at all, still this can be avoided but unfortunately not enough was done.

I can’t believe this lady left the kittens for half an hour before she came back, I would have faked a broken car and saved the kittens.

I am not sure if the commentator knows about this but in Indonesia, if you broke your car in the middle of the road, people will blast their car horn at you for five minutes straight and swear at you when they manage to wiggle their way around the traffic and if you are lucky they will spat at you. If you are a woman, one or two men will swipe their hand past your butts. The road is packed.

This is Indonesian reality.

I called Lance’s mom if she would like to tag along. She has a penchant of rescue but she doesn’t have experience so I thought I’d show her a chip of my life.

I waited until Milk fall asleep and jumped right back out to the streets because that park is a popular tourist destination and there’s only one road to go to that place and that road will be exasperatingly condensed that it is impossible to pass within two hours unless I run. It was five pm Friday and I made an appointment at 6:30.

Before I went out I stroke her fur and whisper You are going to be all right. Hang in there. I will be right home.

I picked Lance’s mom up and on my way.

I have never met this lady and her husband and the signal there is not so good. It’s a forest and this is Indonesia. We do not have 4G LTE until last month and even 3.5G/HSDPA is troublesome. When I have clear view of the sky and the signal is back I tried to call her husband’s number she gave but no one pick up the phone. I keep trying for another one hour and by then the taxi meter quoted me two hundred thousand Rupiah.

When some man finally picked up the phone I told him who I am and he immediately blasted me for being late and that I don’t mean well and that I was lying when I told him I have been trying to call.

I was gobsmacked. I raised my voice to top his and told him I was just trying to help.

The phone was hung up and a few minutes later his wife, the Polish woman called and as soon as I picked up, she started on the same tirade.

I asked So what do you want now? You got me here just to swear at me or what?

Among another few:

All I want to do is help the cat. She is alone, and afraid, and skinny and sick.

You were late, we already go home.

I am pregnant, and I can’t be too cold, I don’t feel so good so we go home

I don’t have car, we only have motor (cycle)

My shots between her tirade:

I don’t have car either, and I don’t even have motor, I got here by taxi.

and that is because there’s no bus or other local transport past 5 pm.

Her answer:

Don’t scream at me, I don’t like people screaming at me (I did not. If I talk the usual volume she can’t hear me)

You have to respect people.

You have to respect people’s time

You have to respect people’s good will to rescue

You have to respect other woman

You have to respect people’s opinion

I respect all lives, so I respect animals. You are suppose to respect animals.

I am pregnant, I don’t have car, I only have motor. I don’t feel so good. My husband said I don’t feel so good (husband is local)

I will write bad reviews about you

I will tell everyone you are not a good person

I will report your organization and say bad about it

I will tell everyone and write everywhere that you do not respect other people.

I blasted at her just once HEY! and she was so shocked at the fierceness of my voice that she shut up.

[Name] if I don’t respect you, and if I don’t respect my own words, I won’t be here, and I won’t be talking to you nor listening to your tirade. I don’t have car either, I don’t even have motor, so I take taxi, and I won’t be paying two hundred thousand Rupiah for it if I don’t appreciate your willing to help.

If I don’t respect the life of this kitten you have been talking about, I won’t be here in the first place, responding to a complete stranger who would like to meet me in a forest.

Fine if you want to write all of those. This is not the first time someone stepped all over my head because they are expat and because I went to lower places to help animals. Just because you are expat doesn’t mean you are always right.

She gasped, then said I will be there in ten minutes just wait. And hung up.

And here I am, a single woman, with stranger taxi driver, by the forest, in the dark of the night.

I am so stupid.

When they showed up she continue to protest but I just shove her into the taxi, sit by the driver, and have her husband use the motorcycle to guide us through the forest to a dilapidated stall in the middle of nowhere where the kitten is because she can’t have it with her and meet me at the park’s gate to hand it over.

I didn’t say a word all the way there, but I noticed that Lance’s mom was trying to explain to her that I have sick cats, and things to take care of, that more than one person pulled a prank at me by sending SOS messages on behalf of some cat or kitten and have me go to weirdest places. The only thing I said:

I do not normally take in any animals because I am already overrun with them. I made an exception just for a single cat, because I think you are genuine and I go length for that.

So we got to the stall, she showed me where she left her Whiskas and step aside and watch.

I remembered my Australian mother told me that none of the westerners in the animal rescue whom she knows want to rescue the way I do, going into the sewer or climb the garbage truck. They all just call animal control, have someone else dirtied their hand on the work they could have done and then pick the animal or adopted them.

I heard her talking to Lance’s mom that she feed the cat in the morning but she doesn’t want to go there at night because it’s in the middle of nowhere and it’s dark and there’s a lot of wild animals there like bats and dogs and monkeys.

And she wants me to go there by myself to pick the kitten up?

I see nothing but pile of woods until Lance’s mom used her cell phone as a torch and I called out while peeking around. A white and tabby kitten squiggle his way and come straight into my arm.

The polish woman said Now I am happy.

Then she told me

You can list her for adoption.

I said: People don’t adopt around here. They buy purebred and breed themselves.

Yea… yea people like to buy Persian and breed them and sell the kittens. I just called your organization because I am very worried about this kitten

There is no organization. It’s just me.

(her eyes a little bit bigger but no comment yet) I don’t know how many you have now, but I am glad you take the kitten.

I have around 100.

Wow. And how many people are working for you?



You are alone? How do you manage all of things?

From morning to morning.


She raised her hands Ah well, let’s forget what just happened, I am happy the kitten is saved, I don’t like this atmosphere.

My silent remark: Gee, with all those blabbery cussing and swearing and screaming you haven’t run out of atmosphere already?

I turned around and walk into the taxi, it doesn’t matter if she wants to follow or not.

As we drove her to her boarding she keeps commenting how silent is the cat and ask if it’s sleeping. I told her the cat is sniffing around but is comfortable.

I dropped off Lance’s mom to her own boarding and wade through the rest of the traffic jam back home and spend over three hundred thousand Rupiah for the taxi and some tip for the driver for being kind enough to wait there in the forest instead of just leaving me behind.

It was somewhere over nine pm. The cats haven’t got dinner, but the first thing I do is look at Milk.

She is still sleeping, I stroke her fur and whispered that I am home and I will feed the others now and afterwards tend to her.

Just as I closed the door Milk start screaming.

I rushed back in and watch her entered a seizure. She trashes around so much and she defecate and urinate all over my blanket.

All of a sudden, the demanding hordes of mobsters at the back and in the house fell silent. There was no sound around except for her scream and I have no doubt that I want to drop everything and be with her.

My cell phone was outside the room, so I reached out to the older one I kept as spare and sent two messages, one to my closest friend, the other to Lance’s mom.

Milk has epilepsy, pray for her.

She calmed down after an hour, so I wrapped her inside the blanket so she won’t fall if she started again, and go out and feed the others.

When I came back half an hour later I saw my friend responded and asked if I get access to medication.

It was broad daylight in Ohio but its the middle of the night in Bandung, but I am sure she didn’t think of it, from the way she asked.

I typed no.

She said, that’s suck.

I typed Haha, you have no idea what sucks means here.

It was the only moment I become myself the whole day.

She said she posted and ask if someone has ideas how to handle the situation.

By then I already went back out to give medicine et cetera and when I came back, I saw her posting Fanny’s picture instead of Milk’s and ask if anyone had a clue.

The comments under her post are all confident, sure, and along the “oh, that’s easy” tone: Phenobarbital.

It annoys me because I know it’s phenobarbital but I can’t blame them for answering that way because there was not enough information about what had happened to Milk before, that she is only three months old with the size of two, and that she is only two ounces and a half.

Still, I sincerely thank everyone because these people are the first positive reinforcement I ever had through out the week. I can’t but appreciate people speaking at length to me and provide me links and conversation instead of a bunch of telegraphic speech here and there.

Milk continue to have two more sessions throughout the night and I stay wide awake beside her at all time.

At 3 am today, she no longer has power to move. The seizures made her defecate and urinate all over my bed and throw herself from end to end.

She struggled to crawl closer. I hold her close and tell her she can go if she wants, and she went to join Berry.



After Milk passed away, I sit alone in silence, watching her. She looked peaceful; accomplished.

In complete contradiction, I feel miserable, belittled, left out. From two of my closest friends to complete stranger, all of my memories jumbled together into a messy blunder and the first I pick out is anger.

The ten commandments of respect that were spat onto my face lingers, and the time I spend handling those spats cost me the time I could have spent with one of the kittens that God had entrusted me to care for and on her last day on earth. All she asked was my fingers to hug, all I give her is “hang in there” three times.

All Milk ask is a little time for just us, to say good bye, maybe; and I use that little time to wade through the traffic jam, got some Polish smear shit all over my face, and yet another cat to take care of, or just me getting busy with my cell phone and semi ignore her when she crawl closer and sit on my arm.

Holding her lifeless body in my arm, my tears had long run dry, and I didn’t know if my heart still have a shape, but it hurts to remember that I was not there for Milk long enough.

It hurts to be sub human for doing what I am doing

It hurts to be cursed for your compassion or other good deeds for that matter.

It hurts when I have to put my head under someone else feet just because I live in a common place called home and they live in a place called heaven.

It still hurts to be judged out loud by total stranger half the world away.

It hurts to have a “how are you doing” as a rhetorical question that never needs an answer.

It hurts to pop up to help and been telegraphically pushed aside.

It hurts to know that you are trying to help, but you don’t have half of what others have to save that life and when you have to give up anyway, people say that you could have done more.

It hurts to love and to lost and not even sure how to react to it or if what I am doing is right.

It hurt to always find out at the end of the day that I am alone. I have friends, they love me, the care about me, but at the end of the day, I am me, myself and me.

It hurts because I was somewhere else when Milk needed me the most.

But this is Indonesian reality

And even on her last moment on earth, Milk gave me understanding, patience, endurance, love and forgiveness.

I walked out of my room and take a look on the new cat. He was curling up on the same spot where Milk was earlier this morning. His face looks innocent, and peaceful, just like Milk.


For the rest of my life, every time I look at him I will remember Milk and all the pain she has to go through that night and her magnificent patience with which she endures the pain until her very last breath.

But if I remember him that way, Milk’s patience would have been in vain. She had given her patience to give time for the new boy to come into our lives, so with that same patience I will take care of him and the other cats.

If I remember all the hurts, Milk’s love would have been in vain. She had ended her own life with that great love when she used her last strength to lay on my arm like a lover, so with that same love I will fill my life and share to others.

If I remember all the spatting and cussing, and all the losses I have just to retrieve that new boy, I would have wasted Milk’s forgiveness. She had showed me her big heart when she forgave me for doing something else and was somewhere else when she needs me the most, so with the same forgiveness I will absolve my own sin. I was trying to do something right, and I have been following my conscience and by doing so, safe one life.

If I remember the ego-centrism and blind accusations, I would have wasted Milk’s understanding. She knows I have a lot to do and a lot to take care of, so she step aside and let me finish what I started. With that same understanding I looked back through the day and see things in different light.

Instead of feeling left out I am even more grateful for my two friends. There are times when they made themselves more than available for me, so now it’s my turn to understand them and get out of their way. There are times when they went out of their way and help me instead of enjoying their own life; there are times when they work harder than I am and spend enormous resources out of pocket because they have faith that I will do the utmost good with their gifts. And there are times, if not always, that they cried with me and laugh with me and share so many stories so the least I can do is feeling happy and grateful for them and support them with whatever they are doing.

Instead of the anguish, I felt relief. Relief because I don’t let myself dwindle in all the negativity that surrounded me. Relief because instead of turning friends into enemies, I am given the chance to turn friends into sisters.

Instead of feeling belittled, I took Milk’s spirit with me and live by her code so that one day when we meet again, I won’t be a sub human, I will be proud to be her human.

That way Milk’s death won’t be in vain.

This is my Indonesian reality: understanding, patience, forgiveness.

And I don’t have to live in a sky high elite like Dago Pakar to bask in the gifts of life that Milk had bequeathed me.

~ Josie


Remember the kittens Josie rescued from the bamboo bushes? Well, after a week wretched in nature we thought it will be good to have a little fun so starting today we will be throwing baby shower pawty for them and you’re invited!

Here is what we have:

1. USD 250 matching challenge (ongoing until Wednesday this week 9pm EST)
2. Kitty Quizzes. (Starting Tuesday every 8 PM GMT+7 until Saturday) Every correct answer a sponsor will donate to The WhiskersSyndicate so don’t miss it and bring the whole world over!
3. Baby shower gift auction. We will be displaying discounted (and we mean big big BIG discount) items that the kitties need which you can purchase as a gift for the babies (items will not exceed USD 25).
4. Pet toy and T shirt sales (will not exceed USD 20/items)
5. Name the babies contest.

If you participate in at least 4 out of 5 activities in our event we will send you a secret party favor! If you come by and share our quizzes or challenge or our kitten related posts, we will send you more!

We’d love you to share photos of your kittens as well during the week and entries will go into The Whiskers’ Syndicate 2016 Calendar (we’ve been putting that off because of ill fitted circumstances previously but this year it’s fixed ).

Bad news is, two of the babies have crossed The Rainbow Bridge. However, there are still 9 that need your prayers and help to grow strong and stay healthy. Along with the usual fundraiser, we will be posting a wish list of items that Josie will need in abundance to keep these and the rest of the Mobsters going (You will see them in the gift auction. Maybe you can use some for your own pet as well).

We are starting the week with a $250 Matching Challenge by Christine S. Andrea A. and myself. This challenge will cover the weekly needs of the Mobsters and anything over that will be used for the kittens and the other cat Josie found over the weekend.

I can’t leave with with just a bunch of boring words tonight though so I leave you with this. I can’t have longer chat with Josie because precocious little Donna Noble who is now into everything is teaching the new babies how to climb. Just this evening/morning (Indonesia time) she taught them to climb the table, push stuff off and then turn the table into a bed. Very cute, Donna, very cute!

So, yeah, here’s reminding you that there’s a pool of $250 to match your donation which will end on Wednesday evening at 9 pm Eastern. Use one of these ways to double your donation right now:

1. You can click the donate button on WhiskersSyndicate‘s
Facebook page.

2. Go to PayPal and send a donation using

3. You can also follow this link to make a donation:


Purrs And Away

Appeared on Whiskers’ Syndicate facebook page  on August 1st, 10:30 PM (GMT + 7:00)

Leeto (from Little Tortie) has always been the one to watch on the sideline. It is why she is not as famous as her mischievous sibling Torbie. She is not as active as her other sibling: Neo, who got his name from his blackness and his penchant of jumping from one top to another and back again. But just because she is a little bit of an introvert, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t know how to enjoy life.

Often at the dead of the night, when I was still typing or translating, or sewing, I would find her playing alone in the corner, with the toys that were exhausted by her siblings hours before.

After all the floor have been swept and mopped, after all the litter boxes are cleaned, after all the kibbles swallowed, the blanket spread out, and cat traveled to Hogwart from platform Z 5/8, I am always alone to pass the night, working, but since she came into our lives, she is that silent TV upon which I can peek between my stitches and made to smile.

And away is the tiredom, or sleepiness, at least for a while.

When she is old enough to take the world, she went out of my bedroom and never look back. She met the other mobsters who loves her as a child, or adore her as a friend. Then my moonlighting nights are a little bit quieter, but when I heard the Cheese Chase rolling, or the ball in that Senses track chasing when everyone else are flying on their magic carpet, I know it would be Leeto. Sometimes I would peer through the window and see her silhouette dancing under the moon, sometimes it’s too dark to see anything, but I can just imagine how she would look like, the stage is all for her own.

And away is the tiredom, or sleepiness, at least for a while.

During the day, it was different world. Less quiet, less solitude. There are fund to raise, supplies to provide, chores to do. Orders has to go to the post office, medicine has to be bought, this cat and that cat have to go to the vet, the other one need nebulizer, that one over there need a bath after he plays in the drainage. Leeto usually come to me and rub each of my legs twice, asking for her pat on the head, and goes purrs and away. On the days she is not sleeping, she will watch the others made fun of their toys. She just look and follow everyone with her eyes.

She never show me her new skill in kicking that Sense ball like the others, sometimes playing so hard that the whole track bounced from the floor and fly, belly flopped a few meters away, or worse, made a somersault and landed upside down. She never need the spotlight, it’s enough that she knows what she can do and will do with that toy when her turn come in the middle of the night.

Yesterday morning I found her lying on her side, right in front of my door, with seizure. The schedule broke into pieces. I loosely wrap her in a towel, put her in a cool place, and when she calmed down, moved her to the corner of my bedroom where her early stage used to be. I cancel my work, I messaged my patron and ask for an extra day to ship her order. I abandon every other thing and give her all the attention she need.

She opened her eyes once, looked around, and found me. I smiled, the same way she always found me smiling when she noticed someone watched her play. She sighed and went purrs and away.

And never again look back.

Leeto crossed the rainbow bridge and went to the other side.

I’d never know why. It’s not a question that can be answered by this world where I live in. The only thing I know is that for 10 months, she has enough milk, enough food, enough drink, enough treats, enough toys, enough care, and as much of moonlighting as she wants until the day she crossed over.

And away is my tiredom, or sleepiness, for nights to come. That corner where I used to look and smile to when I found her will be empty.

The days that come will be less quiet, less solitude, and just as busy. Maybe I will find solace from her departure.

What Leeto lived to show me, that’s animal rescue. It’s a hectic work, a dirty job. Never quiet, never easy. When people learn that you are an animal rescuer they imagine filthy home, dirty cats exuding parasite, no pay. People just watch you pass by like a full garbage truck. They won’t take your hand, won’t listen to your word, They look at you as a weirdo, a stranger, an alien that made them curious, but not enough for them to love.

But at the dead of the night, when no one is looking, when streets are empty, when houses are dark, these creatures of lesser God can see my silhouette dance, among the bushes, near the garbage can, in the garden of a vacant house, by the river, through the graveyard. And there they come, with tail straight, some purrs, a little hiss, trotting lightly like the moonlight bounced on the leaves and turn into the glow of fireflies. Sometimes I can see them. yellow, black, grey, brown, red. Sometimes just their silhouette, their eyes peering, but their hope glaring, asking for the food to just roll so they can chase them like the ball on those Senses track.

Just because I am a little bit of an introvert (and a lot of a misfit) it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to enjoy life.

Hasta la vista, baby. Wait for me at the other side.

~ Josie

Watch the video: Leeto and the blue mouse

A Strayed Journey

My cellphone rings again; the third time or so maybe, but I was in the middle of feeding the cats, so I ignore it. Besides, I know who is calling, and why.

A good six hours ago or so it would have been a happy call of reunion between acquaintances. An insurance agent I know is celebrating Eid Al Fitr and invite me to her house for a meal, a tradition among muslims marking the end of Ramadhan.

I am a bit lazy, actually. Some of the mobsters are having diarrhea and I have been relentlessly cleaning the whole cattery and the house so it won’t spread. The Eid eve fireworks and fire crackers were lit endlessly and the cats has been jumpy, grumpy, stressed, and like years in the past, I didn’t sleep but sit at the back pretending nothing happened, busy playing or reading to calm the cats down. Besides, who can sleep if every other minute, someone is throwing fire crackers or blasting firework to your roof?

After their morning prayers, however, the whole Bandung will turn into dead town, for two or three days, so I have been planning weeks ago to catch my sleep.

But this insurance agent is older than me, and all her kids are out of town, so she is alone, and she has been telling me how much she thinks of me as her daughter, though I earnestly doubt it. It is impudent to refuse an invitation of the elderly, so when she called yesterday I said yes, out of courtesy.

There was no one in town, seriously, including public transport; but her place is not in the other side of town or something, so I thought I’d walk. It will be a long distance, but I can still handle it.

Alas, I made a wrong turn. It was a long time since I last visited her after all, so I called her to ask for direction.

Nobody picked up the phone.

I called again several times every five minutes, but no one picked up the phone. I figured she might be visited by neighbors and friends so she might be busy entertaining them, but here I am, in the middle of tree-less empty road at noon, trying to figure out where to go.

And then I saw an old chap walking gingerly along the seams of the sewer line by the roadside, trying to avoid the sun. I can see it that he is hungry, and tired, but his hunt from trash to trash has not been fruitful.

Instantly I forgot about the scorching sun. I forgot about being lost, I forgot about being hungry myself. I dumped my cell phone into my bag and reached into another compartment to pull out a paper plate and Whiskas pouch.

“Hey buddy” I whispered as I caught up with him. He stopped and lift his face. So tired.

“I’ve got tuna” I ripped apart the whiskas pouch so he can smell my good intention and not imagining about kicks on his empty tummy.

I don’t think he imagine anything though, because he just jump forward and dive into the filled paper plate while chattering. He must have told me about how hungry he is and protesting why didn’t I passed sooner.


I opened him another pouch, and moved on.

Another half an hour with no clue where the heck was I going, I spotted a single, empty, local transport passing toward downtown.

Driver waved at me, asking if I would come.

Yes of course.

I climbed aboard, texted my hostess that I got lost and no one picked my phone, so, maybe next time.

The roads that were packed like sardine days earlier now empty like grave.


I remembered that the supermarket where I used to buy vegs and chicken for the cats are opened at noon, and the transport passed there, so I just ride along in the hope to find some food for myself; and when I jumped down and walk across, meet an old, forlorn lady on the pedestrian. Her fur was ruffled, she looks very tired and hopeless.

And she is pregnant.

In normal days she would have no trouble finding food because around where she sit is full with roadside stalls, but for days, I bet, she has been trying to go around and find nothing.


I have to pull out all my strength to embolden myself. I can’t cry. She is not sad. She is not pathetic, she is not hopeless. Her life has been hard but I am there. I am there now, and she has what she need the most: tuna and mackerel. And I can always come back when my money allows me to as soon as this holiday is over and give her a better life without that demanding heat cycle. She has hope. I am pretty late and I can be cursed for that, but I am there now and late is better than never.

I gave her my gentlest stroke and prayers. I can feel her vibrating purr, smile, and move on.

I got to the supermarket, buy some salad, eat, drink, and walked out to go home. There won’t be a lot of transport, if any, and I don’t want to spend too much time on the road waiting for vehicle because 80 cats are waiting for me at home, and I have some cleaning to do with all those diarrhea.

Passing through a huge garbage house behind the mall nearby, I saw another woman. Maybe a few years younger than I am, in human years, but she didn’t respond to my waving Whiskas pouch and she is super filthy and smelly so I took her away from the foul smelling place and noticed that she couldn’t see because both her eyes were crusty and her nose were blocked by dried out mucus. She is thin and dry.

I cleaned her up with wet tissue and wipe all the crusts off her face. She is pretty, and she has fluffy tail. Maybe, when she grown up, Donna will be like her, like a lady.


I cursed myself for leaving my medicine kit at home. I know I was just going to visit an old woman and not stay for long, just to wish her happy Eid Mubarak, but I still can’t believe myself for being so unprepared and clumsy.

A man on his forties throw away an empty box recklessly and it landed on my back.

I stood up and turned around. He laughed, and by his face I knew he meant to prank me by throwing the box to the street and jump me out, but he missed and the box got me instead.

“What are you China girl doing here huh? this is our holiday, you’re out of food because our race (who usually work as maid) got home?” He tried to act tough.

I moved forward a couple of steps with a smirk on my lips and saw his grin diminished. He didn’t expect me to fight back, he expected that I will not even be brave enough to stand up to him.

Replicating his tone, “What are you doing yourself huh? this is your holiday and you suppose to indulge in your gluttony parties. Are you out of space in your gut? I have scissors, I can make some space for you”

His face shrunk. “I was just throwing away an empty box”

I pointed at the garbage house “The trash is there. You need me to cut open your eyes as well?”

“Sorry” he mumbles and vanished.

Had I not eaten, I might be fiercer, but I am glad I wasn’t.

When I turned around and came back, I got different view: two teenagers in guerrilla mode trying to get near the lady and take over her food.

The lady moved away but I didn’t. I moved closer and opened another two pouches.


Gone are my Whiskas pouches; and with with it my anger. Gone are my fierce blood thirst, and with it my gladness and relief returns.

My heart is filled with gratitude. I might not get free meal today, but I gave a lot of these forgotten “people” the meals they need. l might not get to fancy house and gather with fancy people today, but gathering with these not-so-fancy kitties behind a not-fancy garbage house, or empty road, or in front of closed shop, squatting on a pedestrian, thrown a box at, gave me fulfillment.

I might not get the sleep I plan for today, and my planned journey gone astray, but I know God do so to put me where I belong.

This crooked place, nasty people, merciless street.

I smiled.

My heart is at the right place.

~ Josie