Threading Through The Red Sea part I: A Mi Manera

Most of baby boomers like me possibly don’t know Frank Sinatra, though he is one of my favorite singers.

Not because of his voice, nor his look, but for the invaluable lyric in each of his songs.

One on my top list is “My Way” that talks about a performer (my mother said it’s about a runner, but I don’t know, Frank Sinatra’s already dead before I got to learn about that song so I can’t ask about it via his twitter), who, tells his journey of life: the ups and down, his rights and wrong, and the best of it: his pride in questing through life. This song is re-formatted and sung in Spanish by Simon Cowell’s Il Divo around year 2k and I love this Spanish version better because it actually empowers the original lyric.

Last week, however, I found an even more powerful version of that song through the life journey of a small kitten, namely, Frank, of course.

I met Frank sitting forlornly on a sidewalk by the puddle near my office, where I stop to pat him on the head and share the ferals along my path. He was a little bit dirty, but otherwise seemed all right, and even have full stomach, so I intended to leave him after feeding but feel uneasy because he was, after all, too quiet for a kitten. He didn’t meow, he didn’t jump, or run, or head butt, he just sit there, looking at me, with blank expression.

So here is the plan: my boss is not around that day, and other staffs won’t care, so I can sneak him into the office, bring him to the vet, and when he was declared OK, I’ll put him back.

Part one initiated immediately. I can easily found an empty space in my bag, push him in, and walk by as if nothing happened. Nothing, but a little note in my head: his belly was darn hard.

For the rest of the working hours he stay inside my workstation, sitting by the fireplace (well, actually it’s my computer CPU). He ate more fish, drink the whole bowl of water (trust me, he drank a lot!) but still quiet.

Hence, part two initiated. I bought him home, put him inside a basket along with Mama-san (she has an appointment for spay surgery, but that’s another story) and brought both to the vet.

The examination is pretty quick: he has mega-colon, and the vet told me he is a SHE, though she (the vet) knows that I address any cat with “he”, it’s my trademark quirk.

Mega colon is:

a term used to describe a very dilated, flabby, incompetent colon.  This usually occurs secondary to chronic constipation and retention of feces, but may be a congenital dysfunction.  Megacolon itself is not a specific disease entity, but it will usually result in obstipation (inability to defecate), since feces is retained in the colon in a larger diameter than is able to pass through the pelvis.  This feces also becomes very dry and hard, as water is absorbed by the colon.  Surgery may be required to treat this condition if medical management has been exhausted.

~American College of Veterinary Surgeons

Mega colon  usually happened to senior cats between 5-9 years old, but here in Indonesia, anything can happen, especially to ferals. My newly-found, three months old companion probably had severe, prolonged dehydration on the street before I found him. His feces were too hard so he has to get a C section, which for a kitten his age, is a very risky procedure.

The other option? Leave him be, and he’d be dead after a few days, because his hardened feces will obstruct the intestine, and whenever she eats, or drink, his intestine will grow bigger, and finally burst.

I took the risk, and the vet start operating him right away, despite the clinic was fully packed that day.

We started at around 8 pm, and finish at 10 pm, extracting around 100 grams (that’s an ounce) of hard-rock feces from his colon and a cup full of urine. The surgery itself shouldn’t be that long, but the expanded colon had already obstructed his urinary tract. He can’t pee, and all his urine was kept inside his small kidney that it was swollen and when the vet cut him open, some of its smaller blood vessel already started to burst. His kidney was bleeding and the surgery became more complicated.

What amazed the whole clinic was the small kitten’s resilience. With extended surgery time, no one had high hope, but he made it past the surgery and woke up with a loud meow. He came home with two iv pipes on his small body, but the vet said his vital sign is good.

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Hi there! got a nice dream back then?
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The vet was shaking her head when she put on the iv, Frank’s leg is as big as the catheter head

Tell me about vital sign. This little kitten is such a devil, even a few hours after the surgery (that got to be wee hours in the morning right? The surgery finished in 10 pm) he already tried to jump out of his basket, and therefore, prevent me to get any sleep at all.

This made me worried because he was supposed to stay put (remember the iv), so my only option is to bring him along to the office to make sure she won’t  drag his iv bottles all over places. Unfortunately my boss is coming, so I can’t possibly smuggle him inside without being noticed. The only thing I can do is to make him as comfortable as possible that he can sleep the whole day like other cats do when I am working. Then, for the whole day I worked with worry inside my head.

Canceling all my after-hour jobs that day, I went straight home, only to see what I feared the most. There he is, sitting by the door, dragging an empty iv bottle behind him. When I gasped in terror he instead pranced and jumped and run to welcome me, still with that iv bottle behind him. So, I called the vet and tell her what happened as well as informing her that I am going to get the iv needle off Frank so he won’t stuck his extra tail somewhere and hurt himself. The vet laughed, and I remembered her telling me I got myself a tough little lady, but that means the kitten’s going to be all right. It was Wednesday.

For the next two days Frank took part in toppling my kettle off the counter (don’t know how he done that, I just saw the kettle tumbled), running all over places and rammed into the adults, got bathed by Peta (my ultimate, supper nanny cat – you won’t believe he’s male), climb on my bed, play hide and seek in the cardboard castle, catch four roaches and killed them all by himself, and eat like an elephant. He climbed all the way to the top of my head whenever I sit on the floor to put my shoes on, climbed on my legs asking for my food, and get Sue out of her shell and made her a ‘normal’ kitten instead of an outcast.

The next Saturday, four days after, no one would believe he’s been sick, though I’m worn out for not sleeping for four nights watching him and prevent him from jumping all over places too much and tell him to sleep instead. I have cancelled all my side jobs and lost good amount of money that I need to keep the Syndicate operating, but for a life, it’s worth it. I brought my feisty little friend to the vet clinic early that day, before its open hour because I know the staffs and vet would want to play with him a little bit, and everyone is happy to pet him and call him “good girl” until the vet said “Josie, this time you are right, your kitten is a boy, not a girl” Obviously his enlarged colon had suppressed his tiny testicles that he looked like a girl.

A ha; and I bet Sue is not going to be happy about it. Sue, my pocket monster, jacket camper kitten was kind of shy and a loner, and no kitten, much less adult cat can go near her without making her hiss or yowl. This tough kid, however, can do that with no problem.

Since then, his name is Frank (you know where that name came from right?) and I happily book an appointment in Tuesday to remove his sutures.

At Monday, however, I found him sitting powerlessly by the door, among everyone else, when I came home from work.

All right, kittens are known to drop their stamina suddenly, only to bounce back a moment later, but this is worrying, so I called the vet again, ask her to stay longer (it was 9 pm) because Frank is deteriorating at an alarming state.

I arrived at the clinic fifteen minutes later, and both vets at the clinic were ready for lifesaving procedures. Frank is still sliding down, and within the next hour almost every pipes and cables in the surgery room were attached to him. They gave him warmed up iv, oxygen, heart monitor and then performed CPR when he slide down further, and they didn’t stop trying until midnight.

Frank was gone.

It’s not the first time the two vet ladies came to me withholding their tears. In this breeder capital city the most complicated thing a vet can perform is a C section for a female animal in labor (the breeder gave them too much hormones and vitamins they have too many or too big children that they can’t come out naturally), but for them, the real challenge always come from me, with my street picked animals, and though neither of them wish for such challenge, it gave their four years of bachelor degree education more meaning.

I shrugged. “Hey, Frank was hopeless, but you ladies gave him a chance to be a real kitten for the whole week. Don’t say that doesn’t count”

“But he was the bravest, strongest kitten I have ever met”, said one nurse, “I think he is a miracle”

“Then let’s keep it that way, won’t we? He did it his own way. He broke all of our forecasts”

I mean, we would never know why he slides down that fast, but he was a street cat  kitten. It has been a harsh weather, and we wouldn’t ever know what he’s been eating before we met, how he lived and how hard the elements had beaten him in his street life.

But just in case any of you are curious. Just in case, below is the real song, so you know what Frank is like:

And now, the end is near;

And so I face the final curtain.

My friend, I’ll say it clear,

I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain.

I’ve lived a life that’s full.

I’ve traveled each and ev’ry highway;

But more, much more than this,

I did it my way.

Regrets, I’ve had a few;

But then again, too few to mention.

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption.

I planned each charted course;

Each careful step along the byway,

But more, much more than this,

I did it my way.

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew.

But through it all, when there was doubt,

I ate it up and spit it out.

I faced it all and I stood tall;

And did it my way.

I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried.

I’ve had my fill; my share of losing.

And now, as tears subside,

I find it all so amusing.

To think I did all that;

And may I say – not in a shy way,

“No, oh no not me,

I did it my way”.

For what is a man, what has he got?

If not himself, then he has naught.

To say the things he truly feels;

And not the words of one who kneels.

The record shows I took the blows –

And did it my way!

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Three Different Stories

Every day on my way home from the office I will drop by a small supermarket just 5 minutes away from my rent to buy ground chicken or beef for the kittens.

The road in front of the supermarket is not big, just enough for two cars passing each other at the same time, and around one and a half meter of sandy sidewalk at both sides.

One particular thing about that road is that although it is small, vehicles that passed over that road was never slow. Public transport, cars, and especially (and of course!) the nasty motorcycles swooshed speedily. I have heard thousands of stories of hit and run over there, and yet, no police, no law enforcement; but I guess by my past post anyone can figure out what country we lived in.

I am trying to stroll by quietly along the sandy area, when I heard mews of a kitten from my right, and turn to a house nearby in reflex. I saw a yellow kitten sitting on a plant pot, shivering under the wet and windy night.

As I leaned over at the house’s fence to see if the kitten has a mother nearby, I heard another mew a few steps ahead.

“Oh gee, some litters had learn to walk and play too far”, I said to myself as I stand up, heading to the second mew.

Unfortunately my eyes has never been too good, especially at dark nights like this. The streets has no lamps so I have to count on the almost scarce lighting from the houses.

A few seconds later some car zoomed pass me and from the flash of it headlamp I spotted a silhouette of a teeny tiny kitten, right at the rim of the road, mewing in fear.

I started to run toward the silhouette, and after a few steps, hear yet another mew. There’s another teeny tiny kitten between me and the silhouette, right at the edge of a full gutter.

All right: one girl, two hands, three kittens; and zooming vehicles at unpredictable interval.

Feels like a sudden death rugby.

So here is the plan, I don’t have anything with me, but I wear an over-sized raincoat, with two, deep, side pocket that are big enough for the two kitten. I shall walk toward the silhouette, sweep the one by the gutter along the way, and came back for the first kitten afterwards and carry it with my hand.

I took a deep breath and start walking. One two three steps and quickly sweep the kitten by the gutter.

Then I hear a car horn and zooming machine. The light had touched the edge of my eyes so I’d better be hurry.

The kitten I was holding is struggling to break free, and it hinder me from keeping in focus as I run toward the other, but I still run. On the slippery road and with poor vision I still run, focusing on my ear and the voice of the growing frantic mew before me.

I was only two steps away from the fearful kitten when the car finally

zoomed pass me and squash the kitten.

Suddenly it went quiet. After the car squeaked at the corner and vanish in its speed the world is quiet. The road is quiet, the wind died down, the rain started to shower, the kitten in my arms turned silent. I can’t even hear my breath, nor the pounding beats of my own heart.

Right there, at the place where the silhouette of a hopeful cat once stand, a dark lump now replace it, with dark, round shadow on the street surrounding it.

I don’t know how long I stand there, petrified, but a train of laughter from some men behind me tug me back to real time.

“What’s up girl? Don’t know what to do? Guess you know, come here to us”

I turned around and stare at them straight in the eye. I must look scary because they lose all their smile and leave me at once.

When I looked down, the kitten I have been holding on curled up inside my palm, staring at me with his round eyes.

“Let’s pick up the other one” I whispered. I push him into my pocket and he didn’t resist.

And we walk back to the house, where I saw the first kitten. She was sitting there, under the gate pole, staring at me as if she was looking at a devil.

I reached out to her and she jumped back, so I squatted and wait.

It took her a long time before she moved forward to sniff on my finger, and let me touch her head.

I don’t wait too long, I grab her on the back of her head and lift her swiftly and my sudden move scare her. On my chest she hissed and yowl and bite, but I don’t care. I pushed her Into my other pocket, and wait until she is calmer before I start walking back.

The Syndicate is unusually quiet when they saw me walked in silently, without ground meat in my hand. They only watch when they saw me pulled out the smaller kitten, the one by the gutter, and start drying him up. He was only as big as my palm of hand, probably even less than one month old.

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I thought I had just rescued a piece of Lego

The little girl from the house refused to leave my jacket, and since it’s almost midnight I don’t want to make too much noises, so I leave her there. What I mean by noise is not her, it’s me. She puncture quite a number of holes on my hand.

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Pocket Monster

Within two days the two kittens are getting better, though the smaller one, the one I come to call Tykes (don’t ask, it’s just bubbled up in my mind) got URI (Upper Respiratory Infection), and scabies all over his body (literally everywhere!) while the girl (came to be known as “Sue” because she wears white shoes on all four) are going well.

On the third day after our meeting Sue is getting even better, starting to play with other kittens, though whenever she hear loud meow or noises, she will still jump onto my jacket and is angry when I tried to take it away (it’s full with mud when the car zoomed pass me and splattered rain water, I need to wash it as soon as possible because it’s white).

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Jacket Camper

Tykes is sliding down. He only cry when I left him too long, and when he begged to be put back onto my bed, so he can curl up on my sleeping pillow all day and all night (if not otherwise picked up by me to be fed).

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Tiny Tykes

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He gave up two days later despite my efforts to bring him back to his health.

It’s ten days after the incident today, but it is still fresh in my mind, sometimes wake me up with nightmare at night. I believe that part of me are still feeling guilty for not being able to save Tyke’s litter mate, though other part remains realistic that street kittens has slim chance of life especially on bad weather and bad living condition, and that Tykes was indeed too young, too tiny.

I am still ever grateful that Sue survives, though, despite a bad infection on her back toes. She is a chubby yellow tabby who loves to climb and run.

This is our lives: one day, three different stories.

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The Other Side Of The Coin

Deep in my heart I know this day will soon come. The day when my strength failed, and my body worn down to the bone. Juggling between different jobs and caring for countless of homeless animals aside from more than 15 cats in my own home required some kind of super human strength, and it is God’s hand only that I survived that way for three and a half years.

Even so, I have never thought that it would be coming yesterday. My head spin, and I have difficulties staying awake, so I call my boss and ask for a leave. I was going to go home to catch some Zs I have been depriving myself of these past two weeks, and when I am back on my feet, will spend some time to finish my long forsaken schedule in finishing my website.

Alas, I took a flight down the stair, and the usually quiet and mind-own-business office gone chaotic. Within a few minutes a car was set and I was rushed to the hospital. The doctor recognize me and ordered that I stayed hospitalized for at least a week to see if my liver had gone back swollen like last time.

Well, not again. I have a ton of stray cats and dogs waiting for me on the street, and considering the stormy weather these last 6 months, the smaller ones won’t even have a chance if I stop even for one night.

So I turn my creativity on and wait for the next visiting hour to drag my iv into the toilet, and took the needle off my vein. I put my own clothing back on, and slip out of the toilet like a normal visitor, and put myself in the next herd of leaving guests. I turn to the cashier, pay my fees, and go home with a bus.

Sounds like some thriller movie scene? Well, what do you expect of a detective novels addict? Besides, I am not going to pay yet another million to sleep uselessly in the hospital while animals are dying on the streets every second passed.

Naturally no one will ask when I don’t show up in the office the next day. They all think that I am sleeping soundly in the hospital again ( I went to the hospital twice before) while I am going round the bank taking care of my stolen wallet, but that’s another story.

Besides, my short, cheap stunt has nothing to do with this post. What I wanted to share is my experience during the three hours I spend in the ER.

I  was curious about the noises and cries from across my room that I peeked out of my bed, and saw three men been dragged in.

They are typical Bandung youngsters, with skinny pants taken down to the hip, so their underwear (or in most case, their black, smelly butt) will show when they bend down, goth styled T-shirt, and messy hairdo. It’s a mix of Kanye West and Punk Goth rock band that haven’t taken a bath for a year.

Looking at their burnt legs and arms, I first thought they got into accident while mixing alcoholic drink or drug (some times into toxic drink that killed the entire gang), or getting into traffic accident while strutting their home-made Harley Davidson. Unfortunately, however, both guesses were wrong.

Soon after they were brought in, a herd of doctors swarmed in with their pack of nurses and all sort of equipment, and their shirt been torn, and their heart examined, and one minute later I heard

Number eight’s gone!” and the pack that previously handled him dispersed and divided themselves to handle the other two. It happened automatically within a minute, that I was in shock of how such emotional moment can be handled like a lifeless routine.

It sank in almost immediately to me that the man has died, and my curiosity was further drawn to the other two. One has troubled heart, the other has slim chance of life.

One of the girls who brought them into the hospital sobs right next to me, not realizing that the bed next to her has someone sitting on it. She was all red that I didn’t want to interrupt her river of tears, until the nurse who handle me came by and handed me over a pack of pills. “You should be laying down instead of snooping, lady” he warned.

What happened? I nod at the three rows of bed across mine, not heeding his order.

Working on electricity, and got shocked”

All three of them?”

Yes, well, people here are stupid. When someone got shocked, the other tried to tug them and got shocked themselves”

I  stay quiet, but talking about stupid, most people here are, and death like that is probably just a routine after all.

Maybe because of the cultural laziness of the Sundanese, maybe because education is not more important than looks and girls, maybe because of the economy, maybe because teachers here got paid so low that they succumb to corruption and care more of seeking additional sources of money than making better generation, discussing about whys can go on forever, but the sad fact is, despite living in a beautiful and fertile terrain labeled as “Paris Van Java” (yep, including the pretty and easily-taken girls), people’s live here is not as pretty as it is said in the tourism brochures or government’s websites.

If you got chance to come and visit Bandung one day, you will see people hanging on electricity pole only with rubber boots, if not rubber sandals that you would wear to the beach. You will see young guys mending air conditioner with shorts and tee, as if you would go surfing. You will see people digging holes on the street using helmet, but with bare foot and most of the time, bare chest.

I  don’t know if they do it so they would look sexy in the eyes of the girls, just like some of those perfume advertisement, but sometimes they just don’t wear protection because they think it hinders them from performing their task at best. Sometimes they think fixing electricity is as easy as pie, hence bare-handedly climb a bamboo ladder onto their roof and bravely peel off those big cables and stole electricity for their houses or hijack their richer neighbor’s satellite TV in the hope they can peek on some of those HBOs without pay.

I  don’t know if they just don’t care, but people here go to Senior High School to laid or got laid by the first attractive opposite sex and those who got more money done that on college, drop school, got married, and have their parents pay for their household, and think of landing on any pitiful job only when they got babies and their parents had no more means to support them financially. That is, if one of the couple hadn’t run away already.

I don’t know if they realized that they would left their widow and children begging on the street if they died, because woman here is just like queen bee. They only want to stay at home, sleep, and bare children because being a career woman is a very tough thing to do.

But people do lost their lives doing those stupid things, and what I just saw is just a number among continuous column in a local newspaper that got skipped and especially skipped when Manchester United is playing because they (and most of them are young and poor and want easy and fast cash) bet on the match.

When I sneaked out of the hospital, I saw a rich lady coming toward them with worry hanging on her face, and I immediately feel pity on her, because I can imagine she would have to bare the loathing and swearing of the new widow and the family of the dead man, sometimes even people that has nothing to do with the case or the victim.

It’s automatic. Here in Bandung, rich people are almost always the villain, because they are richer, they got better education, they get better means of life, and therefore, bear the biggest responsibility of everything.

It’s probably never occurred that those richer people got their riches because they go to school and finish it, they done their homework, and they refuse to surrender to their lazier self, and therefore, it is not their fault that they got better off than their peers.

It’s probably never occurred that those richer people didn’t get to their millions like dry leaves fall down from a tree, and it’s probably never occurred that richer people do advices, teaches, and equips, but regarded only as a passing wind by their workers.

What people know is pointing finger to those that are more able, without any inquisitiveness to look further.

And what men do to their own kind, they do it worse to the (said) lesser creatures.

So when a tree got tampered by the wind and fall down and create a traffic jam, other trees along the road will be cut down, while the actual cause is people burning their trash under the tree and kill its root. When little kids throw rocks to a dog, and the dog bites, people will bring their whatever weapon to the house of the dog, and demand that the owner kill the dog or the entire household will be executed, regardless of how mean kids can be. When crazy teens took small kittens from their mother and put them on the road to be crushed by passing vehicles they are forgiven because it is the obligation of the vehicle owner (who is richer than those kids, who went to places on foot) to care where they are going. When a horse carriage was overloaded and the horse could not carry it as fast as the owner wanted it, the horse was repeatedly hit by the back of a sword until it died miserably at the side of the street, and when I prevent anyone to be cruel to animals, it is my fault (who has a job, more money, and better social status than those abusers) and therefore they are justified to try to gang-rape or at least beat me up and teach me some lesson to first pay regard to the poorer side of humanity than the animals.

They should have learned that I am a Wushu world champion, though only the second runner up, but that ability to pay them back and beat them up instead is my fault too.

I don’t know if this city is a true Paris Van Java, a tropical paradise as they say, but I know that there is always another side of the coin, and it is not always as pretty.

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To Protect And To Serve

 

kitty gun point

Whenever I upload my rescue story, there are always some readers who wrote me back and told me to report to local police. Even if I upload an abuse story, they still ask me to report to local police and have them do something despite my repeating answer that Indonesia doesn’t have an animal welfare law, and the police is so corrupted that they won’t care. Today I am going to tell you a story that will answer such request the best.

On a rare clear afternoon last Saturday, I went out to a cheap pharmacy near my rent to buy vitamins for the cats.

The pharmacy is on a heavily packed street, full with road-side merchant offering fake Louis Vuitton, China-made Chanel or hijacked Tommy Hillfiger; and since the road is packed up with people, it is natural that one man can brush the other’s as they walk. A good setting for pickpockets.

It must be my lucky day that day because one of those thieves’ target was me. People keep brushing me off, including some teenage boys who tried to touch my butt, and I was too busy skipping through people that I didn’t realize my wallet was stolen, until I got into the pharmacy and dig into my pocket for it.

I  am sure that those thieves will be disappointed, though, because my wallet was empty. I was about to pay with a debit card that I left all my money home but my ID card and the debit card I was about to use, but none the less, it gives me extra work because I have to spend half an hour on my cell phone (here, cell phone rate is a lot lot lot more expensive than land line) blocking my account, and schedule a date to get a new card.

Naturally, I have to provide a police report about the stolen card, so on my way home, I dropped by to a small police booth at the area.

The view inside was uncanny. I saw some police officers play chess and laugh like a drunkard with their detainee, and on the bench near the entrance I saw someone with a face like a criminal reading a newspaper while the police on duty was watching TV.

Forget about that man with criminal look. He can be an undercover police (well, who knows? I am trying to be positive here).

I  called on the policeman, and he peered at me with one eye while the other stick on the TV, it was a gossip of two celebrities having affair. I told him that I want to report a stolen wallet.

He looked at me and ask “Got an ID card?”

It’s inside that stolen wallet I am now reporting”

He smiled, no, I think sneer is a better description, and say “No ID, no paper” and he went straight back to the gossip news.

I  was surprised that he noticed when I turned back laughing.

What are you laughing about?” he asked angrily.

Nothing” I said, still grinning.

Well, you can ask your husband, or your boyfriend, or your brother or sister to come here and pick you up and file a report on your behalf” he said. He guessed my laugh right.

With how much money?” I asked, still grinning from ear to ear.

Obviously he was so taken by my beautiful, pearly white teeth that he completely forget the celebrity news and face me seriously. “What did you say?”

Mind you that this is not the first time I lost my wallet. I have gone through stolen wallet stories more than five times during my three years stay in Bandung, and I always have to pay at least twenty thousand Indonesian Rupiahs although all of my money was inside the stolen wallet so I have to borrow from the office.

My grin is just getting bigger, though I am sure I will ever admit that I am all by myself in this city “Nothing, sir. Really, but thanks for your concern”, and I left.

Guess what? I was followed. That guy with the newspaper followed me and twice he got too close that I notice him. So went into the nearest mall, wander aimlessly and suddenly jumped into an packed up elevator just seconds before it’s closed.

Do I need to remind anyone that I like reading detective story? And this time I don’t have to worry about pickpockets because I don’t have anything left to lose, so I slip though the crowd with ease and gone out from the other side of the mall, and walk home.

Since I got used to live without money, I don’t have trouble on Sunday. I still have two packs of instant noodles that I promised my ‘mother’ I won’t take, and the cats have their own food, so no problem.

On Monday I asked the office’s errand boy to meet the policeman that the office paid to protect the office off the street punks (because there’s a slum-full of thugs behind the office complex) and give him thirty thousand Rupiah to make a report on my behalf.

It was done in three hours, and when he handed it to me the errand boy told me that had I met the officer myself I would have had to spend more than fifty thousand because I am Chinese (sort of, my mother is of Chinese descent, and Chinese are usually richer than the natives). I smiled and give my errand boy ten thousand for his hard work, which he refused because I helped his family once.

Unfortunately I had to be taken to the hospital the next day, that I can’t immediately get my new debit card, but that’s another story. However, I hope what had happened can describe how police here protect and serve, and can give you an idea of how they would protect and serve the animals, who has no bills to give in exchange of their protection.

I  wish someone don’t shoot me because my post is considered subversive.

A Personal note for my mama:

Thanks for the “Odd and The Frost Giant” you gave me. It really inspires my grin to the police, and to let him do what he wants to do. I love you dearly.

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Pick A Boo, I’ve Got You!

as originally appeared on our Care2 messaging system

My dearest colleagues @ animal welfare,

It must have been the most excruciating two weeks for you since I share about Boo’s plight, a Persian cat who had been abandoned at the vet clinic.

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Boo, Early May 2011

Like I suspected, people are racing to help, from as near as Malaysia to as far as Greece, US and UK, Netherlands, Sweden, and one from Czechoslovakia (yep, that’s Czech Republic). What I didn’t suspect was, magnitude of the attention. I wouldn’t have thought his voice reached Czechs.

Within one week after I share Boo’s plight, we raised USD 240 together. USD 10 short from what the vet has been asking, so I went to his office and ask him to give me a few more days; certainly USD 10 won’t be far away.

But until the end of another week, that USD 10 didn’t come. So, with USD 240, and an ATM, I come by to his office again, and tell him what actually happened, that the money we raised from around the world lacked USD 10. I showed him my ATM, and say, “I have USD 300 in this ATM here, doc, but you see, my rent is due mid June, and I have to find a new one. So far the best offer for a house I ever get is USD 600 a year”.

The vet just stay quiet, before he said “You are trying to bail out a cat while you yourself lacked money for a home? where are you going to have Boo? on the street?”

I can’t answer that, to be honest, but I hand over the USD 240 anyway, and say “Give me 5 minutes, I’ll give you the remaining USD 10. There’s no way I am going to let Boo rot in his cage another day. If we ended up on the street, at least we are going to see the sky when we wake up, not bars”.

When I return to the vet 5 minutes later, Boo was already in the carrying basket on his desk.

“He’s all set for a new home” said the vet. “You are the craziest girl ever stepped into my office, but to tell you the truth, you are the first human who get in here with a true mission to save life. Just like a vet clinic should be. The other almost immediately give up as soon as we told an owner the name of a disease. For quite some times I kind of think this town doesn’t have heart, they only have breeders”

“Keep that 10 Dollars” said the vet then. “I am going to be on a trip abroad next week, but when I return, I want to see Boo on my desk again. He needs to be neutered”

Before I had chance to say anything else, the vet waved his hand “On the house”

I wished I can take picture of the staffs in the clinic as I walk out with Boo. They actually lined up along the way from the examination room to the lobby, with big grin on their face. “Boo’s going home” they said. “Thanks”

I wish I can say “Boo lived happily ever after” just like the other fairy tale. But he doesn’t. The challenge comes right after.

Boo is 8 months old now, so if he spend 6 months in the clinic, he went there when he was 2 months old. Since all owner brought their own pet’s food when the pet must stay over, Boo eat only on the mercy of the staffs, which put aside some of their small wage to buy Friskies.

So Friskies is all Boo know. He doesn’t know any other food. He doesn’t even know what chicken is, what fish is, and he refuse to eat anything other than Friskies. The rest of the mobster eat raw.

Boo doesn’t know what cat is. He is jumpy the whole week when the other mobster passed him over, and he hid behind a drawer when Dewy and Sports came running after their ball.

The only thing that can touch him is Chibi, a 2 weeks old baby cat someone dumped on the middle of a busy road. Chibi rubs on him all the time, and even tried to sleep on his thick fur, and Boo probably doesn’t have the heart to claw a “thing” as big as his leg trying to cuddle up on him.

Boo doesn’t know what dog is. Boo doesn’t know what rain is, so he slipped out of the door and run under a storm, stepping on each puddle and sniff on everything. When there’s thunder, he would challenge it and meow as loud as he can.

And storm is what holding me from sharing Boo’s story after he got home. We got endless rain, and flood, and rain, and flood, and wind, and another rain. We got electric failure almost every day, and since part of the telecommunication lines got soaked up under the flood, the whole town was made cranky because our cellphone had less signal. Telephone line is scarce in this town, so everyone relies on their cellphones or CDMA.

Since there’s no phone line on my rent (there’s none in the whole complex, actually), I have to rely on mobile broadband. And Since mobile phone provider got trouble with signal, there goes my broadband as well.

I was just feeling lucky that we’re not drowned nor wrecked like Joplin.

As of today, though, Boo learned the right place to drop his “digestive remains”. Boo learned to differentiate between fresh food, edible food, and rotten food. He dislike milk, but love cooled mineral water. He learns to climb,he got to pick his favorite spot (along with a small, pink, mat for his bed), he learns the difference between fish and chicken, and he definitely tell me that he prefer chicken over fish, while the other is vice versa.

Boo also learn to spray (marking), he learn to scratch at the right spot. He learn to stay away from the rain, he learns to pat, though he end up leaving a scar on my cheek for a week, and got some claw too, for forgetting to retract his nail while patting on other cat; and he learn to make me cry every time he decided to go under some furniture and spoiled my effort to keep his fur white (as it should be).

His best skill is: opening refrigerator. I don’t know how he done it because the other never succeeded before, but Boo have 100% success rate opening its door and raid on the second rack (where I put his chicken).

Yesterday I saw him watching Sports playing soccer for an hour before he sneaked on the ball when Sports was sleeping and play the ball himself.

The night after that, he’s having a man to man talk with Kaitou, the Godfather, and the founding father of the Syndicate.

man to man- boo and kaitou
Man To Man: Kaitou and Boo

I am offering you my apologies for the delay of relaying Boo’s update. If I could, I would have broadcasted this world class cat rescue at the same day. Not everyday citizen of the world raise money to bail out one single cat that otherwise might have gamed over before his life even started.

Boo got plenty more to catch up for the 6 months of his life in the cage, but I am sure that the blossom that bloom late is the most beautiful of all.

Way to go Boo. Welcome to the Syndicate.

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

Pick A Boo: Can I see you?

as originally appeared on our Care2 messaging system

Fellow rescuers and animal advocates,

You’d probably called ‘Boo!’ only on Halloween to chase away some spirit.

But this one is boo-ed from his right to live by a negligent owner.

I met Boo just a few weeks ago. I don’t know why he was given such an ill name, but I am determined to get your help to save him, and change his ill fated name into a well-fitted one. For the sake of better life.

You see, my past few weeks were spent between office and the vet clinic nearby. Some of my refugees underwent spay/neuter surgery last January, and two of them: Sports and Peta, develop a severe infection around their genitalia so they have to have a surgery for the second time. It’s just a malpractice, and it’s usual here in Indonesia, no big deal, you can’t do anything anyway (yeah right).

While Sports and Peta has to stay over a few nights before and after the surgery, I come and visit them everyday after office just to cheer them up, especially because both of them are still afraid of other humans. I usually pick them up from their cage, cradle them in my arm and told them that they are going to be all right, and that they are going to go home soon. Sometimes we just cuddle eadh other and pray to God that the surgery went well and everything would go uphill for them.

Then I notice that every time I put them back in their cage, the cat next to them cried out loud and desperately trying to get his turn of cradling.

From the tag on the cage, I learned that his name is Boo. He was taken to the clinic in December 2010. The owner then told the vet that he was blood vomiting, and that he was told by another vet that Boo contracted deadly disease. The worker in the clinic said that the owner gave USD 25, and left with a promise to pick him up in a few days.

But he never returns.

Both the vets and the workers of the clinics tried to call him, with a good news that what appeared to be a blood vomit is a small small ulcer at the back of his tongue, and it had healed by itself by the second day. Also to say that Boo is perfectly healthy, but no one picked up the phone, nor answered the text sent through the owner’s cellphone.

Since then, Boo has been the ghost of the clinic.

“He is like that”, said the clinic worker, the one who deliver the food for the animals. “Whenever someone walk in, he would cry and ask to get out”.

P5100055
Boo, May 7, 2011

“When we give him food he’d pat on our hand, asking to be craddled”, the worker continues, “And when we walked away, he’d cry long enough before slumping at the corner of his cage, as if he was about to be left to die”.

P5100052
Boo, May 9, 2011

 

Well, it seems like the owner intended him to be that way.

Since then, I’d stop by longer at the clinic, and make time to say hello, and Boo will stuck out his paw and greet me. When I open his cage he’d be jumping right onto my chest, and when I put him back to go back to the office, or home, he’d cry long enough before slumping at the corner of his cage. As if he was about to be left to die.

P5100054
Boo, May 11, 2011

Well, it seems like the vet intended to put him to sleep if no one claim him and pay his fee. Why feed and maintain something that no one wanted?

I took a peek on the vet bills for his medication and boarding. Aside from the USD 25 the owner left, Boo need USD 250 for all the meal and daily necessities during his ghostly presence in the clinic for a half of a year.

Then I wondered, can I raise that much money to bail him out? Would there be someone out there care enough to answer Boo’s desperate cry? Or would Boo just live a half year of useless life and die like nothing?

Please help, whenever you can. I talked to the vet to wait another week, because I am going to bet on the generosity of my kindred friends, and the mercy of other animal advocates.

My paypal address is: whiskerssyndicate@gmail.com. I do not set up other chipin because I have limited internet quota, so if you would like to help spare Boo’s life, please send your gift to whiskerssyndicate@gmail.com and send a note along with it “For Boo”

Then share Boo’s story. Share his desperate cry in his lonely cage in facebook, in emails, in other forums. Reply to his reach out. Let your kind presence echoes his plea.

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate