The Importance Of Being Earnest

By the time this post goes on air, I'd be out of work for almost the whole month. I am standing at the threshold of a chapter in my life in which I will define my purpose in life, and re-write my legacy.

During the fourteen years in the rat race, I have grown nothing but discontent of its glass roof syndrome. The bosses manipulate their power for personal and professional greed while the workers - choked with every words of wisdom to do their best so they can climb the corporate ladder - work to the end of their lives to be just like their bosses. With brand new car every turn of the year, brand new gadgets with every turn of the week, huge bonuses, luxurious clothing, morning golf plays (and claim the expenses of their enjoyment as "entertaining the customer" or "lobby expenses"

I am not going to say that I fail the race. I climbed the corporate ladder enough during the 14 years. I started as a clerk, and finished as the personal assistant to the president commissioner, but it only make me see the glass roof clearer. If you can't get inside the circle of those 1% (regardless of your way to get in there), you'll finish second.

The hard fact is, the harder you work, the richer the 1%. Time and energy in the corporate were spend from the bottom to the top, but the income went to the top first while we are like the dogs who eats the crumbs that fell from their table.

So, when the hypocrisy of the corporate become unbearable, I quit the race. I ripped the numbers from my chest and turn away from the crowded running lanes. I choose to run through the green pastures, the wet soil, and breathe fresh air.

I was wrong about the green pastures, and the wet soil, and the fresh air.

In fact, the first that I have to handle was my shop's sales flop. The shop will be my only means of income after I retire; but it seems like I had simply forgotten that God had never promises that the sky is always blue and the sun is always shining. In my haste I have forgotten to look left and right before I cross the street and I am hit right on my first step.

I got panic and the devil shows up in the body of a business associate who called me to say how shocked he was to hear that I left the company, and that if possible, he want me to join his newly found curtain factory.

I didn't know him. He is a friend of the new boss of the company (which I just quit) who showed up in my compartment once and a while to ask for a help with his own business. See what I mean? He is not even part of the company, but because he is a friend of the boss he can roam carefree into someone else's office and told some employee to do this and that for his own purposes; and we workers can't do anything but do what he said because if he was displeased and talk about us to the boss, we might lose our job.

However at that time, it felt like God had taken me out from the valley of darkness and put me into the green meadow, so I jumped in and again, forget to look left and right before I cross the street.

I got the job, and I thought that God had forsaken my plea, and the only way to survive with my sanctuary was to see the glass roof again.

The new boss is a complete miser.  He paid the factory worker very low, with working standard very high, he delay payment to the suppliers, and almost all other things, he made an agreement for one thing and when that one thing is delivered he suddenly backed off and re-negotiate the price, and all over places he deal with he gave my number so people flocked to me for an explanation of the most ridiculous set of action I ever met on earth.

After the incidence when he sat on Tealca, which sparked an intense argument between us, the forbidden apple effect started to wane. The new job is at the end of the entire Bandung, and I have to go out at 6 am in the morning if I am to reach the factory on time, so I have to wake up at 2 am in the morning in order to take care of the Syndicate first. I went home immediately at 5 pm, when the work's over, but the terrible traffic made me reach home no earlier than 8 pm. No more feeding the street cat, no more delivery blankets to them when it rains, no more time to play with the Syndicate, and I skip food even more often than before because I am too tired to just turn on the stove and made a cup of hot cocoa. I also forget my liver.

My relatives and readers remind me to get enough rest and food, and my mother text-ed me like crazy to remember my liver but the snowball already rolled. I felt like my life is going out of control and that I am gasping for air trying to handle everything all by myself.

I contracted Chicken Pox on April Fool's day. A true gift of my ignorance.

It is the result of degraded immune system due to my exhaustion, and my condition was so bad that my fever was so high, I can barely stand, and ulcers were everywhere, including inside my mouth, that rendered me unable to eat. I survive for three days drinking water with glucose that I always keep in spare. It is only my immense will that drag me out of the house to the nearest hospital for treatment.

A few minutes after I went home, I heard a ruckus from the stall across the house, someone telling the other to "get it" but I ignore them.

Stall across the house. Kids ran away from school to smoke, thugs, and pickpockets often lounged there. The lady owner offered free information about nearby households.

It took me a few minutes to realize that Chase slipped out when I went back home.

Chase

Chase was rescued from her 'thrilling' life as a bait for dog race, and because of this fate she learn to move with ultimate stealth and velocity, so she often slips out of the house before, but she was never far. She was always waiting for me in an empty lot just two houses away, waiting for me to frantically looking and calling out for her. It's her signature way to get my attention, and it never failed.

With red dots all over my body I ran out. I ran out and call out her name, but no answer. I rushed back to get the keys, and go out to the street, with people looking at me like leper, but Chase was gone. All the thug-looking people in front of the stall dispersed immediately after they see me, and Chase was nowhere to be found.

I called out for her all the way back to the empty lot but no answer, and as I walked home with even higher fever, the woman who owns the stall have the guts to appear innocent and ask "Lost your cat?"

I knew that "Get it get it" voice came from her stall back then, so she must have known what happened, and she dared scratching me for a response so she can gawk on her customer with 'a new story'

I looked at her, and hiss "Curse thee who knows evil but do nothing. Curse thee and may thy loved one be stolen in front of thy eyes"


I curse with all my heart. I have never been more serious - take my word for it -  and the woman had never see me with such fear in her eyes. I must have looked like devil.

I was at that time, and I don't even wear Prada.

Inside the house, however, this devil cried. It is me who was cursed. Chase was stolen right in front of my eyes, and I can't do anything to help her. I got Chicken pox, a petty illness that unfortunately take awful long time to heal, doubtless I will lose a lot of income because I can't go out. I was made a complete fool in April's fool day. God has great sense of humor.

Against doctor's order, I gone out to the street anyway. Every morning and evening, the time when the cats got their rations, I put on my jacket and go round the block and nearby areas calling out her name. I was worried to death about her and besides, things can't be worse than it already is.

Two days later, as I went out to look for Chase and bought some medicine, I caught up under the sudden rain and my cellphone was soaked dead.

I had no means of communication, nor internet for a week.

Yeah right, and I thought things can't go any worse.

Well, things can get worse after all. And of all things that God can do, He took me down instead of up.

I was distressed; and as result I spend the whole day, and every day after that trashing around swearing at God for what He had done to me. When I am not angry I'd cry loudly like a crazy man, and in between my madness I even swear I'd stop believing in Him.

After I ran out of energy, the remaining of the next week gave me the quiet I needed.

For the first time in my life boys stop teasing me when I pass by. For the first time in my life all those men stop offering me a ride to their bed and giving me the joy of my life, for the first time in my life I own the element of power through fear, and for the first time in my life people take me as something they should not interfere, even though I was yelling with sore voice calling a cat, peeking under every car and inside every trash.

"When you are happy, your friends know you, when you are sad you know your friends. "

It's true. I am very happy to know that the ones who stays are the street cats. I gave my life for them, and in return, they become the only ones who actually come over, despite my look, and the only ones to rub all over me, unchanged.

At night, when I was sleepless thinking of Chase, I remembered that last year I asked God if I can just quit my job and live from writing and crafting, the way Saint Peter did, and one of those days God actually listened. He gave me enough retirement bonus to fall back to during drier days, but it is I who panicked from the absence of the constant paycheck and jumped right into the fire, only because of one hurdle.

I found out that it is I who made myself into a fool. I want one thing but go to the other direction. I dream of being independent but is fearful of the variable checks (that might be bigger than the regular pay, if only I keep trying). I want to go through the road less taken but demand a highway covered with red carpet and fragrant roses. I promise to just do what I can, but depended on other people to provide me with food on the table, in exchange of excruciating working hour and horrendous commute.

If I were God, I'd be tad confused with the half-ass Josie, but Thank God His mercy is everlasting. Instead of striking me with lightning, I got to live another day, and another, and another.

Then, as days pass by, I regained my composure, and one by one, my anger was replaced by gratefulness.

I am not sorry to go into the job deal. It is because I took the job that I was able to meet Monday. It is because of this job that I was able to help Tealca, and Seven. While truly terrible, this job is only that "path less taken" that deliver me to the precious souls that never fails to enrich my life.

I am not sorry for the Chicken Pox either. For most, it stops the rolling snowball. It serves as a brake that I needed to stop and see where I was actually going, sans hallucination or paranoia. It's a crossroad that take me away from the wrong path into the right one, and through it God had given me my second chance to choose where I want to end my race. Besides, hadn't for the illness I wouldn't have been able to help Estebel (her story coming soon) deliver her (complicated) babies, and I will be late to save Blossom (also coming soon) from going panic and step on her newborn to death.

Estebel, a few hours after delivering four babies (plus one stillborn)

I decided that I need to make space for something new to enter my life, aside from new rescues. As a gratefulness for everything that has been given to me, in turn, I gave a lot of things away. I finally am able to live just with one suitcase (of daily wear) and was very happy when I found myself not panicking with what I am going to wear the next working day. I can work with shirt and short if I want to.

I come to truly enjoy my many additional flecks all over my face - a fact that my mother was horrified with.

She sent me a recipe to make soap out of natural ingredients, to help my skin heal and asked me if I can make it, otherwise she will make it and send it to me. I told her that I might not want to use that, since I am truly happy to be ugly. With this spots on my face people stop harassing me and I am now free to roam the street, feed the cats, and even gone out at night to tend to more street cats without worrying someone will try to touch me.

Of course she yells at me. Any given woman will go to all length to preserve her beauty, and I enjoy being ugly. So to calm her down, I made the gel soap, use some (it's really nice) and send the rest over to some of my best friends all over the world. I went to some free internet and send my brothers news about my cell phone, in case they know someone to repair it. Within a few days one of my brothers sent me his old cellphone, and the other told me to send my phone over so he can ask someone to repair it.

And all of the troubles that drove me insane in the past two weeks were settled. The gift from getting yourself a quiet time that allow your every busy brain to sort things out in its own way, without the need for the latest computer with Intel I7 attached to it.

To celebrate, the first number I dialed is the meanie boss. I quit my job after only a month.

I spend a few days after my jobless day answering the phone calls of acquaintances expressing how sorry they are that I left the company, because I have been truly a blessing for them to work with (compared to a miser); catching up to emails and re-educating myself about handcraft marketing.

Along that way I got to know one of the greatest woman in the world, who - almost single handedly - spay and neuter the entire street cats in Sioux City, Iowa, USA. From a home made shelter, she now has an adoption center downtown. I was utterly embarrassed and humbled when she told me how much she admire my work, while it is her who inspired me to follow her lead.

I read a lot about sewing and making soft toys, and along the way I meet a lot lot LOT crafter who happily share their gift to their will-be-competitor (that's me). I have always interested in soft toys and when I study, I come to realize that there's still a lot to tap into and expand instead of cursing my dormant shop.

But the thing I am most grateful of is: I can write. As much as I want, when I want, the way I want.

The only thing I truly regret is that I lost Chase. She left a huge black hole in my heart that sucks all the happiness whenever I remember her, and that would be: every time. Even so I do not want to forget her, not even learning to let her go. Every weekend I will go around the city, where backyard breeders and pet thieves would sell their victims, from the filthiest to the fanciest, with money in my pocket, hoping to find her. I still call out her name every meal time. I still prepare Chase's food. I live as if she is still around, because she still is. Every day the hope is suppose to get dimmer, but I still want her back. Chase is a smart cat, so I prayed that she can go home. All over the internet there are stories about lost pet got found miles and years after, and if it happened to someone else, it can happen to me. I have never forget to mention her name in my prayers, asking that she be returned.

My mother put Chase on her facebook and invite many people who had lost their pet to share their heart and come together. Now she has even more friends than I am. It's the gift of being 60 years old animal rescuer.

I figured that learning is not attained by chance, it must be sought with ardor, and attended to with diligence.

It's not my words. It's Abigail Adams (1744-1818) First Second Lady of USA and Second First Lady of USA. Like I said, God has great sense of humor, right down to the wordplay.

Now that I decide on what I really want to do, and cast away all my worries, things are starting to go on a straight line.

A few days ago on one of my sleepless nights, I read newspapers online, and read about so many environmental devastation all in a row, as if it's been lined up for me to read, and I figured God calls me to step back into the fight, by giving back to what caters to my soul.


I wrote an open letter to the Minister of Bioenvironment, cc the President, to intervene with the plan to cut down Leuser conservatory rainforest in Aceh, that will render many orangutans homeless. I also wrote him that the local authority in simplemindedly decided to close down the only conservatory for Sun bears in Balikpapan because "it is not financially profitable for the region" and plan to build a new mall on that land. The entire city, all of them, sent out a protest for that plan, because the Sun bear is their much tenderly loved "Pooh Bear" (in Indonesia, Sun bear is called Beruang Madu - meaning honey bear) but those authorities, who call themself "people's representative" close it down already, and even boasted on their powers when facing National Geographic's camera, citing that "all those bear were crippled, it's not giving us any financial value"

The Sun Bear conservatory had five bears, all of them had been poached and commercialized during one point of their lives. 

I am not sure if they are going to listen at all. This country has no respect of other things but their own money, but I fight anyway. I am keeping my promise to Monday: I'll just do what I can.

Then I learn about Diane Rowles in Bulgaria, and I see a part of me in her in the past.  I can't donate money, because I am also struggling financially to keep the Whiskers' Syndicate alive; but I can sew, and I recently learn about so very many new tricks. So why not put them into practice?

Hence what I am going to do: I am going to make blankets and toys for the dogs and cats under Diane's care and ship them to Bulgaria (with the help of Animal Rescue Chase). Numerous times, whenever I reached out for a volunteer, I receive a note that it is impossible to volunteer internationally. Now I am going to prove, earnestly, that it is completely wrong.

"Nothing can stop the man with the right mental attitude from achieving his goal "

~Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826)

Two of the people I quote are Abigail Adams and Thomas Jefferson. You know what? they are enemies (at least politically). Thomas Jefferson beat Abigail's husband re-election and become the third president of United States. Yes, God has great sense of humor.

I know there will be some emails asking why I decided to help other shelter while I myself am struggling. Here is the answer:

I am hungry, Diane is hungry, my cats are hungry, Diane's cats and dogs are hungry. We are both oppressed, we are the same.  So why not?

If you cannot donate, but find it in your heart to help Diane Rowles, join me in contributing your used clothing, blankets, towels. I will turn them into toys and bedding for the animals in Bulgaria. Better yet, if you want to donate toys you made, or quilt, or whatever craft you are mastering, contact Laura Simpson (info[at]animalrescuechase.com) and she will make suitable arrangement for you.

Fry Me To The Moon

for our angel Trish And Heinz Geidel

A friend wrote me an email after she read the story on Monday. She wishes that Monday will have a friend to play with so that she doesn't have to be alone the whole day when I go to work.

A few days later I heard that she lost one of her beloved furry family: Tealca, after 14 years of life and brief illness. I tried the best I can to console her, though I know the loss of a beloved family is irreplaceable. I have lost many lives during my rescue years, but they have never become just number, no matter how short their time with me, so I can understand the enormous grief that befell her once she has to let go of Tealca.

The original beautiful Tealca

Taking the decision to let go of someone so dear to you take enormous amount of courage, unimaginable strength, and fathomless love that not everyone would understand. I know some people will certainly ask and brought forth the moral rhetoric, and as the epic battle of ethical conduct goes, the animal were left in agony.

I do hope that sort of thing will not happen to my friend, though as my story with Monday went international, I do feel the sting of sceptic society in my action.

Among the very many comments expressing gladness that Monday survived, there are a few that question why didn't I just stop the car right away, some goes into detail telling me to pretend the car was broken. Other readers sympathetically (and I am totally grateful of) explain that in the third world like Indonesia, and many other part in South East Asia, traffic can be very bad that you can't get out from the car, much less stop the car right in the middle of the street, without creating a chain crash. Other reminded the commenter that I was in someone else's car.

And I clearly admit I didn't wrote that the former business associate (not my co-worker, he is an acquaintance of the new boss in my previous work that sometimes drop by to ask for help) do not like animal. He despise them.

But still, I share the guilt. I have that guilt because I can't run fast enough, because I was being such a coward that I have to wait 30 minutes while I can just say that I have other business so I can't be polite to my possible future boss, and until today I still can't forgive myself for allowing such tragedy to happen that Monday was the only survivor of three that call out for help.

So I made another promise. I made another promise that the next time, whatever I do, whatever happened, when a kitten yells for help, I'll jump out and help. Period.

And then God listen, again.

A few days after Tealca's passing I was rushing to work, even though it's still 5 something in the morning. The traffic was very bad and I was afraid I am going to be late. Yes, I got the job after I saved Monday, but it was at - quoting my new co-worker - the end of the world. There's only one way leading to that industrial area, and it was so rural that the only thing you can find there is dying farming land, factories, gawker stall (that sells food made of who-knows-what) that most of the time stands up on top of garbage mound and endless bus and truck and flood.

I know it's excruciating. Having to go out for work at 5 - 6 am and reach home no earlier than 8-9 pm, but I needed the money. After only one month resigning from my previous company I lost my confidence and faith that God will provide so I swallow whatever that comes next that spells like "income". And it's not only me. Numerous time, suppliers complained about the bad traffic and how much they loathe having to come over to the factory because they will spend endless time in a traffic jam only to go to one place.

So I stop one of the many bike taxis. In Bandung, it's called "ojek". It's like taxi, but with motorcycle. There's no meter, so you approach the rider, tell them where you want to go, and bargain your price. When you got deal, you ride on the back and they drive you to destination.

The one I got told me that the traffic is very bad, even though it's still early, because there's only one way to my working place, and offered to take a little short cut, but that's through an old cemetery.

I laughed. If there's some kind of evil spirit that still roam a cemetery on the sunrise, I hope it will be a visiting Edward Cullen, or some Casper who went home late.


However, since it's cemetery, the road is rather empty, so it's plain weird that some motorcycles in front of us abruptly turn to the left or the right, as if avoiding something.

When I peek through the shoulder of my rider, I saw a bright yellow, tiny kitten, jumped out from a small ravine straight to the street, calling out for his mother.

I keep my promise. The road is steeply climbing but I ask the motorcycle rider to pull over anyway. He replied to me in confusion, but I keep saying "pull over" until he did so five minutes ahead, thinking that I might dropped something because I look back all the time.

I grabbed the kitten, push him inside my bag and go to the side where he jumped out, in case he has sibling. A bad corpse-y smell erase my hope, and looking at the filthy kitten, I am sure someone must have throw him there, or he got lost long and far enough to see her mother.

And I am under pressure for being late to work.

So I brought the kitten to the factory. I always have kitten food in my bag so I feed her along the way, inside my bag, while riding at the back of a motorcycle, with my rider grinning because it seems like it's a first time a passenger ask for a pull over to retrieve a street kitten.

Don't try this stunt by yourself unless you are highly accustomed to.

The food trick worked. Little kitten fell asleep inside my bag so I can bring him in without a commotion, until my boss (that business associate that offer me a job in Monday's story) neglect to see where' he was going and sit on my bag in the meeting room.

The next is a bitter argue. He clearly stated that his factory is not a zoo and that I shouldn't have smuggled an animal into a clean facility. I didn't say much because I was worried about the kitten, so I only say that the kitten hasn't done anything or anybody harm, not even a noise, and that if he didn't like what I do then I have no objection to leave the company.

My bluff worked. It was a new factory, so that business associate need someone with experience, and I was the only one he knows that can speak Japanese and is available in such a short time. The other co-worker watch with their mouth open because no one dared to defy the director before.

When I brought the kitten home that night, I remembered my friend's wish that Monday will have a friend, and I wrote her saying that God had listened to her prayer and that I wish I was granted the honour to name the small kitten Tealca.

Unfortunately, however, the friendship part didn't work. Monday is a princess. Serene, demure, and gentle with everything. Tealca is like a burning sun. He jumps everywhere, run to every corner, drag Monday's blanket away from her, ambush her while she was asleep, took her food, bite on her tail, and make Monday got a severe headache (I think so, from her face)

So Tealca stays outside my bedroom, while Monday stays in. But he didn't want to give back Monday's blanket (actually it's mine T_T) and instead bring it with him. He made such a ruckus when I took the blanket away, that I finally relented and buy Monday a new blanket.

Look at me in the eye, This is MY blanket!

What!

Perhaps, living as a stray for some time in a vast cemetery, away from loving care of a mother, made little Tealca a tough guy. Other kittens that I met along the way used to be meek, but Tealca is demanding. He yells for his food, he take what he wants, and he made clear he is well understood.

My bowl is empty

Of course, it might be that I personified the cats too much, but Tealca brings about a unique personality that is hard to ignore. He has his own way telling the others of his intention, unlike any cat who usually use their rubbing and kneading, but still, despite his "my way" persona, it's still hard to resist him. He is like a compact version of Charlie.

One more thing: his favourite spot is the stove.

He likes to sleep in a used up frying pan (hence the title of this post, given his personality). The frying pan has been the only cooking utensil I have when I first move to Bandung (until a friend buy me a pot), and I still haven't replace it even after Charlie use it as his toy and broke its handle.

So I put his blanket inside, and have him sleep there. Occasionally he will drag his blanket out and sleep on the floor, clawing any cat that pass by, regardless of their size.

While Tealca is busy frying us to the moon; Monday, is back to her peaceful days in my room, with her new blanket.

Some things are better left to their own devices.

Strangers In The Night

 for our friend Susie Bunn: here goes your lucky number!

Today is a full moon; and unlike any other day, the sky is clear, so I can see the round moon clearly as it peeks from behind the wisp of the wild bamboo bushes across the street. At times, wind are playing with the young tips, lifting it up and down that the moon looks like it is a bright lantern hanging is an ancient oriental gardens.

I wouldn't have been able to see such scenic rarity from my boarding house, or rented space in the city. It will be full with passing vehicle and their noises, the punks who gone out in hordes to try and get money from passer by with their generic line "rather than we rob you, it is better that we beg money from you in exchange to our singing...(then they continue to yell unharmonious melodies and gibberish lyrics)"

But then maybe I was wrong. Maybe the beauty of a full moon on a clear sky is not good enough, because the other houses were all closed. It's 9 pm so probably people are getting ready to sleep, or is enjoying cable TV that recently taken the trend in "home entertainment"

In contrary, I have just got home from my work.

As the result of my panic for dwindling finances, I took a coming job offer in panic; and though I am grateful that the process lead me to a memorable rescue, the job itself is not that much fun.

In normal situation, my new workplace is only 45 minutes ride. However, it is an industrial area in a remote part of Bandung, a newly developed area where there's no decent road, far away from everything, and has only one road leading and out of there, unless you want to go round the town using highway.

Needless to say it's always jammed, especially in Monday morning, and in any given moment where huge trucks try to make a turn; even when there are only few more trucks than usual. The traffic is so bad that once you trapped in it, it will take at least two hours to get to my workplace instead of fourty five minutes. And I have been using public transport too... There's only one kind of public transport from my area to my workplace, and keeping in mind that Indonesia is a third world country, I guess I have no choice.

So, worse than my previous job, I have to leave the house at 6 am in the morning so I can reach the factory at 8 am, when it start, and although I leave at 5 pm - as soon as the working hour ends - since everyone else is doing the same, I'd reach my house no earlier than 8 pm. When I have to make a stop to buy cat food or medicine, it will be like today, 9 pm, sometimes 9:30. No going round for the stray, no leaving food and boxes and blankets for the ferals, no street cat business until the weekend.

But that's not what bugging me, at least tonight.

It's that cat's mew I have been hearing coming and going from across the street.

I peeked out of my window once again. Nothing. In fact, I have been going back and forth checking the road and its surrounding gutters looking for abandoned kitten, but I can't find anything. The desperate mews stopped as soon as I step onto the road side.

An old man that has been standing there, watching the moon from the street side since I went home, is getting curious. He started asking me what I am looking for, but I didn't answer him except with a courtesy smile.

I am almost certain where the questions lead to: nowhere. People in Bandung, especially in a semi rural areas like here doesn't care about animals. They care about money, and booze, and sex. Especially sex. A street gang named "Exalt To Coitus" is very famous here. Most of the time when I go out at night to tend the cats people, especially young males, will ask me question where I was heading, what I am doing or the like, and when they learn that I actually take care of street cat instead of just ignore me they took the time to harass me, and some times gone as far as trying to touch me, which is the reason I got into so many street fights in my short span of rescue life. I come to learn that this city is Sodom or Gomorrah, or maybe both in one. I lose my trust in fellow countrymen, especially male, and I come to learn - in a very hard way - to be as hard as a clamp.

So the old man ask me again, what I am trying to do, going back and forth from the house to the street and back again, and I smile again, when that desperate mew re-started, straight from my back.

I turn back all at once, running to its direction. It's from the gutter below, but when I run there with my flash light on I can't find anything. I heard the mew moving to across the street, from the direction of the Bamboo bushes, so I too cross the street. That voice enough convinced me that the owner of the mew is panicking.

A few meters above (the road that lead to my house climbed up) I heard a motorcycle screeching its brake and its rider got busy hush-hushing.

That must be it. I run back up, trying to defeat 45 degrees road with a pair of rubber sandals. Part of my heart was grateful for the urban legend. Some story that said that if you ran over a cat on the road, and do not treat them as you would treat human, you will die as miserably as the cat, on the road.

But urban legend fade, and I have come to see so many many cats, especially kittens, ran over by vehicle on the road and left there, flattened on the road.

As I passed him that old man said "Are you looking for a cat"

I just turn my head to him for a second and nod. There's his answer. So now be quiet and let me do my job.

I saw it. A silhouette of a thin, black kitten with roused up hair trying to cross the street in panic. It went back, and forth, and criss cross in the middle of the street, trying to avoid coming motorcycles while losing its way somewhere in between, resulting him running around in a messy circle in the middle of a rather crowded road. It's around 5 to 10 meters from my house, and if only the road leading there wasn't so steep I'd be able to grab it sooner.

Then the same panic strike me. Sooner than later someone is going to run over that cat because it's difficult to spot a fidgety black kitten on a dark asphalt in a dark night, no matter how big the full moon above. So I ran straight, in the middle of the road, adjusting my direction as the kitten jumps here and there trying to keep both of us in a straight line as much as possible. If the riders can't see the kitten they can always see that there's a crazy woman running like crazy in the middle of the road so they can at least turn to the side. Heck with the swearing as they pass me.

When my stretched hand just about to get to the poor thing, a motorbike is honking like crazy instead of avoiding me, ten inches from my nose.

"Cat! Cat! move to the side!" I yelled, pointing at the now freezing kitten.

The riders, two males, run straight over it, with a loud, bitter, sneering laugh.

And I saw the kitten rolled behind the front wheel after being ran over, and after that, got run over by the rear wheel a few seconds later.

Then it flew away with a hustling sound when it hits the bamboo bushes.

All the while, their laugh continues.

I don't try to stop the motorcycle, I don't even try to get their license. What would I do with a liscense? go to the police? I'll make a good laugh for those corrupt officers. So I turn over to the bamboo bushes and start looking.

"You crazy bastards! You'll die on the street!I hope miserably!" I think that's the voice of the old man, but I don't care.

"Go further up, young woman", I heard him again from across, behind me. "Go further up"

My mind was so messy I can only half digest what he was trying to say while the rest of my limbs works like a zombie.

It's getting easier for my brain to freeze lately. I know it comes from the exhaustion with my day job, but I can't turn back now. I tried to hit the brake, slow down a little, but I still have to move on, so I choose to put my stress aside and keep moving. I know the drill.

I can hear the meow; hurt and lost. One, two, weakly, but the kitten is alive. I start to call out, as gently as I can, though I doubt my voice is friendly enough in all its trembles and vibrates "Baby kitty, baby kitty..."

The kitten answers, but I cannot find him. The bamboo bushes is just too thick for my flash light to go through, much less the moon. I have to climb a small cliff knee high to get to the bushes, but the rain the day before made the soil slippery. Both my had already muddy, sweeping the ground, while the old man's voice still trying to encourage me to go inside the bushes.

I was out of breath, half an hour later, and my mind refused to listen. Then I mumble, in autopilot "Lord, what shall I do? My brain is freezing. Lead me the way. What shall I do?"

And then some hand touched my shoulder and ask carefully "What are you looking for?"
I snapped around, and my wild eyes find a young man looking at me curiously. He uses dark shirt, with some hard metal rock band gory Gothic drawing on it. Oh yes, out of all people in time like this.

The voice inside me yells "Harassment alert! Don't talk to strangers!"

I gape in front of him for a moment, and then turn around and go back looking.

"What are you looking for? something valuable?", he ask again.

The word "something valuable" hit my alarm the second time.

I was about to say "nothing" but the old man beats me to it "A cat. A kitten. Up there, to her right. I saw it just now"

The young man look back at me. I just freeze there, gaping like an idiot.

And then a little yelp coming from the bushes.

The young man take my hand. "Here, hold this", he was pushing a plastic bag into my muddy hand. He search into his pocket, get his cell phone, and turn it on as a flash light.

Using a big rock just at my right, he jumped into the bushes, drowned to his ankle into the muddy soil.

Then the old man started again "More to the right, to the right..."

I stare at the plastic bag in my hand; and recognize what's in there: food.

And then the corner of my eye, glimpsed a sparkle I am so familiar with, as the man's flash light brush around. That sparkle, is a cat's eye.

Automatically, my hand reached out to the sparkle, and swipe the bushes open.

A black kitten, almost frozen, with dilated pupil, meowing in auto pilot every two minutes. He was stuck between bamboo trunks and shoots.

The man grab its back, trying to let it out of the shoots, push it inside his vest, and then looked at me. "Stay there, don't move"

I froze. Only my eyes were moving, fixated to the kitten.

He use my shoulder to hold on as he jumped down the slippery bamboo bush. Then he pulls the kitten out, and hand it over to me, the way someone would hand over a stick.

The kitten's soft fur in my arms some how defrost me. "Thanks", I whispers. By that time all my panic buttons ran lose and crashes with my good senses.

I hand over his plastic bag back to him. "Your dinner"

He smiled. "I live in this house" he pointed to the house right next to the bamboo. "I saw what happened. Stray cat is sacred property of Street God. I hope those two man die miserably on the street, soon"

Still in autopilot, I dig into my pocket and get some money. It's what I do when I was exhausted and cornered by some street punk. Get bank notes and throw it in the air before running away.

The man shakes his head "No, I am sincere. I know boys here, the punks, harass you a lot. You are pretty, and you are Chinese. But I am sincere. Go take your kitty home"

I put the money inside the plastic bag, and cross the street.

"Thanks, sir" I nodded as I pass the old man.

He smiled back. "You are famous around here. Residential complex, house number 3, is a street cat lady"

I certainly don't know about the famous part, but I am grateful anyway. At least the cat is safe. At least God didn't turn his sight away from the little kitten.

For a few days, the kitten is all right. He is noisy and rambunctious and cannot stay put. Not a single picture I took of him have a clear image. It is almost like nothing happened to him. I tried to consult a visiting vet, and she said that sometimes things like that happened, even to human. Living being has enormous strength in the face of disaster, often beyond comprehension. Further she said, "Let's hope he is all right. He lost no limb, but two of his nine lives"

So I call him Seven, in the hope that he lost nothing but two lives in the incident, and in honour of a friend in England, who wishes she was lucky enough to go out of her way to help more animals (frankly, she already did).

However, on day five, his right eye start to get watery, and then swollen. Every day, pus start coming out.

 

After that, his right ear start getting watery as well. My worry grow back as Seven loses his appetite and becoming more quiet.

I called the vet back, and she told me that without thorough X ray and special device, it is impossible to pinpoint the location of the damage. However, X ray are only available in Jakarta, and the only vet who owns the special device is the most expensive vet in the country. Her question is whether Seven can endure a long, stressful trip to Jakarta back and forth in his condition. He was a street cat and we didn't know how great is his endurance.

Looking at his condition closely, anyway, the vet is clear that both his left ears and left eyes will be permanently damaged, though can be healed.

So now I have a kitten with only seven lives, one eye and one ear, but that's OK. When I saved Monday, I made a promise that whatever happened, I will do what I can, so I will do what I can. When I saved Monday I prayed that God would take care of the small kitten, and when Seven was rescued I prayued the same and God listens. So I took the vet's prescription I continue to give eye ointments and clean the ear every day. The vet guide me through all the stages, what will happen to his eyes and ears, and what should become of him if I did it right.

Compared to the other rescued cats, Seven made a much much slower progress. However, every time I got home from work, late at night, He'd made himself stand, and try to meow, and as I stroke him I renew my promise that I will do what I can, that we will go through this together, whether we win or not.

One day, the water from his eye will dry out, and what remains of his bursting right eye will fall off. The same with his right ear, one day it will dry out, as he lost his sense of hearing.

 

But meanwhile, he got a roof to stay under, enough food to sustain him, medication, and whole new line of friends and family. He was a lucky strike, and guess what, though I passed the house the young man pointed to great many times after the incident, I never saw him again. I never saw the old man again.

I am not sure it's a miracle, and I am still overly cautious to male, and especially punks who seems to hang out in any given street in Bandung; but once in a while, maybe, there's a few good men left even in Sodom and Gomorrah just in case some innocent animals are in distress. I hope so.

Though I would never know which one is which, just like the lottery.

Edited on April 20, 2013 to incorporate more detail and background leading to the story. I have to. I am utterly embarrassed with my previous poor writing, in which I feel like someone else.