The Whiskers' Syndicate

Just as Easter blend death and suffering with healing and resurrection, the Syndicate had met their share of loss and victory.

Learning from prior experiences with Calici, most cats that can hold on to, or stop sneezing after 10 days more likely to survive. I have eight kittens with Calici and although they all hold on until the tenth day, four of them can't make it back to their better side.

This is the story of the other four who stays:

From left to right: Friskies, Blossom, Tiger Lily, Mini

Some elder told me that it is the last drop that turns the cup over. In my case, it's Friskies.

I call him that way because when I found him inside a deep gutter (it's 2 meters or 6 feet 65 inches deep, I have to borrow a ladder to pick him up), he looks exactly like that yellow kitten in Friskies Cat Food bag. He was the smallest in the Syndicate and so I don't put much hope when his symptoms start showing (see the black crust under his eyes and on his jaw).

The one who turned the table is Friskies, the weakest of the whole batch of sick kittens whom I took in. He was already sick when I met him on the street (see that black crusty residue under his eyes and mouth), and I took him in only so I can comfort him through the darkest hours of his short life.

I had forgotten that God works mysterious ways, and that's not limited to human only. By the time I lost Patch, Friskies can no longer swallow anything. He was severely dehydrated and fully dependent on his iv to live on. On wee hours in the morning he often wake me up with his cries, asking to be comforted from his fevers. I haven't got proper rest for the whole week now, and that took toll on my strength, as well as my spirit. Though I hate to admit it, at that time, I kind of rather let him go than watch him suffer longer.

Just when I was completely ready to let him go, I notice that he had stopped sneezing. His nose no longer runny. He still got watery eyes, but they are a lot sharper now than the first time I met him. It seems like he got over his critical period and get a grip on life.

He started to grow stronger, and soon enough, learned to sit instead of laying down on his side, and along with his slow recovery, he brought my morale back up.

I might not lose after all.

Unfortunately, however, I ran out of money, and the healthy ones need food too. So I called one of the vets on the clinic and asked if I can get some more antibiotics on credit. I told my vet that Friskies had just turned for the better, and I don't want to give up now, despite the grim chance.

She laughed and tell me to come after her practice is over.

What awaits me is a box full of antibiotics, iv needles, Ringer Lactate and cans of Royal Canin Recovery. An invoice in an envelope too, actually, but I figured she can wait for another week with that big grin.

"How's your score?" she asked "four to none" I said, sourly.

"Chin up. I've got more than twenty coming up here with the same infection, but none of them came back alive"

I can understand why. Here in Indonesia, vet is only useful when people want to know when to mate their "pet", how much litter their "pet" is going to have, when their "pet" is having trouble laboring, while they want all the litter alive so they don't have to score a "loss", when they need vaccination before selling their puppies/kittens, and when their animals are old and need "sleeping"

With daily agenda like this, it's no wonder that veterinary science in Indonesia has not gone far from 1950s curriculum, and that most new vets in this country is more adept in "breeding science" than healing science. Come right here to Bandung and I can show you that most of the vet here is either a licensed breeder or an animal show enthusiast.

While countries like Europe developed a more advanced way in handling Calici, most of the vets relies only on one shot of antibiotics and vitamins and leave the rest to God.

Surely, I will rely on God, but that doesn't mean I will just sit there watching the cats die doing nothing. This Calici has to learn by now that I am no Rapunzel who sits forlornly inside her tower waiting for Knight in shining armor. More so because 2 months old Tiger Lily fought her hardest, clinging to life.

Tiger Lily, 2 months old, at the peak of her sickness.

And at the same time, Blossom is getting better as well. Mini is catching up a few days later.

Like an hour of sunrise throws eight hours of night, one after another, the sick cats are getting better. They stop sneezing, and their eyes started to dry and come alive. They are still week and have to rely on tube feeding, but I can see that the antibiotics and immune booster start to work faster and better.

The night is over, but I can't be happy yet. I still need to stay vigil to their condition until they completely stabilize.

Truly, like many articles and scientific journals, what truly heals cats with Calici is total care, even when the cat seems to stop living (can't eat, can't drink, can't breath, can't move), the readiness of their patron to become their second life is what turns the table. In my case, it's my willingness, and the vets, and the Syndicate's supporter to keep on living in their sake. I keep feeding them, re-hydrating them, keeping them warm, keeping their nose clean. I am ready to be late to work, and lie about my tardiness. I am ready to give anything, and not stop even though all hope seems to be gone. The vet keep pushing me to give them antibiotics, advising me on yet another method whenever new symptom came up, and the readers, my friends, the Syndicate's supporter keep watching out for another ways to handle Calici. All this is what kept them alive until today.

The Incredibles, as the title said, is not only the cats, but also all of you.

With this post I wanted to say that, no matter what kind of disease, whether it is a small scab, a deadly virus, or a lurking cancer, whether you are in the best part of the world that has the best veterinary technology, or in the most remote of Africa, Amazon, or deep in the forests of Asia, when your animal is sick, and the avant garde treatment is far away, the first, and foremost healing that you can offer your animal is commitment. Commitment to become their shadow, commitment to become their life, commitment to hold on till the end, whatever the result is.

Because back then, when these cats said "I do" to go home with you, they gave you their nine lives, and have been living up to it; but now, when they are sick, or old, or weak, the only thing they need is one life. Just one.

So, like Moses raise his voice in gratitude when God guide them through the red sea, and away from Egypt, I too, raise my voice, in the name of The Whiskers' Syndicate to you all for your support, your information, your input, your donation, prayers, good thoughts, and most importantly, not giving up on us, a bunch of castaways and useless, unimportant existence.

Here is the four champions taken today: Saturday, April 28, 2012, 10 days after their last sneeze.

Tiger lily

Mini

Blossom


Friskies

Happy Easter 2012

Note:
In reference of my statement about how vets in Indonesia lacks knowledge and training about wildlife conservancy and healing science, below is a link to a testimony by Dr. Liang Kaspe. She has been successful in breeding endangered animals in Surabaya zoo, her last successful story is assisting comodo dragon and her baby. The story is in Indonesian, but it is easily read with google translate or babelfish.
Dr. Liang Kaspe: Surabaya Zoo's favorite Midwife

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.

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.

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)

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).

Tiny Tykes

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.