Yesterday Once More

Just because cats are known to be low maintenance, it doesn't mean that their life is as cheap; but in this breeder capital of Indonesia, where people see all living being (human included, of course) as source of free money, I don't think anyone care.

And then, there's that outdated, idiotic misconception that doing business should "use as less to no resources as possible, to gain as much profit as possible"

So in every corner of slums in this metropolitanpuritan city, you will see cats living in rabbit cage, with plain rice and water, or a pinch of Friskies, and a  plate of sand to discharge, spending their life. Their only chance of going out of that box is when they are about to meet their mate, or if their breeder got enough of him/her and find someone else stupid enough to believe in the effortless profit maker myth and buy the overly bred cat.

What if the cat is sick? Go back to the equation. If the amount of resources needed to rear the "asset" is the same or higher than its price, throw it away on the street.

Chances are, someone will pick it up, or at least you will never see it again. Out of sight, out of mind. Life goes on.

But if you happen to bring your asset cat to meet the vet, thinking that it will cost you a little, but ended up have to pay more?

Cheat. Plain and simple.

It's so happened last month. A homemade breeder bring his cat to the vet clinic, complaining that his cat does not pee for quite some time and is being a nuisance. The vet gave the cat a look, and tell the owner that he got UTI (Urinary Tract Infection), most probably caused by bad quality feed. The vets put catheter into the cat, prescribe the medicine, and urge the owner to change the feed into better quality food, if they cannot afford the best. As a value adding service, the vet give his cat a free, self-made elizabeth collar to match his cat, so that it will not pull the catheter out.

Looking heart broken, the owner said that he feels so sorry for his cat, and ask if the vet can hold on for a moment because he wants to borrow a car from his relative, so that the cat will be more comfortable with all his new wardrobe and accessories on his way home.

You guess? The owner never return.

That way he doesn't have to pay any money for any service right?.

So, similar with his old days, this cat - dubbed BooBoo by the vets - spends his life in a cage, with Elizabeth collar that bump everywhere he move, and a catheter that irk his rear most of the time.

Yet he doesn't complain. For a cat that was bred for profit, he probably learn that life at its best is sitting nicely inside of a barred box waiting to be mated.

Life is a little bit better for BooBoo, when under the care of not only one, but three vets who all love cat, his UTI cleared out and he is off his bumpy collar and irksome catheter. However, since the clinic doesn't have boarding, and it's uber busy from morning to late night, he still got to live his life in the cage and go out only for one or two hours a day when the patients are all gone and the vets take some break to have supper before they all go home, and BooBoo has to go back to his jail.

BooBoo's right eye were swollen when he got a fight back from the clinic resident cat, and he was sulking in his sand box the whole day.

home, perhaps

With all sort of patients going back and forth everyday the whole day, it is only a matter of time before he got stressed and start clawing everyone around, especially the two resident cats who shares the same house.

To that point, BooBoo's only part in my life is when I lost Mama Cat. One of the vets who knows what is going on was trying to soothe us by telling his story, and I got to pet his head once or twice for self-consolation.

He replied my sorrowful vibes with his copper eyes, looking at me with such a curious glint; a spark of liveliness that told me that he is more than a doll-like cat who likes to sit and watch life goes by.

Still, until yesterday we hope that his owner didn't really mean to abandon him and will return with whatever reason to take him back. Even if he told us flat that he got no money at that time we would still understand and the vets won't charge anything more than the cost of the initial treatment. 

Besides, it's beyond reason that someone would rather abandon his cat for only a minor infection that cleared out within a week. Can't he just make sure that the cat's UTI is incurable before dumping it just like that?

After one month had passed and a few weeks more in waiting, however, we can no longer deny that whisper in our heart that BooBoo is indeed, dumped away.

What is in a name? a rose by any other name will be as sweet. Certainly, Shakespeare, what's in a name? in late 2011 I pull out a purebred silpoint Persian named Boo who was abandoned in another clinic, and now we have a Persian mix named BooBoo with similar fate?

The vets has two choice: give him to the friend of the silly seaweed chip volunteer, or have someone else (meaning whoever) adopted him by putting an ad in facebook.

Both options gave me goosebumps, so I step forward and give them the third choice: I will pay all his charges and pull him out.

It's (again) a stupid idea. My house is full and the fund raising seems to be rather stuck these days. I also have Martha who currently need the most medical attention, but here I am gambling my luck away and pull a cat out.

I seems to lose a lot of intelligence lately, but honestly, I just can't stand by and have those coppery glint of liveliness goes into yet another home to get into yet another cage.

The rest is the same old story, I took several more freelance job, and bring my carrier to the vet's clinic and pay.

The vets waive the catheter, the UTI medicine and the food they spend on BooBoo, but I got to pay for his vaccine and neutering; and half a million Rupiah moved from my ATM to their drawer, and I went home with a new cat to care for.

BooBoo still got to stay in a cage, but only for one night. The next morning I was kind of expecting a little fuss because he doesn't want to go out of the cage in the clinic, but he voluntarily jumped out of the cage as soon as I open the door. 

Since the vets told me he will try to fight with other cats, I watch him like a hawk when he meets the other cats, but to my surprise, he just sniff them up a little bit, turn around continue exploring.

It's not a surprise that The Whiskers' Syndicate no longer care about bullying new cat because there are so many come and go in their lifetime.

Unlike Abba Tealca who fight his way with almost every one in the Syndicate,  BooBoo arrived with no incident at all. He just lay down and doze off like my house is his all along, and blend in effortlessly. Perhaps because he used to be a house cat, so a household environment is more familiar (thus less stressful or agitating) for him, but I can't talk to him, and I'd freak out if he talk to me, so I just shrug and have him do it his own way.

on ironing table

that closet behind him is where I store cat food and bowls. Go figure what he is doing :D

checking kitchen counter

Since I already have a cat named Boo, I have to change his name to avoid confusion. Besides, the "original" Boo is already irritated when I called out "Boo" and he comes over only to find out I was talking with the other.

That said, why not have an early trick or treat? Help me find a good (new) name for this handsome boy and win this bag:

Courtesy of Whiscraft, this bag is made of patchwork of cotton fabric featuring fresh flower and a smiling cat. It is 26 centimeter (10.2 inches) wide, 18 centimeter (7 inches) tall, and 8 centimeter (3.1 inches) in depth. Patches may vary depending on available coordinating colours.

Here is how to join the naming game:

1. Make a single USD 5 donation through our Pitch In Box on the top right of the website page, and enter your suggested name in the "message" box.

2. Ask your friend and family to vote for you!

Here is how to vote:

1. Make a single USD 3 donation to our Pitch In on the top right of the page. If you donate USD 9, you have 3 votes!

2. Enter your voted name in the "message" box.

3. Ask your friends and family to join!

Names with most vote got the bag!

Aw, no prize for the voter?

Whoever vote the most get this:

Also courtesy of Whiscraft, this cute porcupine pouch is made of patchwork cotton. It is 13 centimeter (5.1 inches) wide and 10 centimeter (3.9 inches) tall.

All name entry will be displayed on our facebook page, our Google + page and on a box right here under the post.

The party ends on Monday, September 23, 2012. So don't miss it!


Name entry up to  Sept 17, 2013:
1. Teddy
2. Bear
3. Teddy Bear
4. Menanggung

Additional name entry Sept 18, 2013:

5. Baron (because he looks majestic)
6. Cooper (from Copper eyes)
7. Dante (writer of the infamous "Inferno". Inferno is due to the coat colour of the cat)
8. Oscar (of "Oscar Madison" in the motion picture "The Odd Couple").
There are also entries of other Oscar of "Oscar Wilde" and "Oscar the cat" so the name "Oscar" now has 3 votes, which put this name ahead of the other.

Entry Update Sept 19, 2013:

5. Baron + 4 votes
6. Cooper + 4 votes
8. Oscar + 3 votes
9. Caesar (because the cat look awesome)
10. Sebastian +15 votes

Sebastian is now a leading name choice.

It seems like the naming game escalates into a vote racing game. Everyone is busy campaigning! So, for you who hasn't join yet, get on your running shoes before you miss the fun.

Here is the name entry list up to Sept 20, 2013:

1. Teddy
2. Bear
3. Teddy Bear + 5 votes
4. Menanggung
5. Baron + 4 votes
6. Cooper + 4 votes
7. Dante
8. Oscar + 3 votes
9. Caesar
10. Sebastian +15 votes
11. Handsome Boy +6 votes

"Sebastian" is still leading with 15 votes. Any challenger?

Entry update up to Sept 21, 2013:

1. Teddy
2. Bear
3. Teddy Bear + 5 votes
4. Menanggung
5. Baron + 4 votes
6. Cooper + 4 votes
7. Dante
8. Oscar + 7 votes
9. Caesar
10. Sebastian +15 votes
11. Handsome Boy +6 votes

It's getting hotter here.

You can vote for one (or more) of the name above or submit your own up to Sept 23, 2013. Don't miss it!

Entry update up to Sept 22, 2013:

1. Teddy
2. Bear
3. Teddy Bear + 5 votes
4. Menanggung
5. Baron + 4 votes
6. Cooper + 4 votes
7. Dante
8. Oscar + 7 votes
9. Caesar
10. Sebastian +15 votes
11. Handsome Boy +6 votes
12. Grayson +1 votes

One more day to go. Make sure your name entry wins by inviting your friends and family to vote for you!.

On the last day of the game, here is the final entry

1. Teddy
2. Bear
3. Teddy Bear + 5 votes
4. Menanggung
5. Baron +4 votes
6. Cooper +4 votes
7. Dante
8. Oscar + 7 votes
9. Caesar
10. Sebastian +15 votes
11. Handsome Boy +6 votes
12. Grayson + 2 votes

According to the tally here is the position:

1. Sebastian (15)
2. Oscar (7)
3. Handsome Boy (6)
4. Teddy Bear (5)
6. Baron and Cooper (4)
7. Grayson (2)
8. Teddy, Bear, Menanggung, Dante, Caesar on the last places.

There are still a few hours left if you would like to vote or submit your own entry. May the best name win!

Dr. Jekyll, Ms. Hyde

Simply put, I screwed up, and worse than anything else, I drag one of my precious rescue with me.

At least, it is what I feel about Martha.

A few weeks ago I brought two kittens: Chicco and Mio for a check up at the vet clinic, only to be tangled in one of their very many emergency. It's an old, new story: I open one of the empty cages, throw Chicco and Mio inside, and get my hand dirty.

I peeked on the two kittens from time to time, and they seems to mind their own business. They eat the food inside the cage,they went into a small box inside the cage and roll all over, and they pat each other's cheek; so in a glimpse I knew they were OK and I too, go back to my own business.

When it's finally my turn, I just go back to the cage and found out that Chicco and Mio were not alone. They were poking around with a tiny Tortoiseshell kitten, who is so small she was drowned inside the small box there.

"Hey, where's this Tortie came from?"

Stupid question. Since no one went near the cage, it suppose to be logical to think that the tiny kitty was there to begin with and I overlook her when I just throw my two kittens inside.

One of the vet came closer and tell me story about how the janitor found a small kitten inside a box right under the door the morning before. The janitor had thought someone was throwing away a box full of newspaper shreds and was about to throw it away to the fire, when he found out hat there's a small cat in there giving him eyeballs.

OK, so I am not the only one who missed the catling.

The story became interesting when the vet continue with "She comes with a love letter"

I raise one of the tips of my lips.

The vet continue and said that the love letter was attached to the kitten, and demands that the kitten be well cared for and given good food.

I scratched my head. Whoever throw the kitten must have been a fan of Moses, though fortunately they are smart enough not to have the box drifted in the river, or being thrown away from speeding car.

The end of the story is, when we are done with Chicco and Mio, the ever eyeball-ing (I swear her eyes are huge, and she can stare at you forever) tortie-la chip came home with me.

Or rather Godzilla, if only I knew.

I call her Martha (from "Martopo Veterinary Clinic") and she came with a quirk: she has very short attention span.

And what I mean "very short" is very short. VERY short. She was a bottle kitten but when I tried to feed her with syringe, she will jerk away and claw my hand after a few drops, running in circle around the living room, and come back to me 10 laps later. Another few drops and she dashed into the kitchen, crashed onto one of the cabinets, and came back to me scrambling to cope with her dizziness (I guessed)

Honestly I thought she was just showing off her Tortie-tude, and that includes when she cross the speed limit, dove into her milk bowl head first and ended up looking like a Santa Clauws.

I thought it's her way of saying she had enough, but she chased me with a lot of grumble when I took her bowl to the sink.

Then her cute antics become annoying. Sometimes she is as sweet as caramel and sugar (look at her colour!) a second later she is as fiery as hell flame (again, look at her colour). We were having fun giving her milk and all of a sudden she will bite my hand and claw it to shreds., then go away and amuse herself with toys. When I was bewildered at what I might do wrong she will come to me and give me head bonks and purring "I love you" out loud.

One time she walks around leisurely like Pretty Woman and all of a sudden she will growl and lunged at a sleeping cat (who of course, either run away in fear or growl back and give her some beating)

At another time she allow me to pick her up and cradle her in my arms, and a few minutes later she suddenly bite me very hard and jump off my arms though she lands on the floor belly first. Then she will do her usual laps and won't stop until she crashes onto some wall.

As days passed Martha grow away from a cute kitty to a diabolic annoying kitten. She continue to shift from her light, sweet personality, to her dark, diabolic personality more often, as if she is truly living out Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the cat way.

I won't join the two face game and herewith made a public statement that I lost my patience handling Martha, especially when she ask for food and when I give her some, plunge into the bowl, step all over it, dash somewhere else and leave the floor dirty. I tried to be patient and think that she might want some other food, so I gave her her favourite Fancy Feast only to see her lick once or twice, bite a teeeny tiny bit, kick the bowl upside down and hide under the fridge as I practice my anger management techniques.

And the more I angry, the more she acted up. My love for her dissipates in a speed of light as my hatred blew up like Hiroshima.

No matter how angry I am, however, when the night come, she always darts into my room and keep herself busy destroying it as I work, stopping only when I either lost my mind or too exhausted to care for whatever she wrecked and flop onto the bed.

Then she will creep under the blanket and sleep beside me, sometimes on top of me. Even at certain days when I completely ignore her, or put her down on the mat to sleep alone, she will climb back onto the bed and find her true love in my stomach.

On certain days, however, I succumbed to my curiosity and snap some pictures to find out how a sleeping cat with tortie-tude will look like.

Can I be angry to something that look like this?

Watching her sleep quench the fire inside me. A storm by day, Martha is just an ordinary, cuteness overdose kitten when she sleeps.

The only thing I can genuinely appreciate about Martha is that she is a fast learner. She weans herself off KMR early, and she even show the right way to do it by pushing an older, bigger cat off its bowl and take over all the kibbles.

Still, I should have known at that time that something is wrong with this kid, but that time, my attention was taken by Mama Cat and later on, Bobtail.


My journey with Mama Cat alone drains me, even for days after she passed away. The long fight that I have put up for her for the whole week leave me with nothing left in my mind but tears. I know I need to dust myself up and continue walking. I prayed for all my friends who lost a pet that week that they be given strength to move forward. It's just embarrassing that I myself was unable to pick myself up and move forward, although I pray for it.

During that time Bobtail was still delicate. He had a bad self concept and literally lost his trust to human due to his experience, so I try to be as calm and steady as possible not to resonate bad vibes that might make him more anxious.

The whole week when I was busy with Mama Cat and Bobtail, Martha is completely forsaken. I just let her destroy anything she likes and when I need to go to the clinic, I'll just leave her with a bowl of Fancy Feast, heck if she wants to eat it or mess with it. I am often too tired and stirred up (emotionally) when I arrive home from the clinic down town so no matter how savage Martha became toward me, I just brush her off and put her on autopilot.

She is back to my attention when I heard her breath grunting like a pig. Martha caught cold, and unless I move faster than her dashes, we're going to have that nasty endemic bacteria again.

So I went back down town with her and while I met the vet, I give her the payment for Mama Cat. The fund raiser missed the target by USD 90, but I have to pay none the less, so I gave what I have.

The vets refused the money.

Because the surgery is not completed they decided to waive the fee, so I only need to pay for Bobtail. They also told me that they know I was trying to safe a street cat, and as fellow cat lovers it is their way to share the load.

When I wait for Martha finishing her nebulizer at the clinic, I praise the Lord that what came at first as a lack of fund, now become a surplus.

I was wondering what I should do with all the money we raise, and with careful consideration and advice from the vets, I decided to use the spare money to buy a nebulizer.

Our new nebulizer.

A nebulizer (or nebuliser) is a drug delivery device used to administer medication in the form of a mist inhaled into the lungs. Though it has been used widely by veterinarian and pet parents in the more advanced part of the world, it is only recently that the inhalation treatment been introduced to Indonesia to help cats with respiratory troubles who otherwise can only rely on conventional pills and injection (that adds the misery to the suffocating animal). With thorough training and information, a nebulizer is a quick and safe solution to nasal blockage. There will be another monsoon (that sent us back to rainy season) in October, and the street cats natural genocide will start over again. A nebulizer will help me safe the life of more cats in less time, or in severe cases will help me buy some time until I can go all the way down town to get vet service.

At that time Martha already lose a lot of weight. She has not been eating properly (and instead mess her food no matter what I put inside). It doesn't help that she has nasal blockage so she cannot smell her food, which in turn make her stop eating. She was dehydrated and her outlook is not looking any better.

I know what will come if I keep my autopilot. I am still burned out and it takes time until I am back fighting again, but Martha's life depending on correct timing, so I re-ignites my engine. Every morning I give Martha her sub-q fluid, and in the afternoon, 20 minutes of Nebulizer.  At that time I can't be more glad that we now have a nebulizer, that hopefully will help her calm down and handles her nasal blockage, courtesy of the donations from our supporters.

Unfortunately, her switching personality made it difficult to feed her with syringe. Martha can jump onto my face any second, and it can be fatal if she decided to do it with the syringe in her mouth. The sub-q is just as testing. She can't stay put long enough that the both of us take turn to bleed because she pounced endlessly as I tried to insert the needle.

Then the riot ensues when it's time for her nebulizer. I know it's impossible to hold her and made her breathe through a mask, so I put her in a crate, wrap the crate in linen, pluck the mouthpiece into the crate and turn it on. I hope the darkness will help her calm down, but instead she yells and trash around like crazy. The more I tried to calm her down, the more mad she become.

It was then when I stumble upon a paediatric forum that said that it is all right if babies cry or move around when they have nasal blockage (as long as they are under supervision) because the more they cry, the more they move, the more they breathe.

So the next day I lined the inside of the crate with towel, brace myself, put Martha inside, cover the crate with linen, and turn on the nebulizer for twenty minutes. It feels like forever. Like I predict she trashes around and yelling until her voice sore, but I am less worried because the towel inside will prevent her from getting hurt. I keep calling her name and ask her to calm down, but I am less panic because I know all those chaos inside that crate means she breathe a lot. 

On the day she is on a good personality, she stays calm and quiet inside the crate and the nebulizer session was less stressful, but I found out later that she is quiet because she chew the mouthpiece all the way.

Well, at least that will also mean she breathe her medicine straight from the source, and the chewing gave me a great insight of her actual mental condition. Now I know that Martha is not crazy. She just freaked out.

Martha is always exhausted when she came out of the crate, due to all the rioting, but her nose is very pink, and she breathe normally (which means the medication is working). Taking that chance, I usually give her a strong smelled food, and she starts eating, though still while running around.

One day I wondered out loud, asking her what is so good about eating while running, and I see it in her eyes that she is as disturbed as I do, having to do that. I came to realize that something might be wrong with her nerves and she probably doesn't have control over what she is doing. 

But we do not have an animal psychologist here, and the vets doesn't have any experience with it either, so we are on our own.

Putting what I learn during my four years in university, I talk to her whenever she is inside the nebulizer crate. I read the journals aloud or humming cheerful songs so she knows that I am around and am not angry, and it made her calmer.

It really kill me reading that almost all of the articles and journals that I read recommend euthanasia as a humane solution to save the cat from her "suffering". Here I am trying to drag myself to continue living while coping with the loss of Mama Cat, and all those expert told me to kill another cat because she is annoying. While Martha is clearly neurotic she doesn't seems to suffer. Martha is disturbed by herself, but she doesn't lost her mind completely. If Martha really lost herself, she wouldn't be creeping into my blanket and sleeo on my tummy. If Martha is insane she will not know that I am angry about the food she spoiled and hide under the fridge.

All those means to me that Martha is still sane and therefore, she deserved her birth right to be happy, to be safe, to be full, and grow old and have fun. Martha believes in me, so now it's my turn to return her faith.

Besides, I don't think God put her in my path to be euthanized. 

Now that I have better knowledge on what might be going on inside her small head, I can plan better. 

Whenever Martha is in the nebulizer, I talk to her about my hopes. I told her that I don't mind keeping her as she is, and I make sure I tell her that I love her, over and over and over. I know that Martha cannot speak human language, but I know she can understand me. 

When it's meal time, I get her into the same crate with her food, put the crate her in the middle of the other cats and stand by her side. At first she came trashing around again and have her food all over her, but after three days, she will eat calmly without diving into her bowl or dancing all over it. I can't put her in the crate when I give her fluid, so I just put her on the table and tell her over and over that she is loved, she is wanted, and she is a great girl when she is calm and sitting quietly like now. She is still fidgety, and she pounced on me from time to time, but after three days now, she is less anxious and stay still longer.

Martha is still young. She is only four months old and have a long way to go. I am not sure if she will stop being neurotic, and if she is not, it is going to be a great challenge for the both of us. There will be, inevitably, times when we think we will ended it right there, there will be times when we yelled our lungs out and pull our hair to the root, but even so, I decided to embrace Martha as she is and join her in her rocky road to life. She might be born with a demon inside, but as much as she believes in my good side, I am going to believe in her good side.


Until the day we both beat our demons.


And all of this, all of this intriguing adventure, started with a donation that everyone help us get. I wish this story can convince all of you that in the lonely planet of Whiskers' Syndicate, a little goes big way.

In an ongoing effort to overcome my grief over the loss of Mama Cat, I forced myself to write another story, in the hope I can shift my focus into what currently need my attention. However, although  am finally able to finish it, I an not satisfied with the result. I feel like a different person,  and therefore, feel compelled to revise this post as best as I can.

I tried re-writing this post three times already, and they all feel foreign to me. Then I remember the advice of a friend that it is all right to have a different, personal writing style that differs from "professional blogger" and that it is all right if I put my raw feelings/emotions into my writing because it is the real, honest me (Thank you StellChen!)

Although this post has been completely re-arranged, all the same fact remains the same. There are more details, more feelings, more emotion, and of course, more me. I hope that's all right.

The Road To Santiago

Almost a week had passed since I first took Mama Cat and Bobtail to the vet. It was an arduous day. I arrived very early at the clinic because as the only clinic in town that has more or less good equipment (though old), it is always full with patients, sometimes from surrounding small towns; people who wake up and start driving since dawn only to get their pets to the vet on time. It's no question that some of those pets died on their way, or on their last breath when they arrive to the clinic.

The first reaction of the newest vet there was "Oh, Mama, you are ready to deliver?" but as I explain my concerns she started touching Mama's tummy and her facial expression changes. "No babies", she said, "Only bumps, a lot of them. You'd better get her an X Ray as soon as possible because they closes at noon"

It was 10 am.

So I brief her about Bobtail, and as soon as she started with the litany of parasites names, she cut it short and tell me to go.

So I rushed back to the road with Mama Cat in her basket, drive 2 hours across the terrible traffic, registered, wait 20 minutes, go back to the cursed traffic, and back to the clinic at 2 pm. By that time, the other (more senior) vet already arrive at the clinic and looking at my face (they know me well enough), one of them walk straight to the cupboard and took all her surgery equipments, while I show her the actual X Ray.

She just shakes her head.

The vet clinic doesn't have a light box, so we see the X Ray by holding it against the sun. To upload it here I use my laptop monitor as the backlight and take a picture with my camera, so it's not clear, but I hope you can see round balls that lined up all the way to the chest cavity. The white big blob on both X Ray is the cancer. I am sure you know where the ribs are.

While waiting for the equipments to be properly sterilized, we have another emergency. A big Persian cat named "Bruce Willis" was taken back to the vet because he got urine blocking (twice already), the vets has to insert a catheter and since they have to helping hand, two of the vets dropped everything and  trying to hold Bruce with the help of a new volunteer, the only one I see after a year.

In a glimpse from next door, I know it's not right. The new volunteer was more busy with her position and the way her hair fall down than the cat. However, before I slip back to Mama Cat's side I hear my name called and go to the next room to watch the huge Bruce retaliate, is angry and bite whatever that comes across his face. The new volunteer was busy rubbing her arm and show it to everyone, including Bruce's parents, say "He scratched me, aw" over and over and burst to another room showing it off to other patients and other vet.

The two senior vets looked at me, peeked at Bruce's rear (that's bleeding) retracted the damaged catheter and get new one. Then she gave me a syringe, a bottle of Aqua Bidest and say "spray"

Two minutes. Bruce was back on Cathether, and peed a full bowl. No scratch, No bite, everybody happy, including Bruce.

I took a mental note to be careful when the new volunteer ever tried to handle Mama.

After Bruce is gone, It's Mama's turn. She has been calm and relaxed on the surgery table, that she doesn't even care the vet shaves one of her arm to insert an intravenous fluid. That's when the new volunteer comes into the room, put her laptop bag on the surgery table, pull out a pack of sea weed chips and eat there while boasting about how great the taste is and offer everyone for a try.

Without words, I moved her stuffs to the other table, including her seaweed. She didn't care and continue yapping and as she much off her seaweed, asking the vet what's going on, to which the vet said Mama had cancer and will be operated immediately.

She said "Oh", put her seaweed down, rub her hand onto her back, grab Mama's two front legs, and push them against the table with all her weight.

"Ok, she's ready" the volunteer chirps.

Mama gave a loud cry and started to trashed all over trying to break free. Mama cat, the calmest, most graceful feral cat I have ever met, is becoming a wild animal.

One of the vet said, "The legs are swollen"

It's just a few seconds. I push her aside and stand between her and Mama with my eyes straight into hers. I tried as hard as I can not to open my mouth because I know whatever is going to come out of it will not be good to hear. I just hope she is smart enough to realize what my gesture means.

She rushes out remorseless after the other vet give her eyeballs.

Because of the swollen legs we have to shave the back legs, but with the recent experience Mama lost trust on us, again trashing around and so we have to wait another day.

Her belly was already so tight that day. We were afraid that one of the balls inside her tummy burst and spill infection fluid everywhere, but we have to wait.

During my recess, I wondered if Mama is ever going to be all right again, and remember The Road To Santiago.

Road To Santiago is a legendary pilgrimage route taken by European Catholics since Medieval Age. Pilgrims started from the doorstep of their home and walk more or less 700 km through various choices of route to arrive to the church of Santiago De Compostela in Northern Spain. (Santiago is Spanish version of St. James, Jacques in French)

In the Codex_Calixtinus, Pope Callixtus II, wrote about the road: 

The pilgrim route is a very good thing, but it is narrow. For the road which leads us to life is narrow; on the other hand, the road which leads to death is broad and spacious. The pilgrim route is for those who are good: it is the lack of vices, the thwarting of the body, the increase of virtues, pardon for sins, sorrow for the penitent, the road of the righteous, love of the saints, faith in the resurrection and the reward of the blessed, a separation from hell, the protection of the heavens. It takes us away from luscious foods, it makes gluttonous fatness vanish, it restrains voluptuousness, constrains the appetites of the flesh which attack the fortress of the soul, cleanses the spirit, leads us to contemplation, humbles the haughty, raises up the lowly, loves poverty. It hates the reproach of those fuelled by greed. It loves, on the other hand, the person who gives to the poor. It rewards those who live simply and do good works; And, on the other hand, it does not pluck those who are stingy and wicked from the claws of sin.

I don't believe in coincidence, but I do not want to believe it's a premonition.

On the second day, a friend send me a message over facebook:

...believe me when I say I haven't been an animal lover and rescuer/advocate since I was a kid w/o having had gone through this to many times to count, and while it never gets easier, as you get older you tend to know the right answer, for yourself anyway, a lot sooner than when you were young

On the third day, another friend wrote me a message, also over facebook:

Oh my, her cancer condition is extremely bad. It takes a miracle for her to be cancer free. The best thing you can do is to provide the best care to her and allow her to enjoy her remaining time. Especially make her feel loved every moment. That's what I would do. Thanks for helping them.

During the tenure of that 3 days Mama Cat start slipping out and medication start to stop working, gradually. Her chest started to be filled with water. She shed a lot, and eat only a little. Looking back at those days, I should have known. Yet I choose to run away and continue my denials.

Besides, Mama Cat is finally ready. She is as calm and relaxed as she used to be, and we sedate her without any incident.

When the vet was about to put down that scalpel on her, however, she breathed deeply. Jerks for a second, took one more deep breath,

slipped the surly bonds of Earth

–and touched the Face of God

None of us in the room said anything. The vet was petrified with her scalpel still in mid air. I was gripping on the IV fluid's staff as I gaze on the fluid that was still dripping.

I don't know who was the first between us to jump back to reality, but whatever we did after that was surreal. Taking off oxygen mask, turning off the anaesthesia, pulling off IV. And then my vet dropped everything, go to the corner of the room and pray. I saw her trying very hard to keep her tears from flowing out.

I took Mama Cat to my arm and lay her down on my chest, still hoping that she is asleep. And then a friend of the volunteer who she brought along came inside and commented

"What a peaceful sleep"

She took my cell phone from my hand, took a picture, and gave it to me so I can see how she looks.

I didn't even realize until now that I was still holding the IV staff then.

A narrow road to life, indeed, but it's the road of the righteous, love of the saints, faith in the resurrection and the reward of the blessed, a separation from hell, the protection of the heavens.

It was already late when I arrived back home with Mama Cat's ashes. The night sky was light by the big full moon, right on top of the cattery, perhaps lighting the way for her to cross the rainbow bridge.

The cats are lining up at the background, watching the ashes flown off

I put her ashes there, in the middle of the backyard and have the wind carry her everywhere, as far as where she once roam the streets of the mountain side, and to cover the entire backyard where she will always belongs.

 When I came into the house, Bobtail was on top of the refrigerator. He has been hiding at the side of the fridge all the time since he went home. He still tiptoes wherever he goes, to his food bowl, or to drink, or to the bathroom, afraid; but staying in one place and not moving a lot helps his paws heal faster. His stubby tail is still bald, and all the wounds that start to crust made him very ugly, but with that charred paw he taps on my cheek, when I approach him, and then he pushed his head onto me.

It was that push that blow the dam I build so high to keep my tears inside.

Like Mama Cat, his path to life is narrow, though of different route and it's going to be a very long time to heal the depth of his heart. I cannot stop apologizing to him for letting him go to a wrong house, but I also never stop praising him for running away (?) and take his pilgrimage, on foot, few hundreds meters away, to find himself back home.

On my cellphone tonight, there's yet another message:

We laid him in a cool and shadowed grove

One evening in the dreamy scent of thyme

Where leaves were green, and whispered high above —

A grave as humble as it was sublime;

There, dreaming in the fading deeps of light —

The hands that thrilled to touch a woman's hair;

Brown eyes, that loved the Day, and looked on Night,

A soul that found at last its answered Prayer...

There daylight, as a dust, slips through the trees.

And drifting, gilds the fern around his grave —

Where even now, perhaps, the evening breeze

Steals shyly past the tomb of him who gave

New sight to blinded eyes; who sometimes wept —

A short time dearly loved; and after, — slept."

It's a poem by John Gillespie Magee Jr., an aviator poet in World War II. He fly for Royal Canadian Air Force, and his poem: High Flight, part of which I quoted on this post, is officially used by Royal Air Force, Royal Canadian Air Force, and United States Air Force Academy.  A choice made to bow respect to all of Mama Cat and Bobtail's supporters who come from USA, Canada, Australia and Netherlands.

Sequential Thriller

In the movie, a thriller takes only a few minutes, but the impression can last for some times.

I hope this post is going to be the same. It is just a short note, but I hope it reached out to your heart to help our latest rescue.

Aside from running a sanctuary, I have been trying to TNR the neighbourhood strays and feral as much as I can. One of them is a grey tabby with a white belly female who seems to be friendly, compared to other street cats who will jump and run away on sight of human. The other reason we're keeping an eye on her is because she seems to be pregnant.

The good news is, I am finally able to get her into the carrier and brought her home last month.

I was planning to have her deliver her babies at home, so her babies will have chance to be adopted; and since she is docile and sweet, I have high hope that her too will have the chance to be adopted, no matter how long it will take.

Unfortunately, she didn't show any sign of giving birth even after a month and a half, so I am getting worried.

This morning, I saw blood in her rear and when I checked on her belly, it's so tight and swollen, that I thought it can burst out any moment.

 

And then, later this afternoon, I got a surprise visitor.

Bobtail was rescued last year, and when I moved to the new house, a neighbour saw him sitting on the window sill and ended up adopting him. So I neuter him and sent him to his new home a few hundred meters downhill.

This afternoon, I saw him sitting right in front of the front door, filthy, full of mange, and practically skin and bone.

I let him in and gave him food, and while Bobtail practically swallow everything, I went down to the neighbour's house, but no one's answering. I know she is home because I saw her motorcycle, but the door's not opening.

Bobtail, before he was adopted

Bobtail this afternoon

I don't know whether bobtail go home by himself (he knows the way to my house) or his new owner just dump him in front of the house, but I need to bring the two of them to see the vet tomorrow.

The mama cat will need an ultrasound, and if she does carry dead foetus in her (what I am afraid of), she will need an immediate surgery.

Bobtail's paw has a lot of ulcers, possibly because of stepping on some chemical for a long time. He got ear mite, and I am almost sure he got parasite (e.g. worm or bacteria, or both).

The bad news is, my fund raising is not going well. As August creeping to the end, we are only able to raise USD 160 out of USD 700 that we need for our monthly operation. The sales in our Etsy store is not great either, so I have been going to some side job to make it through this month.

We need approximately USD 200 for these two babies. So, I hope someone can help, no matter just a penny.

I know everyone is on tight money and there's not much hope left for us, but I can't just give up and watch them suffer.

Help me help them. You can click below, share their story with friends, or both. Anything goes.

Whatever you decide to do, THANK YOU.

The Sun At My Window Sill

Flopping down onto my bed last Saturday 3 am, I sort of expected to wake up under yet another day of pouring rain in June.

And tending to the remaining sick kitten, filling bottles with hot water to keep them warm, changing their blanket, feed the babies with syringe, quarrel with them about me pushing medicine into their throat without their consent (usually ended up with a few more claw stripes on my hand), mop the floor, clean the litter, changing light bulbs (to keep cages warm), disinfect the house, day in, day out.

My new routine, but it sinks to the bone faster than any day job I have ever been into these past 14 years.

Instead I wake up with the warm kiss of sunshine on my cheek.

With hangover syndrome still clinging over my head, I looked at the small clock right beside my bed. It's 6:30 am.

I took a deep breath, and slowly force myself to sit on the bed. I wanted to make sure this isn't a dream; and Goldie's meowing on my window sill told me loud and clear that it isn't.

Aside from that small clock beside my bed, Goldie has been the most punctual alarm in the whole world. She always sits on my window sill on 06:30 am, and 05:00 pm and sing "Oooo Sole Meooooow", reminding me it's meal time for everyone.

The best thing is? She is completely dry.

I wake up, made my bed, and open the bedroom door. Right there on my empty living room the kittens played chase with each other. Portos, Whitney, Freed, Whisper, Butterscotch, Sparky Terror, Tricia, Stevia.....

Some lounged at the windowsill looking outside, but whatever they do, they all rammed onto me as soon as they heard me on that door.

They don't usually that cheerful if the rain is going to come later, so it dawned on me that summer had finally begin to arrive.

And so I started my day in a completely different mood. I feed them with extra width on my smile, and the cheerful air those kitties bring wiped my exhaustion away. The freshness of the morning wind brought me back to life as I opened all the windows, and the way the kittens lift their nose as the breeze rushes into the house evoke the gratefulness in my heart. How nice it is to be able to feel the grace of nature, especially after a long, tiring war that confine us to our house and beds.

It's a brand new day, with a brand new hope, brand new dream.

After they all eat, unlike the other days, Estebel follows me outside to the cattery, and back again running and purring, calling all of her kitties, and my house is immediately empty as she lead a long line of kittens out to the backyard.

Reminds me of a folklore about a piper and the children.

Watching them enjoying the first sun of the summer is like a new breath is blown into my soul. As I continue my rigid medication scheme and diet, the sick cats seems to get better, and they don't want to waste the sun to dry the rest of their runny nose. The trot with which they experience their first day out convince me that everything is going to be all right.

The war is almost over, though we still have a long way to go.

Our enemy at the other end is Chlamydophylla felis; a bacterium endemic among domestic cats worldwide, primarily causing inflammation of feline conjunctiva (red, swollen eyes), rhinitis (runny nose) and respiratory problems. It can affect any cats but it is more often seen in kittens between 5 and 9 months of age and cats in overcrowded or stressful environments.

The predominant clinical sign of C. Felis is conjunctivitis; an abnormal eye discharge due to inflammation of the conjunctiva, the membrane lining the inside of the eyelid (it's that second eyelids that cat have) and the the white part of the eye itself, (known as the sclera). The eyes initially develop a watery  discharge, as the infection progresses, the conjunctiva becomes reddened and swollen and the discharge becomes thicker. It may start out with discharge from one eye, but usually spreads to both eyes. Symptoms usually appear around 5 days after exposure. Mild upper respiratory symptoms such as low grade fever, crusty nose and sneezing. It is possible for a cat to appear outwardly healthy but be shedding the bacteria which can be passed onto other cats through eye discharge.

Chlamydophila felis attach themselves to the mucosal cells of the conjunctiva, gastrointestinal and genital tracts. In young kittens chlamydiosis may cause pneumonia.

C. felis can be cured through aggressive antibiotic treatment, both orally and for the swollen eye. Since it can cause respiratory problems, cats can lose their appetite because they can't smell their food well (cats eat mostly based on smell, not on taste), and if their lung is infected they will be too suffocated to even want to eat or drink. This can cause cats to be dehydrated, and later on, die.

There is a vaccination available for Chlamydophila felis. It can reduce the severity of symptoms but doesn't prevent infection in the first place. There are side effects associated with a small percentage of cats including lethargy, lameness, depression, anorexia, fever and therefore it is only recommended for high risk situations. American Association of Feline Practitioners don't recommend routine use of this vaccination.

When I am still working my day job, it is almost impossible for me to win against C.felis and their friends. The characteristic of the bacteria (respiratory problem, non eating cats, dehydration) required full attendance and I can't possibly care for the cats, much less kittens while I have to work at the office. It is why I always go home to find dead cats or those that I have to let go because I am almost always late to get home. Now that I took the plunge into full time animal rescue, I have my confidence because I can stay with the sick cats. I can keep them hydrated, I do whatever I can to keep them comfortable, I made them eat, I give medicine regularly, I can keep my eyes open to any symptoms and immediately connected to any vet whose number is on my phone. I am still slow because I have to do everything by myself, but I don't have to wait a half day sitting helplessly behind my office desk before taking action.

This first day of the summer is like mother nature switching side to my favour. C. felis lived inside the cell of their host (the cat), this made them vulnerable in open environment; and since all the kitties feel strong enough to go outside, they can get as many clean and fresh air as possible.  





While the weather is still bad, however, I need to rigorously prevent the disease from going round from one cat after another and re-infect cured cat. That's why after all those feeding and medicating warfare with the kittens, I clean, clean, clean. I bleached the litter box, I bleach and scrub their cage pans, I bleach the floor, and the mop, and the blankets, and the beds. They all changed colours and look terribly ugly, but I bleach them anyway. I even bleach the wall, and for this matter, I am very lucky that white paint is cheaper than other colour (hence the developer paint all their houses' interior white). I bought imported sanitizing spray because it can kill cat flu virus that usually riding Chlamydiosis, and although it kills my wallet very fast, I bought and spray anyway.

A few months ago, I got Kuning (pronounced coo + nee (like "neat") + ending with ng) from my vet. He was crushed by car right at his stomach and since has gastrointestinal problem. To help him digest food, I gave him special formula for people with the same disease, and this formula is my crucial weapon in this year's warfare. It is a peptide formula. Peptide is a readily digested protein. It's lactose free and gluten free, and also low fat. It is easily absorbed with the body and help the cats retain their energy because they almost don't eat anything. It is mixed with drinking water (in room temperature) so the cats are drinking and eating at the same time.

For the kitten I got a newborn baby formula for medically needy newborn. AL-110 is also lactose free and sucrose free.

The can said: Baby formula for special medical need. Lactose free for 0-12 months. No additional sucrose.

If you guessed these two are expensive (at least in Indonesia), you guess right. Both are imported from Switzerland, and ALL imported items in Indonesia got twice to three times their original price elsewhere. This is why Indonesian government is very rich, while their countrymen are very poor.

It's a long, exhausting war, but I determine that I can save more lives this year than the past.

And I do save more, gratefully. I still lost many, but more than half of the Syndicate's kitten made it through.


The excruciating price of the war is paid by these:

 

Taking one deep breath, then, I looked behind me. There are still three kittens awaiting for that amazing leap of recovery that comes with drier season, but from their progress, I know I want to keep the war on.

I once read it on twitter that war is like nuclear reactor produces super heroes. It is a rare occasion, but even though those superheroes always win, the event produces more damage than endowment.

I agree.

6 cans of Nestle AL 110

5 cans of Nestle Peptamen

9 cans of disinfectant spray

And...

The whole cupboard of cat food that I usually bring and distribute for the street. On the right is Stevia and Dusty.

I have no affinities with those brands shown. They do not sponsor me. I just bought those because it's on sale and the size made it easy for me to carry everywhere.


A little bit on the personal side (though I use it for the Whiskers' Syndicate's sake):

It's a low end, local China made tab that my brother sent me after my cellphone was dead last month (it was soaked under sudden rain along with me, remember?). The brand is "Eggpadz" (you said "huh?" I told you it's low end...) I used it literally 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to communicate with vets and call pet shops to deliver cat food, mobile banking (pay the bills, the vets and pet shops), answering emails and updating shop and after one month of abusive slavery (the kitten like to sleep on it too, because it's warm), it too died on me (*sigh*). So there's no fast email reply after this folks, and no online everyday until I got enough money to buy new cell phone. A decent cell phone that probably won't die in a month cost around USD 250 (*heavy breath*).

I am not kidding with all those pictures. I know it's kind of "funny". I am just trying to take my major broke-ness in a lighter and more positive way. I don't want to fill this site with laments all the time. 

I am also not kidding with that "major broke-ness". The donation bar at the right side of this site seems to be stuck at 50%, and our Etsy shop has been quiet as well. So, it's rather impossible to buy anything.

Even so, I believe that there's a way somewhere out there and I believe that that way will be opened if I don't quit.

Besides, those are not all of my loss. The casualties of this war worth more than anything money can buy. All the kittens that didn't make it through to see that sun on my window sill will stay alive in my heart and mind all the time. I envy them for being able to slip through life that easily and ended up at the bosom of our most gracious Lord, without pain, without hunger, or abuse or suffering, while I am still left here on filthy earth holding on to hope. Those kittens are priceless, and their presence in my heart will be my motivation to reach out to more street cats, until there are no more.


Sources for Chlamidophyla felis and Feline Chlamydiosis is coming from:
Wikipedia, Cat World Australia, National Center for Biotechnology Information, University Animal Hospital, and PetMD among others.

Click respective site name for more information.

Silent Tide

Few
nights ago, when I was working late, I felt like someone was watching me; but when I glimpsed at the dark backyard, I saw nothing, so I return my attention to my computer. The latest flavour of Ubuntu had given me enough troubles with mobile broadband that I want to dump them and returned to Windows (if only Windows is not sold at one million Rupiah per install in Indonesia), so like usual, I tried to work around the issues while trying to keep in mind that they helped animals and wildlife with each of their copies.


The feeling continues, though, so while laughing at my own idea of a handsome (or hungry) vampire keeping an eye on me, I looked out from the window and find Tortie curling up on its frame, watching me. That explains why I can't see her with a glimpse. She is, well - a tortoiseshell, and her condition give her a solid motivation to be stealthy.

The cat's charm took over me. Immediately I forgot my computing and play with her at the window, stroking her soft and fluffy fur and praise her for being such a marvellous member of the Whiskers' Syndicate, when I realized that she's been with us for a year now. She was a star May last year when I submitted her story to celebrate Mother's Day in Animal Rescue Chase.

Then I heard soft scratches from the door behind me. Another mother is waiting to share the night with me.

Unlike America that celebrate Mother's day in May, Indonesia celebrate Mother's day in December 22nd (no idea why).

A few days before Indonesia Mother's Day last year, I met Estebel.

It was a few days before my final day at the office; an emotional time as I remembered it was this office that brought me to Bandung, and get me to start Whiskers' Syndicate. Also because the office and their self-proclaimed loyal underling did whatever they can to make me miserable. That office consists of old time, dead wood employees who climbed their corporate ladder by licking the asses of those above them, and they sure hate shooting star employees who rise and shine with their aptitude. Every single day someone would come to my cubicle and try to scratch some information on a company secret that they can use, or trying to get me to talk bad about someone above them, although they know I sewn my mouth shut.

A particular day was different, when an errand boy who knows I used to pick up street cats came into my cubicle and lean on me to whisper: "Mam, there's a street cat, a beautiful one, with two kittens, in the security post and I think you should get them"

I raised my eyebrow and smile. He continues, "The drivers and I had been trying to hide them, because they are not noisy or dirty and they are good looking; but my supervisor found out and I was ordered to throw them away into the river"

Then I stop smiling. That errand boy's supervisor is one of those loyal underlings.

"What you think I should do? This is office hour. You'd be in trouble if your supervisor found out"

"I put them in a box", he said, "I put holes at the side, and hid them under the drivers' bench. The drivers know. All of them vote that I should tell you because you wouldn't have allow the cats to be killed. It's beautiful. They are dark grey, not black, not grey, but like those in the movies. You can see it by yourself later"

I got his point. " When your supervisor gone to the boss to report his daily work, call me from the kitchen"

He went out as fast as he went in.

He will make a very good informant, or spy, in a James Bond movie, I think, or some direct selling salesman.

The call came near lunch time, and I rushed out to the security posts. There are some drivers there but when they saw me walked leisurely toward them they either pretend they didn't see me or walk away.

I went inside, grab the only box under the bench, and walk out like nothing happened.

This started to sound like a suspense movie.

I walk straight to the block across, where a pair of dog rescuer lives. The kind husband and wife are relative to a pet shop owner to which I frequent (the only one in Bandung who would risk her business advocating people to spay and neuter and stop breeding).


Like I thought, they were out. Both of them are running an architecture business so they gone out often, but their maids knew me and my business.

The maid who answered my door bell opens the gate and when she heard rustling sound from the box, she guided me directly to an empty space in a garage.

I put down the box and told her that I will be coming back after 5 pm, and to inform her bosses when they came back home.

When I walked out from the office at 5pm, the errand boy from earlier was standing right at the doorway and when I passed, he went to the other way and as he passed me whispered, "Thank you, mam, you're not going to be sorry"

I was almost convinced that I was in a spy movie.

That time, the one who answer my door bell at the rescuer's house was the wife herself.

"Your cat is diligent" she said. "When I got home the box was already empty. I found her and her two kittens in a corner. They came out from the air hole at the side, clawing it bit by bit until it's large enough for her and her kittens to go out"

"How do you know it was her?" I asked. She also keep several cats after they got neutered before returned on the street.

"All of my TNR are yellow. She is black and white, and she has two very sick kittens"

She wasn't kidding me when she said the kittens are sick. They looked fine in general, but their eyes were watery and there were plenty of crusts around their nose. So was their mother, actually, but since her nose was black the crusts were hard to be seen.

She was also not kidding about the mother cat being diligent. We put her into another box, and put holes at the side, and she stuck her paw out and start digging. In fifteen minutes all three of them were out again. We did it about three times with various boxes until we settled with a crate. I brought her directly to the vet and the two kittens were diagnosed with severe pneumonia and Chlamydia. One of them has blue fur but it's not the real blue. It was black that fade because of malnourishment.

I called the mother Estebel (eSaved by The Bell (boy)) and the two kittens Shadowfax because of the grey coat (and I like Lord Of The Rings) and Lightningstrike because of white lightning mark on his black forehead (I don't really keen on Harry Potter). (

Estebel cared deeply for her two kittens. She never stop trying to get her kittens to nurse and milk although her kittens stop drinking as their condition deteriorate, and she keeps herself well. She eats a lot, she sleeps a lot, she drink her medicine. I have never seen a cat so willingly swallow medicine before.

Although we tried, the two kittens died two weeks later. Estebel mourned properly. She kiss her kittens, she licks them, she sits by them as I left them alone for a while, and she watched all the way when I bury her kittens.

Her habitual self care didn't cease, however. She still eats a lot, she still clean a lot, and I notice her tummy were getting bigger and harder. I gave her de-wormer, and she lets out quite a number of worm, but her tummy didn't stop growing, while her body seems to stay thin. So I brought her back to the vet and see if she get tape worm. That time, the vet's verdict was a shock: Estebel is pregnant, and judging from the USG, she has been pregnant when I took her home.

So Estebel has been carrying babies while caring for two sick kittens, and I have never had trouble with her whatsoever.

Estebel carried her pregnancy during the most turbulent times in my life. She entered my life when I was most troubled of the rat race that consumed my life, she gone through with me as I tried to balance my new life as a full time rescuer, she sit steady when my confidence gone wobbly and in panic I took another job, she was with me when I go through the most troublesome job in my entire life, for a month, and then she gave birth when I hit bottom.

I was in the middle of trying to drag myself up after I lost Chase, and I am not keen on anything at that time. I keep tending to the cats, I feed them, I cleaned their litter boxes and their play ground. I give medicine to the sick one, but I was pretty much a walking dead. I didn't do anything special to prepare Estebel and her babies except giving her vitamins and extra food, and when I think of it now, I felt guilty because I was sort of neglecting her.

In exchange, Estebel took part in changing the direction of my life that end of April. I left her at the backyard to enjoy the sun, the way she always liked to do after she got breakfast, but I didn't let her in until somewhere in the afternoon. I took my medicine and fall asleep, but then awakened by the sound of a baby kitten right under my room's window.

Half tumbling, I ran out to find that Estebel has been licking on a new born black baby, and its cries were getting the attention of the other. Without much thinking I grab my towel (that I use to take a bath) and wrap her and her babies and take them inside. I got a cage ready at the living room, just in case I rescued a panic cat, so  I pretty much just lay her and her babies inside the cage with the towel, get a bed linen and cover the cage. I boil some water, prepare a bowl of warm cat milk, and put it inside the cage at the corner with some food.

By that time she already gave birth to the second. A black and white baby that has a black smear on its nose and mouth just like her. And then the third.

Then I heard the fourth born (I can't replicate the sound, just the sound of a cat baby being born), but I didn't hear any cry. I thought Estebel was working on it so I just sit quietly in front of the covered cage.

After a few minutes, I heard a rustling sound and my curiosity got over me, so I peeked and found her licking a baby excessively, but it didn't move, so I ran to get some drinking straw, took the baby and try to blow some air inside.

It was a stillborn after all.

She stared at me all the time, so I looked back at her and tell her "It was a stillborn, Estebel. It was never there to begin with. I am sorry"

I was about to leave her with the stillborn when I heard another sound. I peeked in and another one was delivered safely.

No wonder her tummy was so big. She was carrying five babies, and delivering it in such a nice order. Black, B/W, another black, the stillborn (it was black), and B/W. All the B/W are medium hair, while the blacks are short haired. One of the B/W has long tail, the other one has short tail. One of the blacks also have short tail, and the other one long tail.

Talking about being well organized, eh, Estebel? Are you mocking me?

After five babies, Estebel went for recharge

It was watching her giving birth that mostly changed my life. I lost some income and got through some trouble and lost a beloved pet, and I trashed about like a mad man, while Estebel endures all the pain of carrying babies and raising two kittens, losing both of them the same day, cure herself of Chlamydia while pregnant, and still go through every single thing silently.

I am embarrassed of myself for being so weak and as punishment I pull myself up, dust myself, and put back the armour of courage and acceptance that I have scattered around during last month. Life goes on, and so do we.

That's not all. Estebel continue to eat a lot, ask for milk (as soon as she learn that I got kitty milk heh), drink her vitamin, chew fish oil capsules (I did the grinning and ugly face for her), swallow dewormer, anything I gave her, she finished it. Estebel never left her babies. She just stay in the cage silently and wait for the next ration. She slips out of the cage when the towel is dirty and go straight back into nursing as soon as I replace it.

After her babies started to crawl out of the cage, the kitty season begin, and I saved four more dire kittens from the street, starting with a white and yellow tabby I called Freed (story coming soon!) all of whom she allows to nurse from her.

Freed tried to snuggle. Estebel later adopted him

With her growing family, Estebel ask for more food. She can eat up to four portion of cat food in one day, not to mention her milk, but I understand she is trying to produce milk as much as possible, so I never refuse to give her more.

She nursed her kitten so well that it grows healthy and strong, and beautiful, and big (I mean fat).

The litter and the free-loader

Besides, Estebel saved my life. I was at the crossroads with a cloudy human mind, and Estebel come across and going through what she meant to be, and that reminded me of what I meant to be, and go through with it.

Estebel taught me that changing lives, and world, starts with me. She care for herself not out of selfishness but because she wants to give her best to her children. If I am to change the worlds of so many street cats I should first have enough of myself to be able to give my best for them. I needed to stay healthy to be able to go around feeding the feral, I needed enough sleep to write properly, I needed to be healthy to get some job and pay the bills.

Estebel reminded me of my own advice, a line long forgotten in the mess of my nowadays: Life goes on, and so do we. She taught me to let go by allowing two of her kittens to pass, and told me to move forward by raising four, and adopted extra four.

All the books that I read ask me to think of others first, and I totally agree with that, but this mother cat showed me that in order to do that, I should start with myself, and let the ripples that comes afterwards do its own part.

My rambling mind goes right back at the door when it's finally opened. Estebel has been diligently scratching, and scratching, and scratching, and the law of attraction returns her calling.

I jumped off from the bed and meet her round eyes in that middle of the night.
"Happy Mother's day, Estebel. You want some milk? Night snack?"
She just turn her back and walk straight to the refrigerator.

Better than me, it seems like she knows what she wanted after all. As I follow her, I thought that maybe, I got the answer of why ancient people worship animal God, and while they did, their culture were so much advanced than those who adores fellow human.

I know that Mother's day hype had passed, but May is still around for a couple of days, and I need names for Estebel's kittens.

If you would like to send me some suggestion, one name for one kitty,  click the "comment" and then choose "name/url". Enter your name and email and your suggestion by citing the number of which kitten you would like to name (see pictures below). I will edit all entries by hiding your email address and show only your name, so it's safe!

If you want to vote for one name that others submitting, also leave a comment about your support on one name.

If you are not interested to enter but have something to say? That's OK too. Go ahead and comment, it'll be a pleasure!

If you are not joining but would like to help a little, that'd be highly appreciated. June is only a week away and our donation can are still empty (see the blue Pitch In box at the top right)

We are open for suggestion until May 31st.

Four chosen one (one for each kitten) will have this:

Whiscraft handmade mat! It's 67 cm (26.3 inches) long and 45 cm (17.7 inches) wide. 

When you win I will contact you by email to confirm your choice. You can make it into your room mat, give it to your cat, hang it on the wall, use it as a table runner, or use it as your sleeping pillow's case. You name the colour. Just tell me!