The Whiskers' Syndicate

The Whiskers' Syndicate The first and only cat refuge in Bandung (West Java - Indonesia)

https://beacons.ai/whiskerssyndicate
Donations : https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate
paypal email: [email protected]
Donation in local currency: click our beacons!

30/08/2024

He waits at the intersection every morning; for the love that will never come back.
Does cat have a sense of denial? They are predators, they are driven by instinct, not emotion. They have a time limit, and after the time limit is gone, no amount of love infused into a single stripe of caress would mean anything more. They are independent, they are aloof, they know what they want, when they want, how they want. They are God.

But every day just in time when the yellow sun shine upon that traffic light, he will be sitting there, under the pole, where I first see him two months ago.

Waiting for love, that will never come back.

When that yellow sun walked away, he too will be gone; somewhere. Sometimes I can still see him, walking the narrow path at the pedestrian, a strip of concrete that separate the street and the sewer line left by the colonials, three hundred and fifty years ago.

Sometimes I can see people scatter dry food on the paving block right in front of him: a small offering. My fellow countryman, who only these past few years knew the two words "animal welfare" yet to know better. At the brink of leaving their poverty into a prosperous land as the nation moves toward better future, they find themselves with a little more excess in their hands, though only so much, that they use to purchase cheap dry food; the brand that took the country by storm. Nobody knew cat food can be that cheap.

Nobody know the damage they make.

For him, it's the hope that this will be temporary; a test of faith, a trial of love; so, hungry as he is, he took the cheap food, and scraps that he found along his way, or the heap of garbage left by the traditional market not far beyond the intersection, as long as he can come back to that intersection every morning, when the yellow sun shine upon the traffic light.

Waiting for the love that will never come back.

He lost weight, he got cold, he got mange, parasite, vision, eventually his life.

The tiny little things that creep like little ghosts and steal one bit every night: His luxurious fur, the glow in his eyes, the hope in his heart.

And here I am, with a full hand, with a plagued house, financial restrictions that comes every day: two men on a motorbike with white envelope, gently, with kind words of reminder that if I don't send their employer a bit more by the end of the month, that plagues house will be no more.

Am I still at that honored place to offer help, that I even struggle to give myself? and those in that plagued house? and those waiting in the merciless wilderness of this town?

At the end he wouldn't leave that place, where he sits every morning, even though the yellow sun had passed away. Even though the cold night is too harsh for his now bald fur, dry bone, flaky skin.
He can no longer see, as the mange crust eaten his entire face, and his forearms, and his neck, with such torture, that's too hard to describe.

Waiting for the love that will never come back.

Can my love come? A bowl of chicken or tuna or a mix of both that I brought every morning; not enough to overcome the damage of those small offering of dry food consists of chicken feed flour and flavorings.

"Look, I know it won't be the same, but, Can my love come?" I followed his shaken steps, as he turned his back the way the yellow sun turned away one more day. With the tiniest slit left he peer through that once glowing eyes, walking in his broken glory along that narrow strip of concrete that separate the road with the sewer line left by the colonials, that for three and a half centuries piled sediments of pollution, ignorance, negligence, rubbish, carcasses, mud, and soon, his undying love.

He stopped just next to a blackened pile of filth that people extracted from that sewer; on a little swath of clean concrete just enough for the palm of my hand. Then he sat on that spot, fitting himself among the remains of rotting garbage that is by then his new identity.

And he lower his head, waiting for tomorrow.

Waiting for the love that never come back.

So who cares if people see me cry? Who cares if they were taken aback by the disgust, of a weird, maybe even crazy woman reaching out to a mangled street cat, and hold him like her own child? So who cares if they stare, who cares if they mock, whisper behind my back?

Who cares if tomorrow, my plagues house will be no more? No one in that house, but brethren like him. Nothing left in there, but memories of love fondly shared, trust restored, trust rebuild, and hope that flickered away,

If for one day I can hold him close and tell him that even that though that love will never come back, there is a different one waiting for him at the door of his heart. Waiting for him to share what is left between us.

Just in case the next time that yellow sun comes back, he will bring one that's left behind in that empty box: Hope.

~Josie
Though time will never come back, we still have a little left from the matching challenge. Can your love come?
https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

28/08/2024

Recuperating from the great fall that not only left my body black and blue, I looked up to this tiny warrior that kept defeating his giants, no matter how many odds would come.

Left alone after his brother Nissi finished his race and outperform full-sized human in walking through the never ending life challenges; it seemed like David lost his smooth stones to shoot from his sling for a while.
Certainly, we would understand if he decided to slow down. Surely, we will double down in our protection and fight for his life.
After all, his brother left the brother he protected with his own life in our hands.

But David, just like his brother, picked himself up, getting bigger in stature, and defeated his giant like a pro.
He learned to stand again, he learned to walk again, he started to grow again.

It's just bruises. It's just sprain. It's just this sore joints we would get as if after swimming through the river Seine like an Olympian.

So, here I am. On my phone, on the bus, wielding the banner of faith and once again, trying to secure the future of Whiskers' Syndicate.

The USD 700 matching challenge is for David, who refuse to give up. For Bartimeows, who hold on against his own giant, even if he only got one pebble left. For the TNR cats and their faith for better, safer, freer future, even if they have to return to the street - not house - they are forced to call home.

Most of all, for the mortgage that will keep these heroes of faith safe and secure as they race toward the better days, the true life that has been robbed and denied from them far too long.

Would you lend tiny David one more pebble? Would you clear one more foot of Bartimeows' path? Would you help keep just one brick of our home from falling off? It's only ten Dollars for you, it's life for 150 cats and more, and guess what's even better? Every bit of it, every bit of your effort, doubled.

Where else can you find such opportunity?

~Josie
https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

Focusing at the urgency to help Bartimeows, two of our waiting list kitties ran out of time, and perished in waiting. In...
22/08/2024

Focusing at the urgency to help Bartimeows, two of our waiting list kitties ran out of time, and perished in waiting.

In attempt to console my broken heart, many would say "At least they die at home, with friends and family, having good food and fresh water and treatments" I appreciate them all greatly, and I agree, but the feelings did not go the same direction.

The grey tabby uncle was thrown away with a horrible URI. He crumpled at the door of a security office with nothing but himself. No door mat, no rags, no piece of paper, or cardboard, nothing. The sun blanketed him with warmth, but the moon can't cover him from the wind.

I directed him to a nearby corner, where wind was not that hard, but he cannot see me from that corner, so he came back to that open space and bare the weather with all his might.
No matter what happened I always come, with food, water, medicine, and vitamins. He rallied up for a while, until one day, I found a handwritten message scribbled in a piece of torn cardboard "Do not feed the cat on the porch"

So I direct him back to that corner, with bowl of water and food, thinking that he will eventually understand that he is safer there, but every time, the bowls are always gone.

He was always upbeat when we meet in the morning, he ran to me and said hello. I level up my game and gave him stronger medicine, anti parasite, higher dose of vitamins, but I can see it clearly that he is getting weaker, so I brought him home but keep him in the shop to prevent him from passing his URI to other cats. It's tightly packed at home that a single virus might spread like wildfire.

The Calico lady was somewhat more lucky. She usually live inconspicuously at the gardens of a sprawling mall. At the same time in the afternoon I will sit by the stone bench at the garden and she would come to sit by my side. She would have her favorite Whiskas and a bottle of fresh water, and I would clean her nose and her eyes.

One day, however, I found her sitting near the lobby, leaning herself to a pillar. I thought she tried to hide while waiting for me, because I was half an hour late that day, but I saw that her flu was suddenly worse. For a cat who was usually invisible to sit in the open is a great alarm for me. It carries a dire and grave message that the cat wanted to die.

So I brought her home too.

I promised that as soon as Bartimeows receive his urgent help, I will be able to spare more time to find a side job that will pay the vet for them.

But people go on vacation through summer, or are occupied with things that often pile up all of a sudden, or something else, the fundraiser for Bartimeows tarried far and long beyond its deadline.

I found the calico lady died in her sleep, after receiving subcu fluid and antibiotics. A few days later, Uncle Tabby took refuge under the motorbike to escape the cold night, and never wake up.

I know I did my best, but I also know it's not enough. I know it's just not meant to be, I know they are now happy and whole with the Lord, but I also know it could have ended better without them having to cross over.

Above all else, I know I just have to keep going, I just have to keep trying.

~Josie
Would you consider giving USD 10 to give Bartimeows a chance to turn his life around? https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

17/08/2024

I cannot hear the voice; but I can hear the calling.
Muted, tired, desolate, despaired.
Lonely, terrified, ready to crumble.

I stopped walking; I still can't hear the voice.
I just hear the calling.
But without the voice, where is the calling? What direction? How far? Left side of the road? Right side?
Behind a wall? Under a vehicle? By the trash bin? In the sewer?

I stepped further toward where I was going, yet the further I go, the fainter is the calling.

So I turned back, and walk two steps; it's getting stronger. I took another two steps, and it's getting stronger.

I know it's urgent. Few minutes, two, maybe, and the cat will be dead when I found him: that urgent.

As I walked faster, in that full, haphazard, noisy market, the calling is getting stronger.
I still can't hear any voice, the calling is getting stronger.

I peeked around, behind walls, by the trash bins big or small, by the roadside, under the vehicle, between stalls, under stalls, blackened puddles in the potholes that smelled like all hell would sneeze.

Downcast, leaning to a leg of a gawker's stall on the roadside; wide in the clear and open danger, yet safe in the obscurity of human ignorance.

I touched his head, but got no response. "Are you the one calling me, Sir?"

He lifted his downcast look; and it's all I need to see.

I brought him home, clean his eyes, and gave him Ringer. I truly hope that by giving his eyes a good ointment, he has a chance to see again. I truly hope that bad eyes, malnutrition and extreme dehydration would turn around sooner with good food and loving home.

Unfortunately, he also has Upper Respiratory Infection.

The next day, I learned that he also has FUS

It's going to be a long journey, but at least he is home. Not a perfect home, but loving family. Not an ideal world, but soft blanket, warmer/heater, good cat food, and fresh water.

Not yet safe haven, but getting there.

~Josie
URI and FUS required a long term medication and special food supplement. I am sure Bartimeows would appreciate every help.
https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

Can she get the toilet done faster?
11/08/2024

Can she get the toilet done faster?

I won't let go. No matter how many scratches, no matter how many bites. No matter how much pain, no matter how much bloo...
10/08/2024

I won't let go.

No matter how many scratches, no matter how many bites.
No matter how much pain, no matter how much blood.
Even if my hands shred into pieces; because if I lost her now, I will lose her forever.

She's probably going to be OK. FCV has been going around our town forever. The mouth sores are torturous, and she will suffer for about two weeks, but if she stays strong like now, she's going out of it victorious, and all will be good in this world once again, more or less.

Should survival of the fittest include ignorance?

She walked with what's left in her, she walked with saliva dripping out her open mouth. She walked into the front porch of that animal feed stall with fear above all. She looked so horrible, people must have kicked her away every time they saw her.

She tried to eat a few kibbles left by the previous cat, but her nose stopped just a lick away, and with pain in her eyes she looked at the kibble. She tried again, and again, and again; each stopping short just one finger away from the kibble.

Should survival of the fittest include ignorance?

She was already at the end.

Should survival of the fittest include ignorance?

That's just how it goes in the wild.

Should survival of the fittest include ignorance?

I stood tall behind her, bent my knee, and try to touch her gently. She was afraid, she wanted to run away, but there was no more power in her feet, there was no more spirit, there was no more light.

It was when I lift her up and tried to put her inside my bag that she started to fight; with whatever left in her.

Her tongue swell so big, she cannot open her mouth any wider, she cannot close it either. And since her mouth cannot be used, she cannot eat, she cannot drink, she die painfully, she die slowly.

It took me two days. Subcutaneous fluid to keep her hydrated, drops of honey and nutritional gel diluted with warm water every hour, as much as she can handle to swallow.

When she started to stabilize, anti inflammation, and strongest feline painkiller.
The next sunrise, starting my day with checking her condition, I found her sitting on a puddle of blood.

In the puddle, were five dead fetuses.

I woke my veterinarian and stuffed her with all the fact, before she got upset for the good morning call.
Her path was cleared, nonetheless. When I brought her inside, the surgery began immediately.

There was one segment of chicken spine (neck) stuck under the tongue. Two of four spikes that surround the bone were embedded in the jaw, and two others kept stabbing onto her tongue as she tried to lose the bone or close her mouth.

See why I won't let go?
No matter how many scratches, no matter how many bites.
No matter how much pain, no matter how much blood.
I won't let go.
No matter how many scratches, no matter how many bites.
No matter how much pain, no matter how much blood.
Even if my hands shred into pieces; because whatever the pain, it's nothing compared to the hell she has to go through.

Should survival of the fittest include ignorance?

She doesn't know what to answer, but I do.

~Josie
Her surgery costs USD 280. At a time like now, when we do not have much help, especially finance. I will be more than grateful if you can help with the surgery and post op treatments
https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

Sometimes miracles are not spectacular, like the parting of red sea. Sometimes miracles are gentle, like the passing of ...
05/08/2024

Sometimes miracles are not spectacular, like the parting of red sea.
Sometimes miracles are gentle, like the passing of the Jordan river.

Sometimes, miracles are silent, like surrounding the wall of Jericho.
Like this still, small, voice; that urged me to renew the sanctuary license.

The establishment of Omnibus Law several years ago, required us to renew the Whiskers' Syndicate's legal documents.
Yet, I kept pushing it back because it needs at least USD 500 to get it done, and our finances was not in a good shape. We paid most of our bills and loans late; and there were what seemed to be endless urgent or terminal cases like Tammy, Bree, David, Felicia, Patricia, Kunoichi, and many others you will come to read in coming days.

Most of the time, that still, small voice bow in respect and went back to behind the scene upon my rebuke; but this time, it went about for three seconds and back to the front and center.

How do I get the fee? How many days should I leave my day job, and risk missing yet another bill, or worse no food? What if the cats need a doctor? What about surgery? Don't we need groceries?

I took a deep breath; the voice is still there.

So I found ourselves a solicitor, and step into the journey of a thousand miles into land unknown.
While Felicia, Patricia, David, and Kunoichi receive international recognition, I am fighting with them, as I went around the Wall of Jericho in silence.

One day, two days, three days.

At long last, today. Two representatives of the city came to the sanctuary, sign the paperwork, and we gave them all we have. All our savings; everything.

It's really hard living like this: with nothing to our names and the day is still a long way. Certainly we have been through instances like this so many times, but I am still not used to it, maybe never. It's worse than horror movie.

But along with the new license, so many doors open. We can accept donations with credit card, we can export (I was thinking about making cat toys again). We can import, if we want to. We can have Facebook verify us with its blue tick (and I can show those "fake" screaming trolls particular finger). We can open business in our town.

Along with the new license, so many hopes.

~ Josie
Clearly, I understand that this license has no direct impact to the cats; but if you would like to help us with the sanctuary's depleted treasury, I will be truly grateful.
https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

She woke up from her sleep with grrreat reluctance, to give me the look that could kill. For more than two weeks she dwe...
31/07/2024

She woke up from her sleep with grrreat reluctance, to give me the look that could kill.

For more than two weeks she dwelled in the place she never knew, sleep uncomfortably with either hungry or hurting tummy, and this other pain in her rear that tortured her in increasing intensity that she no longer cared to lick it off; not only because it didn't work, because she no longer has the energy to bend all over and do it again.

She just want to be done with it; so she let go. She let go and stopped eating, she let go and stopped drinking. She wanted to be free, and then when that freedom come, it isn't what she thought it would be.

For the first time after those days, she can at last, sleep in peace. There is yet another kind of pain on her tummy, but she can sit on a clean surface without the sting that shot her brain into pieces. She can lay down in a dry, fluffy, warm blanket.

She can eat the only meal she truly enjoy any time, instead of just once a day. She can eat as much as she wants, instead of just a tiny plate. On those times when she miss the view of the outside world, she can just jump up high on one of those perches, and let the wind blows her face, and watch the trees dancing and the birds singing.

If she has to choose, she knows the choice she is going to make, so even when the door flung ajar from time to time, she would just sit by and yawn to the temptation.

She can have her beauty sleep anytime, anywhere.

That her street feeder turned lifetime servant insisted on having her picture won't relent no matter how many times she told her off by giving that peasant the back of her head, or blurry photos of her nose, that's the steep price she has to pay.

Besides, that girl was the first who came running to her with face full of worry. That girl was the only one who would not balk on the sight of her ugly, hurting rear. That girl, and the other one, were the only ones who care, that girl...

OK, well, fine.

So she woke up from her sleep with grrreat reluctance, and give me the look that could kill; go back to sleep, and let the sweet dream help her heal.

~Josie
Thank you so so very much, friends, family, colleagues. Kunoichi won't be still here without you. Thank you so much.
https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

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We are cats from all miserable walks of life; until this girl with her bike pick us up and get us back to our good side

Donations : paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate Whiskers' Syndicate is a tiny, private cat refuge in Bandung, West Java, Indonesia. We are the first and the only cat refuge in town so far. As a breeder capital of the nation, Bandung is overflowing with unwanted animals of all breeds, and the stray management is often, if not always, too gruesome to be true. Sadly, the self appointed "big nation" has no animal welfare law, and conservation efforts are tainted by fearless corruption. In the wake of such disaster, I am compelled to give my best effort in becoming the suffering animals' best friend, the way they have been man's best friends. Join our journey to Canaan: God's promised land of peace and happiness in our blog Between my various side jobs and when the mobster cats are sleeping, I am crafting items for the Whiskers' Syndicate, but eventually persuaded to offer it to wider audience. Then born "Whiscraft" to share the magical experience of loving your pet, and yourself. Some complication with Etsy, which for a long time refused to include Indonesia in their payment system had expelled me off their site with sour aftertaste. Whiscraft, despite our second biggest income to support the shelter is now drifting homeless, although I am looking forward to the day when I can re-establish the toy shop everyone love. Here is the telling tale of our Quest2Canaan; God’s promised land, where humans and animals live in peace.

Welcome to our frontier!

Josie T Lim - Founder, operator


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