The Whiskers' Syndicate

I GUESS THIS LIFE IS GOOD TOO It's been a year, maybe two; when I first found him curling at the far corner of that shuttle terminal. He was barely a kitten; four, maybe five months old, with what supposed to be the whole world right in front of him. And yet, there was nothing left, but skin and bone. Excruciating hunger that twisted his gut in two, dimming future, and maybe, a month or two. It took a lot of effort for him to stood up, then, and make his first step, and scrambling second, almost stumbled third, toward my extending hand, with a paper plate of steamed chicken and tuna. How I would die to run to him, what arms and legs I am willing to pay to just grab him and hold him in my arms, but I am not a passenger, I don't hold any ticket. So watching him eating like tomorrow the world would end is like heaven. I didn't remember how many thousands of times I told him to stay in that corner, though it's dirty, though desolate. I didn't remember how many times I told him to hold on, because tomorrow I will be there, tomorrow we make another day, tomorrow he will not die. He was there. And as days gone by, he was getting stronger. Stronger to come running at me whenever he saw me popped behind the row of greenery at his corner, now clean, though still desolate. Stronger to chase me when I passed that place again on my way to work; and bigger, and bigger, and stronger, and healthier. He is my pride, my precious. He has big bones, long leg, stocky and sturdy. His fur glowing, his eyes glistened. He is that handsome looking fireman with six-pack, sculpted arms, exotic tan, and smile full of temptation in those calendars. But then he stopped coming. One day, two days, three days. I keep waiting, every morning, every evening. Calling, calling, seeking. At the end turning away, with regret, with disappointment, worry, anxiety. Fear. One week, two weeks. And then there he was, clambered out of that corner, covered in soot and dirt, straight toward

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

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

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

We have an emergency. This beautiful girl, named Kunoichi (meaning female ninja) by Sheilla, is one of the kitties at the SOHO complex we visit every day in our morning round. She was very skittish and silent, but with some effort, she finally opens up to us. At the complex, she lives at the porch of (now defunct) shop house selling science courses. Next door to her place is this tae kwon do course and counterfeit Louis Vuitton bags run by husband and wife. The latter insisted that I stopped feeding Kunoichi, because the cat is now hers, and she alone can provide good care for her, while I know she gave her the cheapest of the cheapest dry food and water barely enough for Kunoichi to drink. I tried numerous times to politely and kindly warned her that low quality food can cause gastrointestinal upset and nutritional imbalance that can end up life-threatening for the cat, but she thought this meek, sheepish old hag she is facing will shiver at the face of her tae kwon do brattitude. Every single time she shooed us off, Kunoichi will run away from her side and follow us to the next spot where we feed other cats, and ask us for food. Two weeks ago, Kunoichi went missing. We tried everywhere, even knocking at the woman's door, and the noodle house where she used to take refuge from the cold nights, but there is no sign of her. It's as if she vaporized to thin air. It was Bandung's coldest days, so we tried to be positive and thought that she probably went hiding to somewhere a bit further, maybe a spinning factory just by the complex, whose people often host stray cats who need warmth or shelter from the elements. I tried to brush off the possibility that she might lock Kunoichi up. Something told me to go earlier today, and with larger backpack. We found Kunoichi walking slowly across the street, trying to go to the spot where we used to feed her. She looked very weak; so we caught up to her, and found out that she has really bad prolapse. Her colon was

This is not the kind of news that someone would wish to share, but with hefty grief I would like to inform you that Fora had passed away earlier this morning. Fora and her Mother has been living in a city morgue, next by the office of Dept. Forensic and Medicolegal, eating whatever remains people left in their trash, until a kind medical student found them, and send them to us. Fora (from Forensic) has Cerebellar Hypoplasia, what people known as "wobbly kitty" However, while most of the wobbly kitties can live a relatively normal life in a good home/environment, Fora's brain has been so severely miswired she cannot do anything (sit, stand, eat, etc) without tumbling down the next two second and slam herself - usually head first - to whatever hard surface around her, including slamming herself into her food bowl and got herself choked several times. Her naturally mischievous character brings more danger than cute. We tried everyone: neurologists, physiotherapist, naturopath, traditional Chinese medicine... Eventually, we accepted Fora for who she is instead of keep trying to make her better. We moved her to our bed and surround her with pillows. And even with this arrangements there are more than three times when Fora found her way out of the bed, dove to the floor face first. More than three times she sent the whole house on fire hazard as she tried to stand and walk, only to get herself tangled in a bunch of cables. It's crazy that we cover the whole bed with underpads, and have all sort of cleaning aid ready for the moments when Fora slammed herself on her poop, until one time, out of the blue, she grew a habit of meowing very loudly for assistance with her dirty businesses. She is hand fed to prevent her from plunging into her food and choke, and we come and visit from time to time to help her drink with a syringe. For quite a few months now, her condition has been slowly but steadily declining. She eventually lost her sight when her messy brain lost co

The second time I passed that spot, the small queue to a meager handful of fish had long gone. There was nothing left but dried crumbs and flies, and the wind that flip them one side to the other. She was still sitting there, as if in zen, but not quite. She still watches the place where the food was, as if in contemplation, but not quite. Maybe she is still hungry; maybe she is simply sleepy. So I stopped by and opened two pouches of wet food, She didn't move, though. She looked at me for quite some time, as I encourage her to take the chance. When I was finally done, and thought that she doesn't want to eat in front of a stranger, for security reasons, I backed off. Maybe she is just sleepy; and someone else will appreciate the two pouches of food I left behind. She followed me with her eyes, that somehow looked more and more sad to me. She took a deep breath, sigh, and turn her her head away. I walked back to the motorcycle and better get going, but not quite. So I turn back, rub her one more time on her back, run my fingers through her back And found out that she can't walk. All the time: the first time I dropped by with a handful of steamed fish, watching every cat there came running as if there is no tomorrow, went away to pick up new batch of chicken and fish, pass the place for the second time, and the whole stupid time when I try to convince her to eat; she looked at me hoping that this one will be different, only to sigh as she found out that I am just one of those idiots who made the same misjudgment. People around told me she was dumped very early that morning. Trying to run after the motorbike with the people who dumped her, she did what every cat does: running crisscross to cut the way and force the other party to stop. Instead, she went under the middle of the motorbike, and got herself crushed. The motorbike took that chance, and zoom away while she was petrified by pain. It took her some time, but eventually she picked herself

I think this video speaks loudly about the rescues and homeless animals out there; the countless that I have not yet the chance, space and capacity to reach out to. More than that, however, I feel strongly that this video is made for David. How he sat alone in his basket, watching his warrior brother running around with other kittens. How he yearn to join in the pounce game, how he hoped he can wrestle and chase. He tried, more than enough times. He tried walking up to the boy's club and pat someone to play. He tried running, he tried jumping. He tried rolling around, he tried climbing. When his legs acted up, he trips on himself and fell over. David is not crippled; he is well able; if only someone wants to give him a chance to undergo treatments. David is not handicapped. He has great personality; marvelous curiosity, alertness, faith, willpower; if only someone can give him an opportunity to shine through. Many others like him were defeated, broken, and died without ever given the opportunity to show the beauty in the beast. But David; David has home. David has care, David has brother and sister and friends. David lives, David hopes. He has a good start, and all it takes now, is kindness to cover the shortcoming. When I see him, I see the kitten version of Gorjes; named that way because he is such a heartthrob, and an absolute gentleman. He never pounce, never climb, never slap. He sat two steps behind and let the ladies and the young and the old and the sick have their share of fish. He waited patiently with either one of his hind legs "left out" strethced to the back. He stayed silence until I turned over and call his name, and then he'd walk with that funny limp when one of his hind legs went unsynchronous. On days when there were so many, my fish went out before his turn, he'd silently turned away; but of course, I have many other pouches he can still enjoy, even though it's not fish. As he gradually lost the harsh competition on that strip alon

We are looking at each other. And try to bite our lips. Try to hold our tears. We know it's the best We ought not complain. We ought not complain. She was dumped with her brother at Starbucks; she was shooed and shushed as soon as she made a sound. She has no place, she has no way. But she is loved by the baristas there, and quite some of the Subway Sandwich makers just next door. Many patrons come by and say hi, pat her head, scratch her chin, give her food, offer some hugs, some stayed a while. Of course, some other just walk pass by. None come to stay, none where she can stay. I too, am loved by the baristas there, and quite a few of the Subway Sandwich makers just next door. Many patrons come and say hi, chit-chat for a while, how is the weather today. Some stayed a while, but of course, many more will just pass by. Eventually we part ways. They and their next business, me in my endless list. I always say goodbye; just goodbye And the next day when we come, it's all the same. I come at six, she came at seven. She'd climb the roof, down to the balcony, then meow loudly, all the way down here. And it's always me, with two pouches of cat food. Sometimes extra milk from the baristas. When customers line up at the bar, they sneak out later to send her a plate of kibbles. And then we are in our own world. She and her banquet, me and my endless list. Posting, commenting, making banners, create requests. Get my remote job done, go back, check, repeat. At ten at night, as the shop closed, I'd come and see her on my way home. Sometimes she is there, sometimes she is not; but when she is there she will look at me until she can no longer see me. I will twist back and see her until I can no longer see her. At quiet days when I cannot find any side job online, she'd come and jump on my lap, and I'd be in a hurry to pack up and move to the balcony, so she can do her thing, and I can fight the creeping worry. $4,500 vet bill, $200 electricity,$200 wa

Two months old kitten thrown away to the street without mother suffered flesh eating bacteria.

His tiny legs faltered, but he has to go on. Who knows where, who knows how far, but he has to go on. He never knew what he did wrong, that he was taken away from his mother, to be sent away to place he never knew. Place where everything is a giant, place where everything sounds like a lightning. It's terrifying. Sometimes, even though he had tried his best to stay away from those gigantic, moving leg, he got kicked anyway; but, nobody care, nobody stops, nobody ask. His tiny legs faltered, it's so painful. Rocks, puddles, sharpnel, glass, how does he know, whether to stay away, or where to step? But he has to go on. Maybe, a little bit longer, maybe just a little while more he'll be home. He'll be home to his mother. Maybe not? This person he never seen before lift him up, and place him on her chest. She spoke to him softly, she asked him many questions with worry. So he told her his story. The fear, the worry, the hunger, and especially the pain. He lifted his paw, he showed her the pain that won't be gone. Day and night; day and night. She understood. She took a jar of cotton balls and wiped his tiny legs, "Baby, where did you go, what did you do to be hurt so badly? How long has it been, that your leg rot, and your knee buckled down? "Look it's going to be a little bit painful" Maybe, she means something? he didn't fight. He knew she is trying to help, so he should just take a deep breath and chill out. One tear after the other. One hole after the other. As she continue to apply ointment to his legs, wipe his paws clean, wash the dirt and grime that stuck, the pain starts to subside; and he begins to feel better. His legs (still) falter, but even though he cannot walk, with three of his legs bandaged, he knows he is safe. He knows he is in good hands. She is not his mother. She will never be, but she feels like a mother. She loves like a mother. So he'll let his legs falter. It's no longer terrifying. He's home. ~Josie Help our tiny

As if celebrating our new lease of life, she plays and run the whole day; and whenever I passed by, she'd grab my feet, or try to bite my ankles. When she realized my ankles are too big, she chews on my toes instead. Three weeks ago, she was with her three brothers, in an open, filthy, wet box, dumped in the market under the rain. Despite the downpour, none of them try to find shelter, too afraid to move. The fish merchant, feeling sorry for them, took great care and try and hid them in one of his buckets under his stall, feed them some of his steamed fish, and cover them with kitchen cloth to keep them warm as customers started coming. When I asked him, he said, I rubbed on him, and especially his wife. Nowadays, she wanders around with cat food in bag, ready to give to unfortunate cats everywhere. He said, he came to learn how animals are just like us. All four of them, plus one whom he took a little bit later has calicivirus. This little girl and the other one he took later are the only survivor. They are still sneezing, they still have watery eyes, but they both take their medicine, swallow their vitamins, run around, eat a lot, climb the table and bite the elderly's tails. And I want to make sure you understand that all of these: their survival, and ours, are because of you. Though standing on the sidelines, though silently watching our lives rolls by, just like a guardian angel you didn't stand by when we get into trouble. So, thank you, friends, colleagues, fellow rescuers. Thank you for keeping the shelter alive. Thank you for having our back, thank you for coming to us running. Thank you for giving this little girl her chance. As you can see, she did not let your kindness goes unpaid. God bless you. ~Josie Buy this girl a kibble to celebrate her second life? https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate