The Whiskers' Syndicate

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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!

09/01/2025

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 us.
He didn't care about the fish, or chicken, or hissing others who had gathered for their own share.
Sheilla abandoned our motorbike, though not parked properly, and ran toward him, wrapped him in her arms, and hold him tightly against her chest.

I know. He is asking us for help, and at all cost he will be answered. We don't have money, I can't find more freelance, but Jay, named after the shortened shuttle service, will get all the help he needs.

Though, after so many tests, nobody knew what was going on. Whether he ate poisoned rat or poisoned food intended to kill rats. Whether he got locked in the workshop and inhale too much carbon monoxide, or whether he got stuck somewhere with all the soot and grime, and motor oil, and dirt with no food or drink and probably even lack of air.

Whatever happened, his nerves were damaged forever. Our handsome precious man had turned into a wobbly, sad looking cat who cannot even stand straight for two minutes.

He dunked into the water bowl and splashed into the litter box. He tumbled over and have his food all over him.

Yet he tried.
Every morning when I walked out from my bedroom, he was there, trying to sit straight. Every afternoon when everyone were sleeping he was there, trying to stand firm, every night when we called the day over he was there, trying to walk our empty home.
And we were there with him all the way. Nerve supplements, immune booster, nutritious food, patience, endurance, care, love.

Endless love.

He can stand straight, now, though it takes him forever to stand. He can walk now, though he walks like a hundred years old grandpa, he sleeps a lot, sometimes he would rather eat where he slept. He would dunk as he tries to drink from the large bowl of water we leave for everyone, but he mastered his movement enough to slowly sit and wait until he was steady, and slowly lower his chin to drink without tumbling over and splashed into the bowl like a merman.

He could not walk in or out the litter box without having everyone's p**p all over him, but he knows where we keep an underpad where he can take his time to sit and relieve himself safely.

And although he was dead sleepy, he sat by that gas tank, babysitting an orphan who looked just like him. He lets the baby runs up and down his big daddy, he lets the baby runs around the tank, but he wouldn't allow the little one to climb the gas tank. Eventually the kitten runs out of battery, and the two fell asleep together, with baby snuggles on his side, and Jay curls into a fluffy donut all night.

I guess, this kind of life is good too; a life away from thrillers and dramas if he was still on that terminal and become alpha.
I guess, God's plan is good too, probably an answer to his unspoken wishes for a home and a family.

Not every road is straight and wide and covered with rose petals. Not every road has sun and rainbows and a grand view of the ocean.

"Enter through the narrow gate", said the apostle. "For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it"
"But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it."

Seems like Jay found the gate, and although narrow is the road that lead to his life, it's paved with blessings, and love, and joy.

This life is good, too.

~Josie

Many would wonder, and accuse us of being fake, because of our humongous need even though we "only" have 150+ cats.
But our 150 are special need cats like Jay, who need special nutrition, special treatment, special life requirements.
We need USD 600 every week to ensure everyone has quality of life they wouldn't otherwise find elsewhere - in this town anyway - and we raised only USD 100 and a little bit at the beginning of this weekend.
Can you listen if there is this still, small voice in your heart, whispering for kindness for these kitties? They are not protected by law, they have nowhere else but us, they have no one else but you.
Would you consider opening your heart?
https://paypal.me/luvwhiskerssyndicate
https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate
https://beacons.ai/whiskerrssyndicate

Matthew 7:13-14
The Narrow and Wide Gates
13 “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.
14 But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.

02/01/2025

TO FELICIA AND BEYOND

It's our little secret.
We'd wake up at two, and slipped into my studio.
I'd throw out an old duvet on the floor, line it up with a warm blanket.
And then we'd lay there, watching the stars, listening to the rhythm of the falling rain; the whispers of the wind, the clang and tinker of the wind chime, telling stories of days gone by.
Sometimes we read psalms, or the teaching of the wise about our heavenly Father and His savior Son.

How I named her Felicia, for good luck. How by the mystery of the universe we welcome another cat who looks just like her, six months later. The only difference was that Felicia was crushed by nature's cruel forces, the newcomer, got crushed by human's worst intention.
But other than that, they are perfect together; as if they are born sisters. They are perfect with each other, as if they are with each other forever.
So to match Felicia, who came first, I named the later Patricia, also for good luck.

And there were three of us, then.
We'd wake up at two, and slipped into my studio.
I'd throw out an old duvet on the floor, line it up with a warm blanket.
And then we'd lay there, watching the stars, gossiping about the full moon, that often perched by the Cheddar tree at the balcony. Listening to the rhythm of the falling rain; the whispers of the wind, the clang and tinker of the wind chime, telling stories of days gone by.
Sometimes we read psalms, or the teaching of the wise about our heavenly Father and His savior Son.

At the rising of the sun, we will celebrate. The sisters will each have tiny strips of fish, while I shaved the whole bag of them for the sanctuary's breakfast, and a bit more, for those waiting for us on the street.

For the past two months, though, sometimes it will just be Patricia wiping off the fish, sometimes, and more often so as of late, Felicia will just have warm broth. Sometimes, she will just curl up by my side, sleeping.

I thought she was just under the weather, but actually, it was her tumor growing back, the lump of flesh on her tummy, that she has been trying to hide. Felicia never allows me to take a look at that mass regrowth. She never allows the vet to check on her, and although I am willing to lose everything one more time if it means she can live, she fought fiercely against any treatments.

She just wanted to spend her life in peace, I figured. Wake up at two am, sneak into my studio, spending quiet time. Watching the kittens play around, climbing all over her fluffy white fur, and fall asleep together.

She just wanted to try various food, any brand. She tasted the Norwegian salmon, even though I can't afford it for myself. She tasted minced Indian buffalo. She tried duck breast, she munched on shrimp and anchovies and many morsels of the Pacific.

On rainy days like today; on cold nights like now, I'd line up two blankets, sometimes three. At times, I will turn on the heater, and we will still sit together in that darkest before dawn. Reading psalms, and wonders of the prophets, listening to the preachers and their messages of hope; wondering about the greatness of our heavenly Father, and His savior Son. Thinking about His promises: of healing, of restoration, of rejuvenation, of the green pasture, and the living water.

When the hours still long, we'd fall asleep together, but then this morning just the two of us without her.
I ran my fingers through her silken white fur, glistening like silver under the vanishing moonlight. I looked at Patricia, who nudged her wet nose to her sister's chin.

Felicia is sleeping.
But when she wakes up, it will be daylight on the green grass by the clear river.
There will be deer panted over water, and the man whose our soul long after he.
When she wakes up, there will be rainbow bridge and the pearly gates. There will be grace and healing and restoration and rejuvenation, no pain.

And then tonight, we'd wake up at two, and slipped into my studio.
I'd throw out an old duvet on the floor, line it up with a warm blanket.
We'd lay there, watching the stars, listening to the rhythm of the falling rain; the whispers of the wind, the clang and tinker of the wind chime, telling stories of days gone by. We will read psalms, just Patricia and me.

And then we will look up, and see Felicia sitting there, by the throne of our heavenly Father, and His savior Son.

At the rising of the sun, we will celebrate. Just the two of us, until the day we'll once again be three.

~Josie
Felicia has been tumor free for almost two years.
But instead of having a long life for herself, she decided she had enough, and gave her space to the next in line.
The matching challenge is still on, and we have USD 118 left to match.
Would you match USD 10 for Felicia?
https://paypal.me/luvwhiskerssyndicate
https://paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate
https://beacons.ai/whiskerssyndicate

01/12/2024

BLACK FRIDAY

Three young boys stood in silence. Their head bowed down, their faces in deep gloom, their hands clasped in front of their belly buttons.

As if in a funeral.

I saw the small box they surrounded; had some thought, and pulled over.

So deep was their sorrow, they didn't realize I stood beside them, until I asked my first question.

"Hi mate, t'is yer kitty?"

The boys looked up, rather surprised.

"Mom said, I left her here, cuz we have too many", said one boy. Tears almost ran down his chubby red cheek.

Down there was a mother and two nursing babies, looking up to one person, then the other; confused, horrified, dejected.

Surely I have plenty to say about and toward the mother, but they were just small kids. So I wrapped the two babies in my jacket, and put the mother inside my backpack.

The boy with the chubby red cheek asked me, slowly, with fear, "Is she going to be OK in there?"

"I live around here, so it will only be a few minutes" I wore my backpack on. "Besides, this bag is made of canvas"
"Surely your mother won't let me take them with that cargo you have?"

Two other boys sighed a long breath of relief. He wished he can do something, he can say something, he can, well, he was not sure.

But then he took a deep breath, and learned to let go.
For the first time, I saw him smile.

Unfortunately, his cat won't have it, whatever the way.
The whole weekend, she sat by the window, crying her lungs out to be taken home.
She didn't want to nurse her babies, she didn't want to move, she didn't want to eat.

She didn't want to live.

"I can take you back to the place you called home", I mumbled, as I cleaned the litter box just under the cat tree she was sitting on. "But will there still be home for you?"
She looked at me.

"Would the door be opened as wide as mine, and arms stretched out toward you, like mine?"

"Would there be warm milk for your babies, like they have here, as you mourn your unfortunate turn in life, even after all your loyalty and love and devotion?"

"Would there be warm fleece slithers to wrap you on the cold nights, and a warm bowl of chicken and broth left by your side when you wake up the next time?"

"And if there wouldn't, what can you hold on to for sure, that you would find a better place?"

I finished cleaning the litter box. I finished replenishing them, I finished disinfecting the surrounding areas. I am happy with the new tofu litter I switched to just last week. They are affordable, sustainable, and they smell like a bliss.

I am not happy with this house. It's decaying in many parts, and it's leaking everywhere. The paint on some walls are dull and some other cracked and or peeled, and some even just plain concrete.

I am not happy with this house. It's so full and crowded, I can barely walk like a normal person instead of a drunkard. I bumped into someone everywhere I turned, and it's harder and harder to find just a wee bit of a corner where I can make a call without at least ten kittens racing to get from my toes to the top of my head.

But this little house by the hillside is the best I have. This little house is the beginning of my dream of running a cat sanctuary, and where I hope to be my legacy when I am gone.
This little house had seen many walks of life, young and old, sick and healthy, dead or alive. This little house kept many memories of people and animals, and how we grow from 35 cats when we moved in twelve years ago, to one hundred and fifty today.

This little house had witnessed many dreams, trials, joys, triumphs and losses.

And most importantly, this little house, holds the promise of my Lord: that He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. That we shall be head and not tail, that He will provide for us from His glorious riches.

In the morning of the next day, I found her sitting among the others, and nursed two orphaned babies alongside hers.

I found her sitting in the same row as the others, waiting in line for our signature breakfast of minced chicken and broth.

I found her drinking from the same fountain with the others.

I found her purring loudly to encourage her two babies to run away and mingle with the others.

"I am not happy with this little house", I mumbled, as I cleaned the litter box just below the cat tree she was sitting on. "But home is not always where our heart is"
She looks at me.

"Home is where love is"

~Josie
https://beacons.ai/whiskerssyndicate
https://paypal.me/luvwhiskerssyndicate

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

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

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Bandung

Website

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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