Red is doing very well, he’s got his appetite back (and then some!) but he is still very skinny. I guess putting some meat back on the bones needs to happen slowly rather than fat.
He’s such a writer’s cat: he sleeps when I work and only ever interrupts if I’m late with their dinner.
Being greeted with his sweet little face (and Milou and Tabita) in the morning reminds me that every day together is a bonus, a gift of allowing us to love them.
Tabi and Rojito, a few months ago.
This is our Miracle cat, Red’ed or Rojito, meaning little red in spanish.
Red and Blondi were left behind when their family moved away. For approx. six months living the indoor life, the next fending for themselves on the street.
Little by little they began to trust us, and found our kitchen a safe place to sleep, hang out, and get a little food. Blondi was the shyer or the two: never wanting to be touched but happy to play with Tabita. Needless to say, they’ve been my saving grace being stuck in the house providing me entertainment and company.
Then about a month ago Blondi was gone and and a week later Red disappeared too. And most cats in the ‘hood, a neighbourhood dominated by cats. We were left coming to terms with not expecting to see either of them again.
This is Blondi, Red’s brother, a month before he disappeared. Gentle, shy and a picture of health. How anyone can consider such beautiful beings vermin and kill them is beyond comprehension.
Thus I was overjoyed to see Red come through the door but it quickly turned to heartbreak seeing his condition. He can only be described as a skeleton with fur. He was weak but he’d come to us for help. Make no mistake, we are his furever home for as long as he wants it to be.
So why didn’t I rush him to a vet? It was Sunday evening. I got one leg in a cast and need help to get out – but who and where? My husband have been working for four weeks without a day off. The language barrier were I to go on my own in taxi etc. And of course lack of money. Red did not appear to be in any acute pain, though I know cats have a very high pain tolerance level. I don’t know where he’d been or come from or how he’d made it back. He was very weak and coughing blood. Frankly, we didn’t think he’d make it through the night and didn’t want to break his trust by putting him in a box, in a taxi, to spend it in a steel cage surrounded by fear and strangers. If he was going to make it he’d pull through, and if he didn’t, he would die at home surrounded by love and friends. He picked his spot – my floor cushion by the back door – opposite the bedroom.
I sponge bathe him when too weak to groom, scratched when it looks like he’s got an itch. Fed him scraped fish mixed with water every two hours and whatever else he’d eat. Sometimes a teaspoon, sometimes a tablespoon. One day at a time.
The basics; Red is approximately a year and a half. Now if someone told me he was 15 I’d believe it. That is how much he has aged in the week he was missing thanx to human cruelty. He eats very little but he eats. He drinks. Goes to the sandbox. He coughs but he’s stopped coughing blood. From a healthy and well muscled young male to an affectionate ghost of his former self. I can only presume that the newest cat-hating neighbour followed up on his threat to put out food laced with rat poison “to get rid of the kittens” he called vermin.
Red is such a little fighter. He’s come so far. I’d like to take him to a vet still to be checked over and get whatever extras he needs to help recover his health. Without it there’s no knowing what internal damage has been done. He finally started grooming again last night so after two weeks of round the clock watching and worry, I’m beginning to relax a little.
I used to say If you can’t afford to take your charges to the vet, don’t have any. But my vulnerable heart can not turn away a cat in need at my door. I can not close the door and say go away you are not my responsibility. I will do what little I can to help, and right now it isn’t a lot. Clean any wounds, put vegetable oil on ticks and a bit of kibble, and always have clean water available outside for any passing cat or dog.
We struggled to find the money to feed us all at times but somehow we do, we find a way. Now there’s only three left and I desperately want to find somewhere else that is safer for the cats and move. I feed them and keep them in at night because that is all I can do.
I wish I was in a financial situation where I could do more. I wish I had the money to donate to every free clinic there is and sponsor opening ones where there aren’t any. I wish I had the language skills to enthuse locals about trap- spay or neuter – release. I wish I had the energy to volunteer endlessly. I wish I had a car to pick up and bring those who need help to make it to a vet clinic.
Most of all I wish I lived in a world where respect for all life was the norm and sick care and health care was free and available to all everywhere.
If I put this on my fb page I’ll have to deal with “How dare you ask for money and help again – you should be ashamed of yourself” so no gofundme. If you want to help, please help. If you don’t, then don’t. I understand and I won’t judge you. The cats will be very grateful if you do. If you can and want to help go to the top of the page to “Other ways to connect” and then click on Miaowser’s fund. It will take you to paypal. And like the Tesco add says, every little helps. On behalf of Red and us, thank you for reading.
Red, now, back for two weeks.
(10th March, 2016)
The pound. Just the words makes dread spread through my body. Red, Blondi, Naranga and Albina are missing from the neighborhood, as well as less frequent cat visitors I have not named in my head. The neighbourhood cats are my friends; we hang out and chat, which is what friends do, right?
I don’t know if they have been rounded up and caught, poisoned or what.
Apparently there is a “pound” in town. Noone I’ve asked knows where. There’s no way of knowing how long they hold onto the furfolk they bring there to give humans a chance to reclaim their furry family members. Or if they are “destroyed” straight away. I don’t want to dwell on it or think about it. To me it is equal to murder, and I want to scream someone is murdering my friends!!!
So many thoughts and feelings running through my head. They’re my friends – what you are doing is a feline holocaust. I’m anthropomorphising I know, but I can’t seem to stop. I’m wondering what they will think of me for not coming to look for them. I feel I have failed my feline brethren even though it is not my obligation for lack of a better word. I can’t keep the whole world safe.
“You should have run, been even more careful!” I cry. ‘Everything is a co-creation’ I tell myself but it is scant comfort. If you want to be a creator you have got to let everyone else be one too. In this instance it’s no comfort at all.
What if we did find out where it is and went there, and were greeted by fifty – a hundred – hopeful or despairing furry faces? And only could bring home one or two? Could my heart bear to walk away from all the others, knowing their fate? Knowing they’ll be murdered? It would feel like it is my fault, I’ve been found lacking when it comes to being able to help our feline and canine sisters and brothers out of their predicament.
I tell our two to be careful every time they step out of the house and not eat anything suspect, to stay out of reach of humans. I make sure there’s always food in the bowl. “It’s not you I don’t trust” I whisper in their ears, “it’s other people I don’t trust any more.”
I detest how so many common people have no respect for other forms of life, unless it is a darned chihuahua.
Who teach their offspring cats are dirty and vermin. Cat’s aren’t dirty! They keep rats, mice and snakes population under control, and Tabita is very talented at killing any cockroach she sees. They are far too small to remove a bag of rubbish from a bin. Here it is the dogs who drag garbage bags into the street and rips them open, but it’s not out of malice, they are just hungry.
Why are there so many? Because people here seem to inherently dislike having their pets fixed, even with free spay and neuter clinics. And because in low season a family may not have enough to feed that dog so let it out in the street to forage for itself as best it can. It’s not a cute little puppy for the kids to play with any more, and thus it joins the feral’s.
I miss our orange boys, their sweet faces greeting me at the door in the morning. They only want a safe place to hang out, a place to sleep and rest, some food and love. Just like you. Just like me. I miss them a lot but probably less than Milou and Tabita.
I can’t get away from feeling I have failed in my self appointed role as their guardian, even though they are their own responsibility and not really mine at all. That my love and softness somehow set them up for perhaps letting their guard down with others. It makes me once more ashamed to be associated with the human race.
I pray whatever did or will befall them, it was/is quick and painfree.
“I’m so sorry, so so sorry” I whisper to the night air and tears run down my already wet cheeks. Forgive me for letting you down, please forgive me for not trying hard enough to find out. Forgive me for not going to look for you. I just cant do it.
I’m counting small victories. Being able to sit up for ten minutes. Having a shower unaided. Manage laundry. Still to come are simple things like mop the floor…
This is my first time at my computer in a while. After researching for almost a year, I wrote the first draft of Seeds of Soultraction in a month during October and early November. I’d gone back to editing Andino Andina, then walked to the local market and stocked up on vegetables. It was an ordinary day, or so I thought. When my husband came home we considered shopping before or after dinner: I was hungry, he wasn’t, and since he often falls asleep after dinner I chose to go before dinner… straight forward.
I knew to leave my new phone on the kitchen table, didn’t question why and since I expected to be gone for less than an hour my rational mind agreed.
Off we went. Supermarket one, supermarket two, purchases stored in the compartment under the seat, back home. Easy peasy. Only on the way back we got ourselves hit by a drunk driver. We had right of way and were going slow (25-30km/h). I was looking the other way, and the first I know is screeching breaks and shouting. A drunk youth on a borrowed bike, without a license, ran a stop sign.
It all happened very fast and I don’t remember much, and what I do remember is in odd snapshots. I remember screaming until someone got our overturned bike off me. Too stunned to move, I just lay where I’d landed after pulling free, in the middle of the intersection. Two young men carried me to the curb. When the ambulance came I could not remember where we lived, or even my date of birth. That’s when I observed I must be in shock.
I stared at my left leg and knee that had taken the full impact complete with road-rash, swelling, disfigure and Hurt, as did my neck on the right side. The arm that had protected both our faces on impact was scraped a little. Other scrapes and bruises were at that point to minor to worry about. I could not move and when I tried to stand on my other leg, nausea and blacking out forced me down again. I scanned my body and my guides confirmed no bone was broken, but tendons and ligaments were torn etc. All I could think was “They’re going to cut off my favourite pair of denim shorts -indeed the only ones I have right now. Crap.”
Just touching the knee made me retch with pain. Later, back home, any time I tried to stand up, the nausea would be instant and the feeling of fainting immediate.
Then everything is a blur again. A young man who spoke good English bought me a bottle of water and an icepack. He also reminded me the bike was not as important as us being alive. Much as I agree, well, it’s darned useful to get around and we’d only finished the repairs from last years incident three days prior. Honda no longer makes spare parts for the BizPlus.
The next day in a desperate bid for coffee I’d made myself stand up, holding onto and retching into the sink. That’s when I saw the portal open and understood. It was classic and so bright it was difficult to look at. This had been a choice point, the pain I felt in my neck was where the other me had snapped hers. The fainting spells was where she surfaced briefly to consciousness. I felt rather than heard a voice say Are you coming? And I mentally stated NO; I’m not leaving my husband, our cat, and I have two books I want to see out in the world first! I felt the other me die and the portal closed again. It was 11am and in the moment of closing the nausea and faintness was gone in an instant.
It took me a while to process. I was almost vegetable state, snoozing and staring at nothing for the first three days. Milou slept with me on the mattress, purring whenever the pain got too much in spite of the med’s. All energy I had had to be preserved for getting to the toilet.
I was not angry, or resentful, and that surprised me. Somewhere in my mental fog I knew there were bigger things at play here. Seeing portals and feeling the word co-creation on replay in my head does that.
We could have screwed the driver and the bike’s owner for every penny they would earn for a very long time, but ruining their lives just was not the way forward, I knew that.
After a week I had the bright idea of “I could spend this time writing, just give me a pencil and paper”. I found I could not. There was severe mental fog going on as well as a knee filled with what felt like razorblades and a leg under constant Chinese burns. I read some books instead in my waking moments. I could only sit up for minutes at a time.
Still, I was truly grateful. It sounds odd but it’s true. I was at home, I could recover with my beloved cat, instead of in a hospital I could neither afford or wanted to be in. Here, in ordinary hospitals, few speak English and family is expected to provide most of the care. In my case that would have meant Mario, before and after a 14 hr work shift, still recovering himself? In a room with several others, in pain, comings and goings all the time, no mosquito protection and the food… It does not bear thinking about.
Milou overrode her inherent dislike of sleeping close to anyone – cat or otherwise- and have spent most nights next to me – except on the full moon when she took the night off from nursing me to attend the cats allnighter party!
Thus, no matter how long it takes… there’s a lot to process. Some really old stuff that I really have zero desire to revisit. And sure, I rage against that, but I’m not going to bore you with it. I also rage against desperately wanting to move house and being stuck at home. How can we look for houses when I can’t walk? It’s likely to be a long time before I can, and before I can ride pillion again. I’m learning to ask for help and being dependent and I’m not enjoying it one bit. So here I am, watching the slow aurora borealis of bruising come and go on my leg from mid thigh down to my toes and occasionally wondering wtf?
I also sad because wanted to do the December Art & Crafts market on Isla; I spent a lot of time this summer and autumn making things especially and here I am… There’s work I promised to do and that now has to wait, and more work that I was looking forward to do that I will not be able to in the foreseeable future. There may be emails and enquiries in my mailboxes that I have not been able to reply to as I’ve not been able to get to the i-net cafe. I’d only had my phone for three days and thanx to being left at home it is intact, but I’d had no opportunity to download any apps for it before this happened. It makes me worry that I’ll thereby create for myself a reputation for being flaky and unreliable.
I have a little go-juice but equally it can be zapped by pain in minutes. When it’s spent it’s gone; all I can do is pass out on the mattress for the rest of the day. .
I was listening to a recording of Wendy Kennedy being interviewed by Rob Gaultier on a downloaded episode of Enlightenment Evolution Radio where she mentioned choosing the slow road rather than a near death experience, and that helped with the processing too.
I want to take this time to thank the Sisters of perpetual disorder on isla who helped in our time of need, with a care-package and crutches so I can hop around the house. Your help is so appreciated you have no idea and has helped enormously making life less difficult.
I know I’ve asked for an exit point quite a few times in recent years, but one where my beloved blames himself just would not do. Not one where he will forever ask himself Could I have done it better? No. I never blamed him. He did all anyone could have done in that situation, certainly more than I, being a lot more experienced at driving a bike.
It also makes one question the self, what if we had gone shopping after dinner? What if I hadn’t gone back to get… whatever? The queue had been shorter? What if we’d driven just a little bit faster/slower? What if the bike had started on the first kick? You can drive yourself crazy thinking like that. If it’s going to happen, it will, one way or another. My soul clearly thought I needed this experience so here I am having it. As the little voice after the X-files used to say (at least on English tv) I created this (or was it I made this?). If the option was to have died, no matter how long I take to recover, it is progress…
All things considered it’s something I’d have preferred not to have had to go through.
So please, next time you’re tempted: drink OR drive. One or the other. This is one way you don’t want to change another’s life, trust me on that. And always wear good knickers.
The furry Angelic wants her dinner. I can do that.
At long last THE PAPERBACK OF THE SPIRIT OF FLYING IS HERE!!! And what a long strange at times completely exhausting trip it’s been!
My labour of love – I hope you enjoy reading it.
Currently available in the UK on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1v0tQUL
And in the USA http://amzn.to/1uHjSFr
Phineas the thumb-cat inspects the very first copy of the bookbook!
Been drinking a lot of tea recently, the English soother of all ails. Only it does not seem to do much. I’m not coping very well with losing my best friend. It could be the horrific circumstances that like a tape-loop keeps rerunning endlessly whenever I’m not actively engaged in other things.
It is not at the times when we feel the most lonely we miss someone the most and that we cry; it’s when we feel them near, their presence, their love. I learnt that last year.
One of the times when I sat outside with said mug, diluting it’s contents with my tears, looking at the flowerbed where Miaowser used to hide and play, and where she now rests beneath the same blooms, I had the idea of writing an ebook. I felt her spirit nearby and the title “Love is all that matters” appeared in my mind. So that’s what I’ll try to do. I’ll make it free to download for anyone who has ever loved and felt lost and left behind by their loved ones departure. I’ll add a donate button at the end, then people can make a donation to Miaowsers Fund if they feel so inclined.
The book won’t be ready in a hurry. I’m far too churned up and raw a mess for that. Word by word, page by page. Maybe that will exorcise the terrors of her last hour with us.
So I asked her, – what would you like to help fund, Kitkit? Veterinary care for those who can’t afford it? Food for feeding strays? Homes for all cats?
– I’d like a fund to look after you. Came the quiet answer.
Oh. my. That was so unexpected I knew it was true. Oh Miaowser, I cried. I miss you so much. A fresh wave of tears flooded my eyes and I was enveloped in the love behind that statement.
– Of course I am here! Do you remember back in 1998 after Solveig died; hearing her say “I can help you more from where I am now than I ever could incarnate”, or words to that effect? It’s a bit like that. I have to go now, but at the same time I am always with you.
– I know Kitkit, I know.
After Miao departed I’ve had bloodcurdling nightmares when I can sleep at all.
I don’t want to be sad forever. I don’t want to be depressed. I don’t want the nightmares to continue indefinitely. These are not judgements, they are preferences.
I know out of our love a different connection that defies time and space will be forged, and in a different way we will meet again in the dreamtime. But I’m not there yet. The grief is still raw as can be and often overwhelming.
Understanding might be overrated but personally I have found that I can accept almost anything If I understand why. I would like to see someone Miao loved, to help me understand and move forward once more. When she heard her voice she’d almost dance around the kitchen looking so radiant and excited.
Thus I’ve tentatively taken the steps to set it up. If you go to “Other ways to connect” you’ll see newly added “Miaowsers Fund” and a donate button that will take you to paypal if you click on it.
There IS life after Miaowser. I just have to find my way there.
Milou and the flowers
That fateful night, as I held the cooling body of my best friend, my heart breaking and tears streaming, the primitive part of me wanted to run out and pulp the dogs with any blunt object I could find.
Then I hear her beautifull voice saying quietly “No. That is war on a microcosmic level. To have peace you have to be peace.” This statement was followed by a wave of love, and of course more tears as I knew the truth of her words.
I still fight the urge now and then, when the dogs break into one of their barking frenzies and I feel donkey-kicked in the gut, the memory still raw and vivid.
War is not the answer. It will not solve anything. It will not take away the pain. It will not bring her back. Every day I’m trying my best to honor her memory and the love we shared by being peace.
So I allow the tears to flow. I allow myself to grieve like I have never allowed myself before. Without time restraints, and silencing the voices in my head telling me to pull myself together; that I should be done with it by now, and not caring what anyone else thinks. I am aware that I am grieving also for the future moments we didn’t get to have, and the memories we never will have a chance to make.
But this I know; if we, humanity, could say no with as much integrity as Miaowser showed me, the world would become a very different place. Because there is no aggression in her boundary, an inarguable no. Centered, in focus, the unassailable truth.
There will be no war.
There can’t be, if we don’t want to fight. It can not come from screaming NOOOOOO! fuelled by anger or rage. It has to come from a No. Period.
Sure, there will be a few young people who do go, but they will do so for their own reasons, spanning from fear, via rage to tales of glory. And they will find their own way to lay down those weapons and say enough of this.
War was the old paradigm. Let it go. Let it be. It is not the way forward.
The glorification of violence have got to stop.
Be peace.
We’re sitting peacefully in the kitchen, me and Miao Cat. I’m writing and she’s snoozing on the chair next to mine.
I’m about to break for coffee when I hear
– Why do you not like parts of your body? It’s your body. It’d make sense if you didn’t like parts of your mind.
– Where did That one come from Kit-Kit?
– Just wondered.
I make the coffee and sit back down.
– Are you happy here, Miao-Cat?
– Are you? Happy enough. I have a job to do. Teaching you.
While we were talking my phone rang.
– Ugh. Why do you have to use those to talk to one another?
– Because it is quicker and easier.
– Really? But you are talking to me now!?!
– When humans are stressed and in a hurry, we don’t trust telepathy.
Miao does the stare that is her cat equivalent of rolling her eyes.
– Yes. It’s complicated.
– Obviously. Humans. Say no more.
Made me chuckle. I’ve learnt more from our cats and especially Miao than I ever thought possible. I love this precious soul sharing our house and our lives. She is so wise, so remarkably astute it sometimes blows me away. She IS me at times; the better part of me…
Beautiful furball x x x
16 October 2012
Have a cat break
Catpaws Cafe 