Kitty Litter

This is one of the reasons why I've been so busy lately: the kitten Tiny, whom we picked up outside my mom's house. Her mother had rejected her, and she was screaming her head off in the street. Naturally we couldn't resist. She has a curly tail, a goofy expression on her face, and, according to Wynn, a 186 processor. She's at the stage where she's playful and affectionate, and one thing that makes me happy is how Wynn has responded to her: from a guy who locked doors and yelled whenever a cat was around, he now feeds and plays with the little kitty. By the way those are his legs, not mine :D















The big cat is my Longtail, and she looks disgruntled because Tiny is on her huge belly. She hates the kitten, but is forced to live with her as they're both in my room. Note the contrast in size. No that's not a sofa behind them; it's me.















Blurry photo of Tiny in a coffee can, which shows you how she got the name "Tiny". I have a better photo which I'll upload once I figure out how to attach my camera to my computer: it's Tiny next to a bottle of lotion, looking very tiny.

And below is what I wish I could be doing right now. Have a great summer!

Labels: cats

This morning, on the way to work, Wynn and I saw a rather sad-looking beggar--a cripple--going from car to car on Dapitan. Wynn normally gets hard-nosed when it comes to beggars, especially when they're young and full-bodied, but this man clearly had few other options in a society which cares very little for those who are disadvantaged.

The beggar came over to my side, and I was startled to see that he was my age, if not younger. Since I was out of change, I grabbed a bunch of candies I'd received from a drive-through and handed them all to the man, who promptly responded with, "Salamat po, sana mahaba po ang buhay mo." (Thank you, may you live long.) And I said, without thinking, "Yes, thank you, I'd like that too."

I'm tired of beggars who threaten, or who chant the familiar I-need-something-to-eat, I-need-some-change, or who bang on your car window angrily because they firmly believe that they deserve something from you, and those who glare at you in hopes of 'shaming' you into giving them what they 'deserve'.

Hearing this blessing from a man who needed it more than I did makes up for the daily horror of driving into Manila traffic.

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I know Wynn doesn't approve of the cat hair that festoons my bedroom, but my cat helps me sleep well. There's nothing like a warm, furry, loving body (feline, canine, rodent...and the occasional non-furry snake for some brave souls I know) curled up to you in the night to chase away fears of the dark and the unknown.

My cat (called anything from Princess, Flabby Tabby, Longtail, Basilia, and Kitty Ditty) sleeps wherever she feels like it on my bed, and though this sometimes results in cramped sleeping positions and stiff necks, I think it's the kind of small joy everyone should be able to savor. Barring allergies, fears, dislikes, and so on, of course.

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In the spirit of blessings, here's mine for you today (Adapted from a song I heard once and which I never found out the title or lyrics to): May your troubles be small ones that can be swept off your shoes at the end of the day.

Labels: cats, small happy things

You know how people make lists of things to do before they die? I have a list of things to live for instead, and one of my fondest dreams is to start a real advocacy for cats.

Cats are often abused and maltreated in the Philippines; just a month ago, I faced down a group of ugly, rude schoolboys who, for no apparent reason, suddenly stoned and kicked a cat foraging on the street outside our house. I screamed and yelled at them, and they left quickly; in hindsight I should've been carrying one of the blades or knives Wynn has gifted me with, as violence is the only language these lower life forms understand. I'd report them to their school authorities, but what for? You know how parents are these days (and sadly many are my age): they will blame everyone but their children (and themselves) for any misbehavior on the part of their unruly, undisciplined, and stupid offspring. (More on that in a later entry.)

But why should I quit just because I'm alone? So my family and I have taken in cats and kittens in the hopes of saving even just a few, of giving them a better life than most. It's heart-wrenching though when you know you can't save them all, and you see a cat that deserves to be saved but whom you can't.

This morning while at the drive-through fastfood near our house, I noticed a small kitten perched on top of a trash can by the entrance of the fastfood, meowing expectantly and hopefully every time someone came through the door.

She (a tricolor kitty, hence the chances of her being female were high) was at that pint-sized stage where she rightfully should still have been with her mother, but there she was, out foraging for food. I am amazed that she found it in herself to trust humans, and it was a good thing they were ignoring her because if someone was abusive I would've stopped traffic to pick a fight. (Sure, mababaw, but I'd rather fight for a real cause than be 'in' with the trendy 'causes' today.)

Such a pretty, trusting kitten deserves a home, and if anyone can find it in themselves to give her one, I will gladly pick her up for you, clean her up, have her spayed, and supply you with food.

I want to have the money to actually do something: adopt more, hire people to help with cleaning up, feeding, and socializing, and prosecute cat abusers. But as I haven't won the lottery yet, I prefer to give love to our cats. If you want a pet who won't need too much maintenance, is quiet and clean, why not a cat? I'll help you.

And to convince you of that, have a look at our cats. Nearly every cat below has been adopted off the street, and is a wonderful bundle of love. (No you can't have THESE! ^_^)

Casey came home as a frightened cat; my mom found him at the height of a storm and managed to coax him into the car. He's a bit shy as some of the older cats bullied him, but he's sweet and friendly nonetheless.










Chinky (the mostly white tricolor) adopted Pacquiao (the orange) when he arrived as a two-day-old foundling. Kyaw, as we call him, is such a good-natured creature, he even gets along with the dog!










Here's Marietta (grayish-orange) and Kyaw as freshly adopted kittens. Marietta would later lose her eye to an infection aggravated by rough play, but you can't even tell she's one-eyed because she's active, playful, and eager for hugs. Aww, see how tiny they are? Marietta is about two weeks old here, and Kyaw is a week old. (Yes, he grew into the behemoth of a cat you see above. Score one for my mom's cat raising abilities!)





Here they are today! Can you believe how big they are? One of the best rewards of adopting animals is seeing them grow. None of my mom's cats have died on her (save for one kitten who had a violent allergic reaction to her first series of shots) and they make the house home. If you've never been greeted by a furry face when you come home (feline, canine, unshaved husband, whatever), then you're missing out on one of the nicest little pleasures in life.

Labels: cat photos, cats

This is Doc Ling, aka Annabelle (behind the name is a long story involving the non-recognition of male cat genitals) and Peepee Boy...our Siamese who has been missing for almost a month now. He was allowed out of the house to explore, and he never went beyond the gate. Which is why we suspect he was catnapped. He just disappeared.



He was a friendly, affectionate cat, easy for strangers to win over. He liked smelly feet, spraying our walls, being hugged, keeping us company, snuggling up with us in bed. He's the cat who won Wynn over after allowing himself to be used as a foot rug. Sure, he was never the brightest cat, but he was nonetheless good to have around, as most cats are. As the photos show, he liked being with us. We loved the semi-crossed eyes, raucous cries when the refrigerator was opened, hooked tail that caught on any wires in his path, and his silly, trusting, goofy personality.

My dad has actually wandered the neighborhood alternating between calling for him and asking neighbors if they'd seen him.

I hope he's okay. I hope someone who really wants him and is prepared to love him took him in.

And I hope he coats that person's house with his trademark weewee spraying. Because that would mean he feels he's home.

Labels: cat photos, cats

To those of you who are superstitious, here's a little amusement to take your mind off it. If you're bored, have fun!

Left: "Happy Potty"- sounds like a rude name Malfoy would call Harry. Seriously, this is widely available, and is highly useful in a land where our toilets don't just back up, they spit back (ever tried flushing a toilet in Robinson's Manila? Back off, I say, because the water splashes back high enough to wet shirts. Am I talking from experience? No comment.) The name was hilarious, and I couldn't resist buying one.




This is our cat Paqui, short for Pacquiao. He was a two-day-old foundling when we adopted him. He had a habit of "boxing" us with his paws, hence the name. He's grown into a handsome fellow, hasn't he? Our cats love weird poses, and we couldn't resist photographing Pacqui in this one. What's with the delicate paw on the belly? You gotta love his expression. Also, notice the size of his belly? That's because he's so greedy, he's been known to fall asleep with his face in in the food bowl. Really.



The gray cat comfortably on the plush pillow is Nina (we adopted her on Ninos Inocentes from PAWS). From a skinny, scrawny cat she's grown into a plump, soft, sweet one-eyed cat (as a kitten she was a victim of an asshole who poked a stick into her eye. We incidentally have two one-eyed cats, both gray). That's Pacqui on the sofa. The saggy belly is a feature all our cats sport. It's fun to stroke those bellies; so soft! I have no idea why Pacqui has his paw over his head in a "woe is me" pose. Maybe he's hungry? He has the gift of being able to fall asleep anywhere; halfway down the stairs, face in the food bowl, in the middle of the hallway...


This cat is my bedtime companion. Wynn calls her Basilia; I just call her Longtail, because my lola ran out of names for cats when she arrived. Anyway this is how she lies down on my bed. Our cats do this a lot; often, my dad and I find ourselves halfway down the floor in the morning because our cats have pushed us out of bed.

The shirt was made by our housekeeper, who enjoys dressing them up, bathing them, and putting necklaces and collars on them. It is kind of funny when you have a cat's belly swaying beneath its shirt.


Can someone explain this sign to me? What's a "don't proof" body?



Anyway, have a great, silly day!

Labels: cats, funny photos

Above is a blurred picture, of rather lousy resolution, but of all the photos I took in the US with the only camera I had—the one in my phone—I think I like this best because I remember Sam. That’s Sam crouching in the foreground. The brown lumps in the middle are his two cats, Ben and Jerry.

I met Sam in San Francisco in my first week there. I’m not sure if it’s his real name; does anyone give their real name out when clueless strangers ask them for it?

Of the homeless persons scattered around the main road, I noticed Sam because he had two large but very docile cats sleeping comfortably on top of the cart which carried all he owned in the world. I cannot resist cats, and when I saw the sign which said, “The boys and I would appreciate any contributions to their care and feeding. Thank you,” I could not resist. The sign was neatly lettered, correctly spelled, and the cats were clearly healthy.

I walked past, stopped to take this hasty photo, and told myself I’d come up and donate some money if he was still there when I came back from the convention center where I was headed.

They were. I put in a dollar, and asked Sam if I could touch the cats. He agreed, and I told him I missed my cats as I was a long way from home.

"Where's home for you?"

"The Philippines."

"Yup. Long way from home indeed," he said.

Now I am not in the habit of talking to strangers, let alone homeless ones. But Sam was relatively clean, and he was caring for two cats, so I reckoned he couldn’t be bad.

Some force in the world looks out for people like me, because it turned out that Sam was a Gulf War vet. I wanted to ask him how he ended up on the street, but I figured that would be extremely rude.

It was hard to tell how old he was; life had been hard for him, and the seams on his face were mute testimony to that. He’d lost most of his front teeth, but his blue eyes were still wide open, like a young man’s.

He told me that what he wanted most of all was to find work. Sam was proud of being a handy person to have around, and he took particular pride in doing good work. “I slice carrots and vegetables neatly,” he said, “not like those college kids who don’t give a damn. When you work just because you want extra money, you don’t care. When you work because two hungry mouths depend on you, you take care to do a good job because you don’t want that ‘Help Wanted’ sign to follow you out the door.”

Because he was forced to slur his words somewhat due to the lack of teeth, I had a slightly hard time following him. All the while I was patting Ben, the cat closest to me, and Ben purred gently as Sam talked.

“Don’t you…Aren’t you entitled to welfare?” I asked, knowing only that some people are qualified and some aren’t.

“No,” he replied, and smiled sadly. “You see, I am entitled to welfare and shelter but I have to give up Ben and Jerry.” He glanced over at the pair lying quietly on top of the blankets he’d piled under them, and patted Jerry. “You don’t throw away your best friends. These guys were my comfort when I came home after the war. That’s why I want a job, a real one. But when you’re my age and you look the way I do, even crummy jobs are hard to get.”

As we talked, three young Korean tourists, all male, marveled at the size of the cats and patted them, but they left no contribution in Sam’s cup. Other tourists walked past, and one middle-aged woman said to me loudly, “Girl, you don’t wanna be talking to that bum!” We both ignored her.

Sam went on to compare the rents in San Francisco versus Sacramento, and told me he was saving for a bus ticket to Sacramento, where he was told it would be easier to get a job and rent a small place where he and the cats could live. I wondered if I would ever be able to do what Sam had done: give up the chance for a home he was entitled to in order to save the lives of his cats. They would have to be euthanized if he ever moved into the state home.

He broke off, and looked at me intently. “Young lady, you know you’re probably the first to really talk to me and listen. Like I’m a real person.”

That’s because I’m a stupid tourist, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. In fact, I had no idea what to say.

When he asked me my name, I gave it to him freely. I’d been there for half an hour, and I knew my editor would kill me if I didn’t finish the stuff she asked me to do, so I told Sam that I had to be going, and he shook my hand. He had the callused hands of one who has had to work all his life, and I began to believe his story.

“I hope you reach Sacramento, and find a real home for you and Ben and Jerry,” I told him before I left. He thanked me, and wished me well.

The next day, when I passed by again, they were gone.

I could say that I hope for the best for them. I could lecture whoever’s reading this about the unjustness of this world, or the love a person can have for animals, or something everyone’s heard in one form or another before. But that’s cheap.

What I do know is that there are things you don’t do when you’re at home. Being in another country can give you a strange bravery of sorts, and I’m glad I took the time out to talk to Sam.

Labels: cats, sad story

It's never easy dealing with your own mistakes, is it?

This morning, I heard a kitten squealing outside our house. Going outside to investigate, I found a tiny black kitten in a grassy patch across our house. It was about a month old, eyes wide open, at that age when they are cutest. It eagerly scrambled towards me, so eager was it for human company.

I've always wanted a black cat, and since I am a cat lover with no cat of her own (my cat was banished by my lola, who owns the house I live in--and now, my ex-cat doesn't recognize me anymore), I've keenly felt that lack in my life. And here was a tiny kitten, at that cute, staggering age, coming towards me, trying to chase me across the road, wanting to be with me.

When I picked the kitten up, it stopped mewing and purred. It was a bit dirty, but its shoebutton eyes were open wide. I wanted to take it home, because if you've ever felt what it's like to have a tiny animal love you completely, then you have found a fragment of happiness.

But I stopped. My lola is already furious at the number of cats we have, and some are badly behaved. My mom's already got fourteen cats (including two tiny kittens, one of which needs vet help for her eyes), so I had no one to turn to. Few people I know are happy about the prospect of taking in a mouth to feed, a creature to be responsible for, and I was forbidden to take in another cat at the pain of losing car privileges, and possibly being thrown out.

So I walked away.

I told myself the kitten would be okay. A neighbor a few houses down took many strays in, and I was sure the kitten would find its way there. Besides, I've gotten into trouble countless times for impulse decisions I've made, so I thought I'd do the grownup thing and walk away. You can't save them all, I told myself.

A little while later, after I'd bathed, I got our housekeeper to come out with me and check on the kitten. I came out the gate and saw our neighbor's car, and another car, and assumed the motor sounds drowned the poor thing's cries.

As we exited the gate, I noticed that the kitten's mewing had stopped.

There was a tiny black corpse on the road. It had been trying to cross the road.

I fled to the office, knowing no one would be there. And I can't understand why this death upsets me so. Maybe it's because I know that if I'd followed my impulse, for once, something good might have come out of the whole thing.

Labels: cats, sad story

I've always believed that a house is not a home unless there are some wonderful animals sharing the place with you.

Elwood, left, certainly agrees. He's usually found loafing somewhere in the house.

Then again, don't most cats just loaf too? I *heart* that.

The gray cat is Soxy, who looks just like the woman who used to take care of him. Really!



Marina waiting primly at the table for service. She's our "sosyal" cat because she was found near Ayala Alabang and acts like a diva...the real kind, mind you, bitchiness and all. But she's so pretty it doesn't matter.

Elwood is her "boyfriend", by the way :)





We're suckers for cats; current tally: 14 cats in Paranaque, 4 in Quezon City (unless you count Dexter and Bubbles, in which case it's six).

Labels: cat photos, cats