Everyone has heard the horrible story about the woman in NY who was attacked and murdered in a busy neighborhood – screaming out for help, but no one did anything – because everyone assumed someone else would.
I take stories to heart. Stories after all are how we pass down knowledge and information, teach lessons and share memories.
So when I passed two young Swedish women struggling to take care of a dying kitten on the streets of Ubud, I stopped and made it my problem too.
This isn’t a story about me being a hero, it’s as a cautionary tale. A tale of hardship and heartbreak. A tale of grief.
After pulling a struggling kitten out of a bush (where it seemed to have been thrown), the women had already called the animal welfare association in Ubud, which was too inundated with cats and kittens to help.
The kitten was struggling to breathe.
I offered to take it to the vet and handle it from there. The women, having just arrived that morning in Bali, were more than happy to shift the responsibility over to me (I don’t mean this in a negative way, they were relieved to have found someone to help and having been to the Ubud vet before I knew more about what to do than they did).
I got an air conditioned taxi to the vet, as I sat watching the kitten in the cardboard box I’d found, I knew there was a real possibility he wouldn’t survive the car ride. My heart burst open.
Part of my reason for coming to Bali was burnout and grief. After my mom died last year, I ploughed on. Having just bought a house with my partner and still new at a job, I had things to distract me. Turning towards and facing the grief did not seem manageable. I couldn’t face myself in my yoga practice either. I bottled it up and held it inside, where it was safe.
I’d spent my first few days in Ubud, shopping and doing yoga and running around – no grief was processed.
Starring down at this little kitten fighting to survive, suddenly my grief was right there with me again. It had never really left.
By the time I was in the vet’s office I burst into tears. The vet was kind. She put her hand on my shoulder and said “let’s save this kitten.” Rushing him off to get him on fluids.
I’ve been vegan for around ten years now, but my love of animals started by the time I was two or three. That was something I learned from my mom.
Growing up our backyard was filled with strays. My mom would feed any cat that came through, take them to the vet if they needed, get strays de-sexed, find homes – she did it all. I followed suit and from a young age felt deeply connected to animal beings. No one ever praised or thanked my mom for her service to our community. It was considered even a little weird to care – but that didn’t stop her – she knew what was right. This wasn’t new for my family. My grandfather was the same. I think we forget that as the species having the most negative impact on the planet – we have taken on the role of custodians for these creatures. Every year, thousands of species are going extinct. Where is the care and custodianship there?
Back in Bali, I head from the vet to my meditation class, freaking out the whole way ‘if this kitten lives, where will he go?! I don’t live here and the animal rescue places are full!’
On my way home from the class, the vet texts to tell me the kitten has a virus and a 20% chance of survival. I tell them I’ll pay for any treatment and to do whatever they need to (just to be clear vet services are a lot cheaper in Bali, still pricey but not nearly like what we pay in western countries).
I spend the whole 40min walk home sobbing to the point where I end up sick in bed the whole next day, not sure what to do about the kitten, where to go for help, should I even bother yet? 20% seems quite low!
I start to ask people. Cab drivers, meditation teachers, randoms at the vet’s office.
Most people are not helpful. They have a dog, they tell me to post on social media. When I tell them I don’t have it, they don’t say anything. I suggest maybe a friend could post for me. They say that’s a good idea and turn away.
Alone, alone again with grief.
But it’s just one life I’m told. There are so many kittens in Bali suffering. You can’t save them all.
It’s like my partner says – we like to outsource giving a shit.
His view, and I agree, is that we live in a broken society if we are reliant on charities to take up the load of our problems. He isn’t anti-charity – his point is that this is a failing of humans and modern society. Take my kitten for example. The women who found it called the rescue association – their first thought was to outsource the problem. Granted this is how our society works and was the right thing to do, but when the agency fell through, they were lost and they were happy for someone to relieve them of the burden, again outsourcing.
There’s so much to be said about this, but maybe another time.
Fast forward a day and the kitten is doing better! I now have a job to do, find kitten a home. But I’m not having any luck. People aren’t willing to help me. There are so many strays – this is clearly my problem.
I can’t outsource it, it’s my burden to hold alone.
Imagine if every person I spoke to cared and decided to make sure the kitten found a home, imagine how much more easeful. How incredible – to share that burden of responsibility. How joyous, to value and fight for a life.
I eventually meet a beautiful woman at the vet who slides closer on the plastic chairs and offers emotional support and kindness. She listens, really listens. She witnesses my grief and holds space for me. We exchange numbers, she’s willing to help.
I head from the vet to town for my cooking class, still trying to enjoy my time in Ubud, though the energy has been tainted. As I’m walking to the meeting point. I pass a store where I commissioned a piece of art. I spent time talking to the woman, she loves animals. She’s rescued five dogs and a cat.
Maybe she can help.
I stop in and start telling her about the kitten at first she isn’t too keen. Her youngest dog would be jealous. I tell her more about the kitten and by the time I’m in the mini van to my cooking class she’s texting me ideas for names.We decide on David, which means ‘my love.’
David’s story isn’t over, in a few days he needs to be re-tested for the virus. If it isn’t cleared – his prognosis isn’t good. However, he seems to be doing well and is meowing and eating and being a kitten.
As someone who has studied public health, I get it, sometimes we need to think of the collective over the individual. But what about day to day. Person to person. Creature to creature. What does any of it matter, if we can watch a kitten die by the side of the road? Have we lost our humanity?
When Mina said she would take the kitten, I cried again. I’ve been crying a lot. Which is partially why I came here. To be anonymous and cry when I need to. To think about grief. To think about my mom. To have space.
And I’ve done that. For the first time, I’ve seen her in my dreams. I’ve had memories appear that were long forgotten. I connected a little more to myself and my yoga practice and in this way could connect to my mom a little too.
And it’s thanks to David the kitten that I was able to open up and to let myself feel these things I’ve been avoiding.
It just goes to show, every life has meaning, and when we turn toward difficulty, pain and grief, there is hope, there is more.
We don’t have to do it alone.
kittyscause 