Monthly Archives: April 2017

Philippine Pet Birth Control Center Foundation

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Did you know that an intact (un-spayed) female kitten can get pregnant up to three times per year? Each pregnancy could produce a litter of two to eight kitties. This means that just one female cat can produce between six and 24 kittens in a single year. Most of these kittens will be dumped or killed. Those who survive in the streets will reproduce when they hit puberty (at 5 or 6 months old)  and the cycle begins anew. 

The solution to this problem is for responsible pet owners to spay or neuter their cats. And to curb population growth in your area, do a TNR project: Trap, Neuter, Return. With your donation, you can help the Philippine Pet Birth Control Center Foundation do just that. Please click on the link below and help. 

https://www.youcaring.com/philippinepetbirthcontrolcenterfoundation-802773

Please check out their FB page for more details about their program.

Every bit counts! Let’s do this!  ðŸ™‚ 

Thank you! 

#kaponangsolution #spayandneuter

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Horror Vacui

How would you feel about inhabiting the empty spaces in your life? 

I am far from being religious, but the Jesuits have a soft spot in my heart. And this, this speaks to me. 

I struggled with Horror Vacui in 2016 and I have been wanting to face this issue head-on this year. There’s just too much running around, too much fire and air, too much static, to many to-do lists. I need my quiet time, to inhabit my empty spaces again to find my voice, to just be
http://pinsoflight.net/2017/04/16/horror-vacui/

Happy Easter, friends. 

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Quicksand


It seems easy enough to escape Quicksand. You just need to keep your cool, stay in the present, make room for yourself, float, and stand when you are able to do it on your own. You can’t expect people to pull you out of it because they can’t and they shouldn’t. It’s something that you have to do and figure out on your own.

I have never seen quicksand and, being a hermit that I am, I don’t know if I ever will. But it’s good to know; there is a life lesson here. I feel like I have been roosting in some form of bog of my own for a long time now. I have been living in a void that I have kneaded and fed, helped expand, and have allowed to swallow me whole. And, much like what they said about trying to escape quicksand, the more I struggle, the more viscous and constricting it gets.

I’ve been getting it all wrong, I think. I haven’t been making time to do things that spark delight in me. I have been too focused on struggling to survive, to make a living, that I have let my eyes wander off away from the prize. I have been settling for things when I should have settled within myself and listened to Steph. Is this really how I want to be for the rest of my existence? I need to find time again to do things that give me true joy; things that would give me room to expand and help me rise again. And, yes, I shouldn’t be afraid to lose my shoes or any other thing along the way. They are just objects, nothing of consequence. Life should not be about survival, but more about being alive.

I have lost my way and getting stuck in this quagmire was probably the best thing that could have happen to me. If you walk around without looking or without purpose or without being present, you are never going to get anywhere and, perhaps, you’ll never even know that you have been going around in circles, in a daze. Running on empty and on autopilot can only sustain you for some time. I should be grateful be in this sticky situation instead of wandering around aimlessly.

It will take some time to get out of this murky sinkhole, I know. Patience is crucial. It is quite daunting, to be honest, to try to get away from this. But maybe it would not be as overwhelming if I think less of it as a “escaping” and more of break, an opportunity to rest and just be. I’ve alway asked the world to stop from spinning so I could get off. Well, here it is. The goal is to trust enough so that I could float and stand on my feet again. I hope I don’t have to break my back like that cartoon guy did, but I am willing to roll on the ground and crawl if I have to. Then maybe if I let go–maybe, just maybe–I won’t just find solid ground to walk on, but be it would be strong enough for me to run on, lift off, and fly again.

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One Week

First picture of you

You came into my life with a bang. It was New Year’s Eve, just hours away from 2014. I was running late, on my way out, and the fireworks had already started. You ran into the driveway and hid under the car. You had a gash on your left flank. You were too scared to come out, so I took one of my carriers and left it out for you. I left a bowl of water and some kibble inside and left.

The following morning you were still there. You let me tend to your wound. No coaxing, no questions asked. You acted as if we had known each other for a long time and it was normal for me to clean you. You knew that you had found your human, didn’t you?

I already had 4 cats at that time. I had my two sets of tabbies and inky black fur kids: boy tabby, black girl, black boy, girl tabby. So even, symetrical, orderly. I didn’t want a fifth and a white one at that. You were so scrawny and generic looking; I called you gato—a cat in Spanish—because I wanted you to stay anonymous and separate from me and my clowder.

But life never turns out exactly the way we plan it sometimes. You stayed, the neighbors started feeding you too, and they started to call you siopao (a pork bun) because you began to get, well, fluffy. I resisted and insisted that you remain just another gato.

But you were hard to ignore. You would run and hop like a bunny every single time I would return home. It didn’t matter if it was at 1 in the afternoon or at 3AM. You were always there to meet me at the gate and walk me to my door. For a street cat you were well mannered and patient. You never had a hissy fit and you were incredibly light and full of joy. I would play with you in the afternoon and you would leave me “presents,” beautifully arranged remains of your prey, at night. It was funny that you would leave a bloody mess in the area in front of that cranky, old lady’s apartment and then offer spotlessly clean gifts on my doormat.

The first time I had to take you into the house was during one of the biggest storms that hit the country, Yolanda. Again, you didn’t complain. I locked you in the downstairs bathroom with some food and water and a makeshift bed. The other cats were already familiar with your scent since you were always hanging out by the window. Slowly but surely you were becoming part of our family. You were now Gato.

And then I decided to move. I was left with the dilemma of leaving you behind or to take you with us knowing that that I would be exposing you to 4 FeLV+ cats. But, it was an easy decision to make, actually. By then I could not bear to part with you, my Gatito. Maybe it was a selfish move on my part, but I could not abandon you.

So the generic gato became El Señor Don Gato, the Condo Cat.

There are so many pictures to share, so many stories to tell, but they will never be enough to describe how beautiful a soul you were. Muchísimas gracias for picking me to be your human. I must have done something good to deserve such a loving and giving fur child. You’ve sat with me through migraine and vertigo attacks, bouts of chronic fatigue, and dark days. I never knew that a tiny creature could do so much and leave such a huge void in my heart. Thank you for the endless purrs, Gato. I wish I could have given you more in return.

Buenas noches, dulces sueños, mi alma. Tu viaje ha terminado. Cierra los ojos y descansa en paz, mi Gatito. Adiós por ahora, amor mío. Cuanto te quiero.



El Se̱or Don Gato (31 December 2013 Р29 March 2017)

Last picture of us

 

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