Compassion

I try to be logical about it, but it's hard when compassion butts in. You see, there is a problem in our area with dogs and cats. The poor, straggly, mangy-looking things wander about the neighbourhoods, and my objective side considers it would be a blessing for them to be hit by one of the cars they daily parry with, freed from suffering in one moment. Then I see an animal that has met precisely this end, and illogical compassion cries for the injustice that dealt such a hand.

The dogs, black, white, brown and brindled, but strangely mostly standing around the same height, wander in numerous packs on the roads around the plant at Kuala Dipang. In the evening, one must drive with caution, avoiding the slumbering bodies that are curiously scattered over the road. In the daylight hours, they trot along the roads in some purposeful pursuit, most often in packs of five or six, friends, allies and family.

The countless odd little cats which roam our neighbourhood are strangely friendly. Those around the plant are more wary, but seem harmless enough. Every now and then, the yowling and snarling alerts us to the fact that one is less than happy with another. Bits of fur fly furiously, and both disappear with the speed of a fighter jet, restoring peace for a time. No person has yet been able to tell me the cause of the odd-looking stumps of tails of various lengths, but due to the general disinterest in the appearance of the tails, I can only surmise that it is not the result of a tail-docking trend, but rather the result of some unfortunate genetics. I was under the impression that cats needed their tails for balance, but these waifs seem to survive quite well despite the non-existence of all or part of their tails. I say that they survive well, but I suspect their life expectancy is actually quite short- most of the ones we see are very young, and I have yet to see a tatty, old Tom. The characters that hang around the restaurants and the streets and alleys around our house, are young and tatty.

I try to ignore them while I am eating, but last night the tiny thing that hung around hopefully as we ate demonstrated the most skilled malingering, rubbing against my legs nonchalantly at first, then affectionately. I am unsure whether this is a learned behaviour, or, more likely, that natural selection has allowed the more personable cats to survive. Many of them seem affectionate regardless of the likelihood of food, and this one enjoyed a rub on its dirty, scarred head for some time before it had us picking around in our prawn tails to find a few scraps of prawn meat for a reward. After gobbling the small bits of delicacy offered, it attempted to elicit more with a plaintive voice, and having determined its efforts were wasted, sat itself beside me and commenced its grooming routine. The enthusiasm with which it partook of the head-rubbing was almost amusing, and I wondered if this sweet little animal was more desperate for a little kindness and compassion than for the little scraps of prawn meat we offered it.

I had a similar experience a few weeks ago, when I answered the call of a cat that yowled its way down the back alley behind our house. I was out the back in the wet kitchen, and for wont of anything better to do, called back. The little cat (this one was also, strangely, gifted with a full, normal-length tail) approached the security grilles that I worked behind, looked up at me and continued the conversation. When the conversation was exhausted, he (it's fairly easy to tell here, as none of the cats is desexed) plonked himself against the door and commenced the familiar grooming routine. I doubt any of the scrawny creatures “belongs” to any person in particular, but through the compassion of restaurant patrons who drop scraps and tidbits, and the restaurant vendors who accept their inevitable presence, they survive a meagre existence.

So what a fraud I felt last week as we drove past the fresh corpse of a dog crumpled beside the road. Seconds earlier I had completed a monologue to Lorena and the inventor on the virtues of a thorough cull, delivered in my hard, logical, righteous voice, so I was not prepared for the wave of compassion that swept over me for the wretched animal who was now free of the mean existence it had endured.

The Malaysian government is handling a number of development issues, some of them well, others not so well, and they struggle with many issues. The fact is, however, that Malaysia is developing at a rapid rate, and stray and poorly-cared for animals is a minor problem amongst a larger portfolio of more pressing matters. The cats and dogs will continue to roam about on the roads and lie lifeless beside them, so I must learn to balance my compassion with some hard, reasoned logic, lest my heart will break for every one of the poor little creatures. May God give me the wisdom to find that balance.