On assignment for another section of the local print media, for the past three weeks I have been privileged to work among some of the various animal welfare organisations that can be found on this island. It is when you visit the sanctuaries they help run that you suddenly realise the immense burden so many of these volunteers have to carry, making sure that the many stray cats and dogs now in their care retain their present well-being.

It is a struggle against all odds. The facilities are often too basic and the abused animals too many. There is a misled public perception that the only thing to do with animals in a sanctuary is feed them and keep them off the village streets and surrounding fields. But the commitment is a much tougher one. Cats and dogs need affection and attention. They suffer from sickness and stress as much as we do, and each and every one of them, very much like us human beings, has a character of its own.

The volunteer does not only often have to reach into his or her pockets, make use of his/her own car and find the time to do the work somewhere in-between the personal daily schedule, but is also expected to organise fund-raising activities, carry out maintenance work, exercise the animals, give them their medicines, take them regularly to the vet for check-ups and neutering, play with them, clean their beds, cook their food, feed them and liaise with members of the public who may be in search of a cat or dog to take home.

The authorities sadly do not give an iota of assistance to these remarkable people. Sanctuaries have to pay their telephone (if installed and/or afforded), water and electricity bills. Most of the food prepared for the animals is bought, though it must be acknowledged that local importers and sellers of cat and dog food do donate their just-about-to-expire stocks which are a bonus when feeding a large number of animals.

In an island where animal welfare awareness is still in its infancy, it is very easy to be misled. Cats and dogs in the family abound. But so do the sorry stories of abandoned animals, most of which end up being subjected to acts of utter cruelty. In one sanctuary in particular, I was horrified to see dogs that had had ears and noses mutilated, acid thrown at them and cigarette burns all over their bodies.

One nervy bitch, with a haunted look, was left isolated to spare her the misery of both curious fellow-sufferers and humans. She trembles uncontrollably all over if you just touch her or even go near her. She reminded me of the painful video of the “jumping” ex-circus bear shown in a frequently-screened animal welfare advert on cable television.

You also have to be careful when someone shows a special interest. One volunteer explained, in a resigned voice, that they are always on the alert for anyone seeking to take home with him “a certain breed”. I took it for “the fighting breed”. We all know dogfights as well as cockfights still occur in remote and not-so-remote areas of both Malta and Gozo. Just a couple of years back we had young men sporting their fighting cockerels on the very pavement of our street in suburban Birkirkara. Happily, the perpetrators’ family has since taken up abode elsewhere.

The authorities do not just fail to provide the required funds, but they also prefer to turn a blind eye to the blatant abuse of animals. A case in point is the unauthorised removal of cats from such places as San Anton and other public gardens. Animal lovers have quite rightly reacted strongly to the tactics adopted by the public-private consortium that is known to be responsible for the shambles. The volunteers I met still cannot come to terms with the bitter reality of it all.

One irate letter from Mary Shephard of Swieqi, recently wondered what the consortium’s reaction would be if members of the public were to pick flowers planted in public gardens at public expense. She demanded to know the fate of “the orphan stray defenceless cats” which have not been returned to their original place of shelter. Shephard also insisted that the consortium has no right to remove stray cats from anywhere and the authorities, while indicating that this will not happen again, seem to let those who abuse dumb animals “get away with only a rap on the knuckles.”

The familiar stray cats have also disappeared from the Upper Barrakka Gardens in what has been yet another affront to animal lovers and with the authorities once again caught with their pants down.

It is difficult to understand both the official attitude in all this and, even worse, our national disregard for such matters of concern. Animals are such agreeable friends; they ask no questions, they make no criticisms. And yet, we persist in our cold indifference towards their predicament.

On a more positive note, the sheer hard work of many volunteers will one day doubtless bear fruit. New generations of Maltese will hopefully look forward to living with and loving animals better. Animal welfare as a subject has wisely been introduced in the State school curriculum, which is an important beginning.

Man is the only animal that laughs, but when you look at some people, it is hard to understand how the animals keep from laughing. Perhaps they respect us too much?

Pippin, our all-white, seven-month-old kitten, would certainly have laughed its heart out last week had it realised what trauma the whole family went through as we waited for the vet to come in for the 20-minute procedure to have it neutered. No one wanted to remove the food container at mid-day. No one wanted to hold it for the initial injection. No one wanted to be present. No one wanted to put it through a trauma, as ours was already intense enough, thank you.

When the good vet came in he found a situation of acute helplessness. I opened the front door and asked him to make as little noise as possible. His eyebrows shot up.

“You see, doctor,” I explained, “Pippin knows instantly when it is not one of the family who has come in and simply vanishes.” He smiled politely.

Then we took him to the animal now finally secure in a comfortable carrier but obviously restless. We took it in turns to speak to it as sweetly and as warmly as we always do, as if we were all pretending that the animal could be convinced it was going for a joyride. The vet now smiled openly.

When the time came for the needle, I chose to be a hero and rushed out of the room, leaving my wife, no less wary, to offer the assistance required. By this time the vet was laughing loudly, at one point even insisting on knowing what I would have done had I been in line for the operation. I preferred to remain silent, though I did give him the old one-finger signal from about three rooms away.

There was relief all round when the vet had finished his handiwork. He was still laughing as he sipped his tea and nibbled at the biscuits we offered. I somehow got the impression that he either found the situation hilarious because of the traumatic atmosphere in the house – something he very rarely encountered – or else he was simply used to the comic side of the story.

In fact he was still laughing when we waved goodbye to turn our attention immediately to Pippin who was now in for a long sleep of recuperation.

Today as I write, we are all laughing with him. Of course he is unable to join in the laughing, but he must know it is all part of the human way of expressing joy.