Trending
"If you write about us fostering kittens, people will know we're crazy," my wife warned.
Heedless of her good advice, I forge ahead. The dog people will think so anyway, but the cat people will understand.
We didn't set out to be foster parents to kittens. Now it seems the most logical thing in the world. Rent them when they're tiny, irresistibly cute and endlessly entertaining, then return them, per contract, to the pound before we get attached.
Ogden Nash wrote, "The trouble with a kitten is that, eventually it becomes a cat."
Rent-a-kittens solves that problem.
Each morning we awaken to a chorus of tiny mews rising in volume and urgency from our former bedroom, now a kitten pen, screaming insistently "Feed us, now!" (We sleep in our recliners so we don't use that room anyway.) Honey mixes up their breakfast, places it before our five charges and observes the resulting sibling interaction.
"Cammie is the sweetest one except when it comes to food. She hisses and swats the others away from the food bowl," Honey reported this morning.
Stash (so named for his white half a mustache) ignored the food and ran out of prison when the door opened. I snagged him racing across our new Luxury Vinyl flooring and Honey sent him back to his breakfast.
For lack of a better system, the pound named the three girls and two boys for spices, for example Chamomile and Sage. Except for one named Honey, they seemed impersonal, so my wife and the grandsons gave them better ones: Lele Jane, Cletis and the aforementioned Stash and Cammie.
Stash, an early favorite, lost points for his tendency to claw and bite, especially at my wife's earrings. Cammie and Honey are her current favorites, usually the first to climb up on her lap to be petted and purr. This runs contrary to her belief that boy cats generally make the most lovable pets. Often, though, all five end playtime by falling asleep on her lap.
My wife, a recovering veterinarian, has a system and rules. There are times to sleep, times to eat, times to go to the litter box, and times to be let out into the house to run, play and cuddle.
Cuddle time is the reason we have them. If kittens grow up in a cage at the pound, the staff, while caring, don't have time to socialize them to humans by holding and petting.
This social time includes learning to interact peaceably with our resident young adult cats: brothers Leo, Russell and Alexander, who not so long ago were kittens themselves. Then there is the reclusive and anti-social Aunt Fanny, aka Snit for her bad attitude.
Russell, the most playful of the brothers, was the first to make peace and touch noses with the kittens, whose initial reaction to the big cats was to hiss and arch their tiny backs menacingly, fur standing on end. Big, loveable Leo was at first deathly afraid of these five one-pound terrors, who raced through the living area like an invading horde of rats when released from their room. Alex still hasn't quite come to terms with them, but a general truce is in place and even a little playful interaction occurs, so you can say that our adult cats, except Snit, are learning to be more tolerant of new creatures in the house.
Grandsons Lamppost Head and The 747 have greatly enjoyed kitten time during their frequents visits with us. The 747 especially delights in them, calming them to sleep on his chest. Lamppost Head likes them, but also takes pride in being a friend to friendless Snit up in the loft. Snit holes up there, ready to unleash holy hell on any kitten who might have the temerity to climb the stairs.
Every week Honey takes them back to the animal shelter to be weighed and observed to make sure we as foster parents are doing our job. When they top two pounds each, they will be returned to the shelter to hopefully await adoption.
We'll miss them, but if on down the line we feel the need for baby somethings to brighten our lives, and if another litter of kittens wants fostering, we'll be waking up again to a chorus of little mews.