My Foster Journey

I think it's common knowledge...I like cats. To the point where I "fostered" a cat 4 years ago and then promptly...adopted him.  His name is Foster.

It's okay, sometimes fostering doesn't "work out as planned." But Foster welcomes me home every day, is a real people cat and even appeals to dog people.  All good.

So, this May, I decided it might be a good idea to foster a whole litter of kittens. After all, the foster coordinator for the Guilford County Animal Shelter (i.e. the Pound) sounded so desperate: "Well, I have four three-week olds, three four-week olds and two more four-week olds." I didn't even think. "I can take all of your four-week olds," I said.

It's okay. I own 1,200 square feet with a second bedroom. They could live in there.

This first litter was cute. I named them quickly. Mr. Freckles. Squooshed face. Mittens. Felix. Pumpkin. They were super.  I would spend an hour with them each day and they would climb my legs like a tree and jump my back whenever I cleaned their litter box. Squooshed face was renamed Flash, because 1, that's not an appropriate name for a cat and 2, he ran every time I opened the door. He was awesome. They all had worms and were treated.

But the one called Mittens developed coccidia. Severe diarrhea and dehydration. 

To the vet we go. He weighs one pound. Meds. Great, let's do that.  

Two days later and he's sitting in the carrier all day. I decide to take him back in.

And he passes away at the vet's office. 

And foster mom is devastated.

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The other four are put up for adoption. Freckles first, because he was chunky. Then Pumpkin and  Felix.

While I still have Flash, I decide to get another litter so he won't be alone. These ones are named Cocoa, Mocca, Edie and Claire. Two black, two orange,  Four week olds. Healthy, they say.

They are not. Worms and flees all of them. More meds, more love. But I get them to two pounds (that's the goal) and they are put up for adoption.

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Today, I went in with litter #3 for a check-up, booster and microchip.  And FeLV testing. 

Litter #3 was 5 six-week olds. They were all grey with white feet except one black kitty. That kitty didn't make it through the first night. 

And I was devastated. It died unloved, but not unnamed. Blackie. The one I could tell apart.

The other four? Cayley, Spot, Annie and Sylva. They had beautiful personalities. They came running every time I opened the door and mewed. And then would climb all over me and purr. They were special. They were beautiful.  They were loved.

And today they were diagnosed FeLV positive by the shelter, which means they have to be put down.  Feline Leukemia and HIV is a death sentence. And it broke my heart for those special little ones.

So.

I went home empty-handed.

And broken-hearted.

I went home to disinfect, throw away, scrub, wash and clean. Lest my three be infected of this awful disease. But I also went home to grieve these small, special lives.

And on Thursday, I will pick up my next litter of foster kittens.

Because unless everyone spays and neuters their pets, there will always be those tragic losses. 

And that would be a shame.