A few months ago I decided to join the local humane society’s foster program. If you’re not familiar with what it means to be an animal shelter foster parent, basically you take on pets that are too young or sick to be adopted and you take care of them until they are either rehabilitated or old enough to find a permanent home. So I figured I love animals, I’d like to help out the shelter but don’t have time to volunteer, and I have the perfect space to house animals and keep them separate from my own cats (a sunroom at the back of my house).
Besides all that, I figured kittens would be easy. I know how to care for cats, I thought….why would caring for kittens be much more difficult than making sure my own cats didn’t die? In fact, I reasoned it had to be easier than caring for my own cats, since like humans cats become more evil with age. In my head, I knew it would be perfect…. imagined long Saturday afternoons filled with purrs and sweet little cat babies lounging in the sun and looking very silly whilst chasing ribbons and sunbeams.
I am a stupid, stupid woman.
The first batch of foster kittens were three siblings, and to be honest they weren’t that bad. They did cute things like this:
But they got bigger, and consequently went back to the shelter where they were all adopted and went on to forever homes where they will grow into cats that will someday terrorize their forever families. DAWWWW!
With the next round of fosters, I’ve discovered a rather disconcerting fact. The reason why kittens are so sweet and non-destructive comes from the simple fact that they are small and defenseless. As such, it’s necessary for them to befriend you so that they are afforded some sense of protection until they are older and larger and develop bigger claws and more hateful dispositions. Basically, kittens are just manipulative little bastards that use you to keep them alive and clean up after them, much like babies. With the second batch, I took on nine foster kittens and learned that with their powers combined…they no longer need to be my friend. Like an angry mob armed with endless mews and tiny claws, they’ve overtaken and destroyed everything in their path.
Since there are so many of them, they’ve become emboldened enough to undertake escape attempts. Like the velociraptors in “Jurassic Park”, they try to open the doors:
You can’t walk past the sunroom door without being assailed by taunts and demands:
If you are stupid enough to enter the room and attempt contact, you’ll likely find yourself in this situation after being climbed like fucking Mount Everest:
They’ve shredded books. They’ve eaten photographs. They’ve thrown up in their own food bowls and sprayed diarrhea all over the floor right next to their box. Every attempt to enter the room is met with an attempt to escape, usually accomplished by three scaling your legs while the others flee and hide under beds and couches. But there is a silver lining, my friends….
These kittens are healthy and old enough for adoption and are going back to the humane society. After a long and arduous six weeks, it is time for them to find their forever homes, filled with new people that they can forever torture. After tomorrow, I am taking a break from fostering since I plan to be traveling for the holidays and besides that, holy shit I need a break. The nightmare will be over. I will get my sunroom back and it will just be me and my three…..fully grown…….much larger and able to do much more damage….pissed off from lack of attention….holding a grudge and anxiously awaiting the departure of the kittens before they exact their revenge….my own cats….