Weeks with current fosters: 10, 4
Days without being hissed at: 14? I’ve shifted the paradigm here to better measure success in socialization (aka “hissing at the other kittens doesn’t count”)
Days without being sneezed on: 0 (they love to get right in your face and then blammo)
I keep doing this thing where I compare keeping cats to raising children, and again I’ll do this little disclaimer tap-dance where I say I know kittens and babies aren’t the same, at all, and I don’t want to diminish anyone’s parenting experience nor do I want to overstate the importance or difficulty of what we’re doing, but that said: Kittens are like babies.
When they’re new, they’re just these little (furry) blobs, indistinct but for their need to eat and sleep and poop (and viciously whale on each other). The older they get, and this happens quickly with kittens, the more themselves they become. Now this particular set of four also came with another complication, that being that they looked at first (second, third, tenth) glance like quadruplets (and once quintuplets, Rest in Power, Cypress), such that without distinct personalities and with very few physical differences, it felt impossible to tell them apart.
Also I might not have been, four weeks ago, trying very hard to tell them apart. They were a pile of snotty, sneezy, rambunctious kittens who required three different medications and a lot of time and energy I just didn’t have to give them. So I didn’t make a real effort to differentiate between them. (Except Marlo and her weird, hairless face; that little gremlin stood out immediately, once I bothered to look.) “Hello, Sidniana,” I’d say to whoever popped up in my field of vision upon entering the bathroom.
This week, though, we opened up the pen and let them loose in the bedroom. They were bouncing off the (kind of rickety) walls of that area, and their ringworm is gone and their colds, while lingering, haven’t infected anyone else in the house (praise be), so we — Kas, let’s be honest, he is steering this particular kitten ship — decided it was time to give them freer rein. And so it was that I finally learned to distinguish between each kitten, and am slowly learning their little personalities.
Marlo’s face fur is growing back and she’s still the most stuffed-up kitten, snotting her way around and whistling when she sleeps. Marlo is a real person’s cat; she likes to be around you, the human, whatever you’re doing in the room. She was the first to clamber up on the bed and she’s since fallen asleep on or next to one of us at least once a day since we started this new phase. As I believe I’ve said, Marlo will climb my back and perch on my shoulder like a particularly mucousy parrot, wheezing into my ear and sneezing right in my face. It’s gross, but charming, because she’s tiny and small things can get away with a lot of nonsense big things can’t. Imagine a nine-and-a-half-pound, full-grown cat perched on your back, leaning her face into yours to peer into your eyes and then full-nosedly sneeze. Not so cute, that.
Royal is the only gentleman of the bunch now, and he prefers to take his morning nap in one of the carriers. He has yet to deign to explain his choice of napping areas, but he’s secure in his choices. I don’t really know Royal very well. He keeps himself to himself, preferring to play with his siblings to spending any time with me. I’m told (by Kas) that he does enjoy a cuddle with a person, it’s just that person has yet to be me. Which is too bad; his wide baby face makes me want to just smoosh him. He’s the cutest little devil and the most elusive. And I feel like I’m actually looking forward to getting to know him. It’s like I’m opening up to these sneeze machines.
Sidney is the second-snottiest, still stuffed up more often than not and more prone to sneezing than her hardier compatriots. Sidney spent this morning’s sleep on this cushion, though if she’d put in the effort to climb onto the bed (there’s a scratcher that doubles as a ramp, because of course we have a scratcher that doubles as a ramp to the bed, why would we deny any cat in this house anything, at all, ever?) she’d have likely climbed into someone’s lap for, if not a sleep, then a communing. Sidney is nearly indistinguishable from her sister Indiana but for the white blaze on her nose and the tiniest tip of white on her little pointy tail. In personality, Sidney is the last to get into scraps and the first to take naps, though she’s ready to catch a wand toy at any time. I feel like I’m writing a personal ad for Sidney right now, and I suspect that’s because outside of her propensity to separate herself from the group and her enjoyment of a good cuddle, I don’t know her as well. She’s not as much a mystery to me as Royal, as she’s actually spent time with me, but it’s pretty close. You can’t really pick who you get to know best, though, is the thing; it’s up to the kitten to choose to spend time with you, so if Sidney would rather not, there’s not much I can do about it except keep making myself available and hope she gets curious.
Tiny rebel Indiana is, I think, my favorite. She is fearless, whether in play or exploring — she darts out of the bedroom as often as she can manage; she’s approached Jenny, Clem and Buster to play multiple times, not shrinking in the face of hissing or bapping; she’s the only kitten so far to figure out the secret of the cube shelves and the beds atop them. She plunked herself down in this bed the other day and invited Buster to nap with her, which confounded young Buster; he sat, hissing at her, staring at her, demanding she remove herself from his chosen place of respite at once. Alas, this did not happen, forcing Buster to find greener, kittenless fields. (Of which there are plenty; we do not lack for beds in this house.) When Indiana says hello she puts her face right up in your face and snuffles to take in your scent. She’ll turn on a dime from head-butting to hand-chewing, but that’s just kittens, you know? They’ll all gnaw on you as soon as look at you. Indiana, though, she’s interested in the world outside the boundaries of the bedroom, and she demands you show them to her. I don’t know, I find her little personality admirable and irresistible; I wish I were half as brave.
That’s how we find ourselves on this Saturday evening. The kittens are having their dinner (after lunch, before supper); the big kids are waiting impatiently for their evening meal; I’m thinking of a third thing to add to this semicolon-addled list. I guess my heart is melting a little, kitten-wise, and I suppose it was inevitable — they are too cute to withstand, these four. (Like any kitten has ever been not cute enough to charm someone.) So I suppose I’ll end this with my usual plea to follow the kittens on Instagram and please send food; these little mouths go through six cans a day. The wishlist is the only way we get help feeding them; Little Wanderers doesn’t reimburse for expenses, so it’d be awfully nice to get a pallet of cans in the mail.
Meantime I guess I’ll be placating my resentful adult cats and confused older foster kitten, reminding them that yes, the kittens are EVERYWHERE and IN YOUR FACE ALL THE TIME but I still love you, very much. There’s room in this heart for all of them. I don’t know how, but I can love all of you.