Weeks with current fosters: 18, 12
Days without being sneezed on: 0, as ever. There’s kitten snot on every surface of the apartment.
We’re down to three kittens now! Marlo and Royal were taken home on December 29, and now they live in the Bronx with a lovely couple who’ve rechristened them Marlo and Mekhi. We couldn’t be prouder of how well they’re adjusting. Of course, our last photo of them is pretty pathetic, but that’s always how it is with goodbyes when the things you’re saying goodbye to have to be stuffed in a carrier.
We do miss you, Marlo and Royal. Though Indiana has taken over person-climbing duties with aplomb, and Sidney is suddenly much cuddlier. It’s interesting how quickly the dynamics change with half the litter gone.
We’re happy/stressed to still have the twins, though — you can only tell Indiana (left) and Sidney apart if you look them right in the face; otherwise, they’re so similarly colored and shaped they are essentially the same kitten twice. And they are delightful, and at the perfect age for adoption. Really, someone should snap them up now while it’s still snuggling weather, because these two can get down with some cuddling. Every time I cover up with the weighted blanket, there’s Indiana nestling on my legs, and this morning I almost rolled over on Sidney, who had nosed her way under the covers to soak up some body heat in between Kas and me. Cold weather makes the most antisocial cat into a cuddle monster, especially if you keep the heat turned down (which you should, for your health). Speaking of, even Mister Jumps if You Look at Him Sideways Buster has been joining the weighted blanket party and at bedtime, not that you’d guess it to see him during the day.
We had another potential adopter for Buster flake on us yesterday, which was really sad. He’s such a good boy, he wants to be friends with everyone (except me, which is fine, I’m terrifying), and he’d be perfect in a home with another cat around his age who needs a buddy, with a family who understands that he has all the potential to become a well-adjusted young man; he just needs time.
Maybe that family will come in the New Year. I’m hoping so.
I didn’t expect to miss Marlo and Royal, and for the most part, I don’t. That sounds cold, but I’m pretty good at compartmentalizing, if that’s the right word for it. I love these kittens as much as I can while they’re here, and when they leave, I’m happy for them to go to their new home. I worry about them, of course, being scared in a strange place, but I trust their new families to treat them well and love them even harder than I did, and with time and patience (with cats, it’s always patience), they’ll form an unbreakable bond.
That said, I do miss some of them. I miss Kiwi, the way he’d hop up on a stool and then flop down on it bonelessly, demanding to be groomed into oblivion. I miss the way we’d have to lift him onto a shelf for his meals: “Kiwi, elevator!” (and then make an elevator noise) to keep him away from Piper, who’d inhale his servings in under 30 seconds (we timed him) and start nosing around for more. I miss little Javi, the way she’d crawl under the covers in the night to make biscuits against the soft part of my upper arm, trying to suckle because she’d lost her mother too soon. I miss the way she’d curl in my lap whenever I sat down because she just wanted to be with me. I miss the way Pickles would go full-tilt at every playtime till he was exhausted, prone and panting on the floor, but pick himself up again as soon as a toy brushed past him; you could never tire Pickles out. He would lay on the kitchen tile in the heat of August with his little back legs fanning out like a seal’s flippers, making sure every inch of himself was being cooled. I miss Bowie running into the room, whacking a ball on the tower to make it spin, then running under the chair, poised to play.
I’m not heartless. I’ve just learned to turn my heart off when I need to. Indiana is the sweetest darling I’ve maybe ever fostered; she just shoved her way into my lap from napping on the weighted blanket, and not because it’s cold; she just wants to be next to me. Which is pretty magical, especially when you compare it to the work I’ve had to put in to get Jenny and Clem to trust me and care about me. (Not that Clem “cares” about me so much as “accepts me as generally nonthreatening,” but one takes what one can get.) But you can’t, as Will from Flatbush Cats noted yesterday during his visit to sweet Buster, compare kittens who know you as “mom” with cats who’ve had, say less wholesome formative experiences. Indiana’s known me as a benevolent presence since she was six weeks old and we were gingerly pulling her from a cardboard carrier; Buster and Jenny had weeks (if not more, in Jenny’s case) on the streets before they were brought into safe, loving homes, and who knows what Clem had to deal with in the almost four years before her owners left her with ACC. So it’s not fair to compare them, and mostly I don’t. The trick is, just like with people, to take each cat on its own terms. You give them all you can and you are grateful for however they reciprocate. That’s not to say it’s easy; when a cat isn’t ready or able to receive the love you’re trying to shower it with, the constant rejection can hurt. What you do is, you leave the room and weep hopelessly and then come back and try again, until it works.
In the New Year, we’re hopeful for families to adopt our remaining fosters and give us and our girls a much-needed break. As ever, if you know anyone in the New York area who’s looking for a pair of perfect kittens or a darling young man who needs extra loving care, please get in touch. In the meantime, there’s Instagram, and there’s the wishlist, because while two kittens eat less than four kittens, they still eat a lot. Thanks for reading, and Happy New Year to you and yours.