Nacho Kitty

Dear Nacho:

You came into our lives a 2.05-lb ball of orange fur. The county said you were too scared to “put out on the floor,” that room of cats and dogs at the pound. “Nacho just hides, so he needs a foster home where he will feel more comfortable.” We drove you home, put you in our foster cat bedroom, and opened the box. You immediately began purring and then ran into the corner. You were still hiding in the corner a few days later, but we could hear you purring. You got very playful, and you would attack your string toys with “attack of the purr” and later with your claws and teeth.

Over time, you turned into a ferocious, vicious kitten. You would constantly play, attacking anything that came near you – string toy, my hair, my feet. You were a little more playful than most, but we loved watching you attack anything that came your way.

We brought you into the shelter a few weeks later for a checkup. They said, “Nacho is doing great; we’re putting him on the floor now for adoption!” I cried as I drove home with no cat box. A week later, I visited you in the shelter, and you had a cold. Sneeze, sneeze, so I brought you back to our foster room, again, to heal.

Now, you are a 6-lb, playful ferocious beast. We haven’t quite broken you of your habit of attacking feet, hands, hair, or anything near you. You aren’t a lap cat yet. Maybe when you reach middle age, but you are a playful kitten for now. You might not be friendly, but darn you are cute. And now, you have an adopter!

Two days from now, I will drop you off at the shelter, you will get neutered, and then another family will pick you up, your furever home. They might send me a picture once or twice, and then I’ll never see you again. Two years from now, you won’t remember me. Hence, the life of a kitty foster mom.

People always ask me, “how can you give up a cat in your home?” I tell them that my job is to get the cats (somewhat) rehabilitated and then adopted. They don’t understand why I don’t want to keep every cat. “This one is special,” they say. “You’re attached to this one,” they say. Of course, I am. But I’m doing my job as a foster mom. It’s a mindset, I guess.

So, I leave you with one last sentence before saying goodbye, sweet Nacho: “Stop eating feet; they aren’t toys!”