Fostering Is In My Blood

I remember when my mom brought home our first fosters. I was in fifth grade, and when my twin sister, Becca, and I came home from school, our mom walked us over to a box with three little neonatal kittens, just days old: Amelia, Angel, and Buddy. With closed eyes and little bodies running purely on instinct, they wriggled over one another, crying out to be fed. I watched as my mom gently picked them up, and as she did, she turned to us, smiling, and said, “they’re your responsibility”. 

I was flooded with excitement and fear all at once. I knew nothing about caring for something so small. I watched in awe as my mom bottle-fed them one by one. The meowing subsided, and their little ears wiggled as they latched on and ate until their tiny bellies were full. The lesson had begun regardless of my fears. But feeding, I quickly learned, was just step one. 

Soon after, we were stimulating each kitten to go potty, testing the temperature of their enclosure, wiping them clean, and getting them settled in for a post-bottle nap. So much happened so quickly, and they were so small and fragile. I told my mom I was nervous that I wouldn’t be able to do what she did. She laughed and, with a grin, informed me I would have plenty of time to learn: Amelia, Angel, and Buddy would need to eat every 2 hours, even throughout the night. So we had lots of chances to practice and retain all the new skills she was showing us. 

A Difficult Lesson to Learn

Over the next few weeks, we watched them grow and grow until they were ready to find their forever homes. As adoption day approached, it was incredibly hard. My sister and I begged our mom to let us keep the kittens. After all, we had raised them, and our love for them was undeniable. But she assured us that this was a good thing; letting them go meant we could help more animals in need. In the moment, however, I didn’t understand. Instead, I cried myself to sleep holding the kittens. My kittens. 

Then the day came, and even though the adopters were my friends, I bristled when they knocked at the door. But as they came in and met Amelia, Angel and Buddy, something magical happened: I watched my friends fall in love with them just like I had. They giggled at the clumsy way Buddy walked. Their hearts melted as they watched the girls cuddle in the sun. I was still scared to let the kittens go, but now part of me was excited, too. My friends saw them how I saw them. I had to trust that the little babies that we raised were on to bigger and better things. Things that would allow us to welcome another baby in need. But still, my heart broke - I had fallen in love with each of them, and saying goodbye terrified me. 

There wasn’t much time after they were adopted to worry about my fears, though. Before I knew it, we said hello to our next foster: a skittish and energetic 5-week-old boy we called Kipper. I thought maybe this time I’d try to guard my heart, but Kipper stole it anyway. His silly antics and never-ending supply of energy made it impossible not to fall in love with him, too. Part of me hoped that maybe this time, Kipper could stay. But my mom held firm, and a few weeks later another friend came to us to adopt. I watched it play out all over again. I smiled as they swooned over this little precious kitten and all his quirks, just like I had. 

This time, though I was still heartbroken, I felt a sense of understanding settle in, too. I remember thinking to myself, as Kipper fell asleep, purring, in my friend’s arms, “I wonder who we will get to help next?” 

My First Foster-Fail

It didn’t take long for that question to get its answer: Four tiny black-and-white kittens found in a hot tub and brought to our doorstep. Three were friendly; one, well…he was anything but! Cleo, Leo, and Brandy settled in beautifully, but Bindy just needed more. 

More time, more attention, more understanding. 

I felt drawn to him, and while my twin tended to the others, I found myself focused on Bindy. He would hide, hiss, spit, and bite. But really, he was just a little thing in a big world, and he was terrified. I worked with him every day, and slowly but surely, he made progress. When adoption day came around, however, we decided Bindy wasn’t ready yet. He stayed behind to gain more confidence and, in time, became our first foster-fail. 

I learned that,

Sometimes it was best for a foster to be adopted, but sometimes, they were already home.

This was one of those times. 

Bindy eventually became the most loving cat I ever knew. He was my soul cat, and my best friend. And even though he stayed, I didn’t avoid the heartbreak that came with saying goodbye; it just came many, many years later when old age finally took him. I learned a second lesson from Bindy then: there is no love without loss and, despite the pain, love would always be worth it. 

So I continued to dive in, foster after foster. Heartbreak after heartbreak. Miracle after miracle. And it was always worth it; just like my mom said it would be. I’m no longer the little girl learning from my mother; those lessons are now a part of me. They’re one of the things she left behind after a lifetime of love. My heart broke saying goodbye to her, too, but her teachings gave me a life that’s filled to the brim with purpose. And paired with a passion inspired by my first foster fail, Bindy, I quickly developed a soft spot for the ‘spicy’ foster cats; and that’s what I do now. 

Make Mine Extra Spicy

Currently, a euthanasia-list survivor is calling my home their safe haven. Just like Bindy, Simon wasterrified and aggressive, and he almost paid for it with his life. While I’ve been fostering him, however, I’ve gotten to know a completely different cat than the one in the shelter. A cat that’s full of love and silly antics, who’s eager to hold a conversation and meow for your attention. A cat who just needed a chance. 

When his adoption day comes, I know my heart will break again; it always does. It’s the price we pay for loving something, and I’ll pay that price over and over again because it means I get to watch someone adore him in all the ways I have, and more. The internet will go into an uproar demanding I keep him, but my mom’s voice will sound clearly in my ear and keep me grounded: 

“It’s a good thing. Letting them go means we can help others in need.” 

So I'll say goodbye, knowing another Simon, Bindy, or Kipper is waiting for their chance to be loved. And as I walk back into the shelter, the lesson I began learning all those years ago in fifth grade remains true: Fostering Saves Lives.