I always thought that fostering would be easy. I know, I know. But in my head, it always seemed like the perfect set-up, especially for people who go on vacation a lot or don’t have a ton of money to take care of an animal of their own. You simply take a cat (or dog, or small animal) home for a week or two, or perhaps six months at the longest—you can set your own time frame—and then you return it to the shelter to be adopted into a wonderful home. It’s like rent-a-pet, only you’re doing a great deed for an animal in need.
Still, I had never fostered because I was at work or in evening classes, plus my roommates who’ve filtered in throughout the years would have killed me. That, and I wasn’t sure how Smirnoff and Bacardi would handle another cat. My current apartment is too small for a third adult cat and its layout is too open to introduce a new cat properly, but I figured a kitten would be ideal since they’re so small and require very little room (to begin with). So when I finally made the decision to move apartments, and with the possibility of fostering in the new apartment blossoming, I figured I would give it a test run before the actual move to see if it was even a good idea. Mostly, it was to test Smirnoff and Bacardi.
Raymond was a cute little two-month-old kitten who was on quarantine (Q) at the shelter. He was on Q because he had scratched the person who found him as a stray, and legally he wasn’t adoptable for 10 days. I’m not sure of the reason for this law (it might have something to do with rabies?), but when blood is drawn, the cat in question is put on Q. No exceptions. When I saw Raymond, he only had two days left, but since he wasn’t adoptable during that time, I asked if I could take him home to foster. Again, as a test. Continue reading “Foster Failure”
Ten Thousand Kittens 