Tag Archives: fostering

An Update to Ferals and Fosters

About three years ago, I wrote a four-part series called Ferals and Fosters about three black kittens that a friend and I rescued. They marked the beginning of my journey in earnest as a hands-on fosterer and socializer of wild and semi-wild kittens and cats. I had been involved in rescue for years but had rarely really gotten my hands dirty. These three kittens showed me how great a difference one person can make. The final installment of that short series was about Sampson, a scared little black kitten who stole my heart as my first really difficult socialization success story.

When he was adopted, I cried like a little girl and I never stopped thinking of him. His new family rechristened him Sammy and sent me frequent updates about him via Facebook. Each new report made my heart sing; he was coming out of his shell and becoming a part of the family, even watching the husband play x-box and sleeping in bed with them and their other cat.

Last December I received a frantic message from Sammy’s adoptive human mom. They were returning to the US and during the pack-out with the movers, Sammy had somehow gotten out. Could I come help trap him?

I can only describe the next few days as panicked and tearful. I advised the family to put out his litter box and something with their scent on it. A small group of us searched day and night. We called. We sat and waited with smelly food. We put out the trap. We took canned mackerel and set it out all over the place. We put up posters and dropped flyers in every mailbox in the area. We created a Facebook group. As the days drew nearer for the family to get on the plane with their other two cats and their two children (both born since Sampson’s adoption, and one of the other two cats adopted since then), I became more and more depressed. Unfortunately, no one ever reported having seen him, and the family left as planned, but without Sammy.

A few of us kept looking for weeks. We set the trap in different places, hunted down potential leads (all dead ends and none of them actual sightings), and put out more flyers. We talked to people who lived in the area and contacted veterinarians. Absolutely zero. After several weeks with no sightings, nearly three months since he was lost, we had to admit we weren’t going to find him.

They lived near some busy roads, so he might have been hit by a car almost immediately. The family isn’t sure what time he got out so he could have been killed within minutes and picked up by city workers. Unfortunately, at that time, for reasons neither I nor his family understands, his microchip was not registered and so his body would have been unidentifiable. (When he was adopted, the chip was registered to me but when it was transferred to them, apparently it didn’t get re-registered. Lesson learned – double-check that your fur-babies’ chips are registered properly.)

He could also have been quickly adopted by another family who, for whatever reason, did not see our ads or flyers. This option is very unlikely because, as I found out from the adoptive mom, Sammy remained very cautious, somewhat fearful, and although he loved the two of them, he didn’t trust anyone else. My cautious, mistrusting little kitten had matured into a cautious, mistrusting little cat.

The third option, the most frightening one for me, is that he ran away and simply didn’t respond to any of our calls for him because he was either too scared or he simply didn’t want to come back home. Now my experience tells me that if he were too scared, he would have at least been spotted once or twice in the neighborhood, and as I said, we have no reports that he was. Further, within a few days, scared cats generally show back up. They gather their courage and return home.

I’m fairly certain, if Sammy was still alive at the time we were searching for him, he didn’t respond or return home because he didn’t WANT to come home. I know that sounds odd but I’ve thought a lot about this and talked about it with a couple of other folks, and we agree that it is certainly possible, and I think even likely.

You see, what had been, when he was adopted, a quiet and calm home with no kids and only one other cat became, within a year, a home with an infant and a third rescued cat (this one a life saved from the death list of a kill shelter). Shortly thereafter, another infant and now a toddler in the house. Finally there was the confusion and noise of not just one, but two household moves; only a few months before this one, they moved from the apartment to a house only a few doors down. Working for the government being what it is, their transfer to the US was a short-notice surprise. Add all of these elements together and you certainly have a situation that a mistrusting and fearful cat would seek to escape from.

Now, before all the potential judgement happens, when I adopted Sampson out, I made clear in the ads that he was fearful and needed lots of patience and a quiet home with NO KIDS. Further, I insisted upon that very firmly, in person, with the adopters. They assured me they had no plans to have children in the near future, and as I mentioned, in the first months after the adoption, Sammy made progress; he seemed to enjoy hanging out with the two of them. When the wife let me know, with some apparent trepidation, when they were pregnant, only a few months after the adoption, she assured me that it was a surprise. I trusted her as a long-time animal rescuer. In the best of situations, animal companions take a bit of a back seat when babies are born, and obviously the noise level grows as the household does. With all of this, and based on conversations with the parents since his disappearance, it seems that Sammy retreated some into his fearful shell, and this only further evidences that he wouldn’t want to come home.

Months later now, and I still cry for him sometimes. I pray for him often and think of him even more often. I punish myself with “what-if…’s” and “I should have…’s”. I hold out a tiny hope that perhaps, since he was micro-chipped (and now the chip is in my name again since his family is no longer in the country), he could still come home. But I have to admit, that hope is truly miniscule. And the thought that he is living the feral life somewhere terrifies me because I know how full of suffering – disease, hunger, predators, unmet needs – feral cats’ lives are.

I know that God hears me praying that if Sampson suffered, or suffers, that it is little or not at all, and that he either comes home to me or has a home where he is loved and feels safe. I suppose it is an unhappy testimony to how little I trust God that I continue to anguish sometimes about him. It pains me to admit that, but God knows how very human I am, and I trust He forgives me my frailties.

We foster families have many flaws, but we have one great strength which unfortunately is also a paradoxical weakness: love. We love each and every animal we take in, even if they stay with us for only a short time. For me, and I’m fairly confident this is true of all of us rescuers, there are three or four who are extra-special, whose effect on us is so profound that we are changed because of them. I loved Sampson; he taught me to never give up on a hard-case, that they could become the most loving of all. I never stopped thinking of him and I never stopped loving him, and if he one day manages to come back home, I will weep with joy.

The other installments:   Ferals and Fosters, Part Two
Ferals and Fosters, Part Three

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So you want to help community cats?  Start here.

So you need to socialize some kittens? Click here.

Final Installment in: Ferals and Fosters

“Where are the boys?” I asked, when I could only see Pepper sitting on top of a box.

“I don’t know,” answered Jay. We started searching the room, and Jay noticed a hole in a box underneath another box. We moved the box on top and opened the other one, and there were Sampson and Stormy, snuggled up together. “Oh, dear,” I said, as Jay picked Stormy up. I gathered Sampson up and he stiffened but didn’t resist. I put him in the carrier and zipped it up. I wished them luck and headed home with my little ‘fraidy cat.

Sampson remained in his little circle bed inside the wire kennel for the first half day. Then he ventured out to eat. Later that evening, to my surprise, I heard him meowing. I had never heard him vocalize at all before! I went up and walked into the room. For the first time in his little life, he didn’t run from a human. In fact, he didn’t seem at all afraid. He was cautious, and he was curious. And lonely. This was the first time in his short, four or five months of life that he’d ever been alone. He finally didn’t have his brother and sister to lean on, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be held but he sure wanted me near. So much so, in fact, that he actually approached me! This, too, was a first. Now he wanted me around, let me pick him up without fear, and snuggled up as I petted him. I hung out with him for a while and he finally began to play with me as I dangled a feather that was attached to a plastic stick.

That evening, when I went to bed, I heard him meowing again, all alone in his room. He was very insistent and loud. I hardened my heart, knowing I mustn’t teach him that meowing loudly was the way to get his needs met. Soon it became quiet.

By the next afternoon, Sampson was a different cat.  He wanted to be held and touched; he meowed for attention, and snuggled up against me when I held him. He called for me when I wasn’t in the room with him, and he wanted to come out and be with me and the other cats, which I tried to do, but he was overwhelmed by them, and they were afraid of him (as I expected) so I continued to keep them separate. He loved my company, though, and he wanted to play and be touched all the time. He became such a little lover-boy that I neglected my own furbabies a little so I could be with him over the next days. I was quickly falling in love with this little guy.

On my lap: finally comfortable with human contact.

On my lap: finally comfortable with human contact.

Well, I knew I was in danger of ending up with FOUR cats instead of the three I had, so I put an ad on our local community’s facebook page. Within two days, a lady contacted me and asked about him. They had recently lost their beloved black cat and their other cat was lonely; they wanted to have a companion for her, as well as for them. We talked for a few days then arranged for her and her husband to come and meet him.

They arrived earlier than planned, but no matter. I brought Sampson down to see them and he stiffened up immediately, as I was sure he would. The wife and I chatted and then I held him out to her and said, “Would you like to hold him?” and she eagerly took him from me. He was clearly uncomfortable but he watched me for clues. When he saw I was calm, he consented and finally relaxed a little. She unhesitatingly fell under his spell and it was clear she wanted him. The husband watched Sampson, whose fear was unmistakable. “Do you think he’ll relax with us and our other cat?” he asked me. I could only be truthful. “I don’t really know,” I said, “I would expect he will, but it might take time. And if it doesn’t look like it’s going to work out for any reason, just let me know and I’ll take him back.” They exchanged a look and she said, “We want him.” So I gathered his belongings and bit back tears, and I let them take my little sweetheart out the door. And then I cried like a child.

Over the course of the next few days, I learned that the other two kitties were doing great. Without Sampson’s negative influence, they were coming out and socializing with the family, finding favorite hangouts in the house, and generally becoming normal house cats. And Sampson? Well, he quickly adjusted to his new home and family, even snuggling under the covers with them at night! My darling little fellow loves to watch his new daddy play xBox and climb the enormous cat tree they have. And sleep in his new mommy’s arms. Getting updates from both the adoptive families makes me indescribably happy.

I have discovered that I’ve never done anything as rewarding as this. As much trouble as they were, as many loads of laundry and and as much money as I spent, the happiness I feel knowing they are loved and learning to love is beyond mere words. I possess a very clear understanding of  how much BETTER their lives are now than if I’d not gotten involved. If my friend and I had not let our feelings turn into action, these little guys would be cold, hungry and afraid. And the little girl would undoubtedly be pregnant by now, about to give birth to more hungry, cold, frightened kittens. We stopped that cycle, at least for them.

Let’s not let ourselves think that we can do nothing, or that we can’t do enough. Every time we say, “the problem is too great,” or “I can’t handle the pain,” remember the difference two women made in the lives of three feral kittens. This won’t be the last time I cry for the voiceless ones, and it won’t be the last time I act on their behalf. And I’m sure it won’t be the last time I fall in love with a formerly feral foster feline!

Reaching up for a kiss on the head

Reaching up for a kiss on the head

Ferals and Fosters, Part Three

So here I am, a working woman on her own, and three kittens who were definitely acting out: pooping and worse — PEEING on the bed precisely where I would sit and speak sweetly to them, offering them treats and head scratches. *sigh* A few days, and a few loads of laundry later, and the mattress was UNDER the bed, safe below some thick plastic, and the kitties were easily prevented from hiding. UNDER! Whoever heard of a mattress UNDER a bed?

Whatever. Little by little, two of the three began coming out of their shells, letting me pet them, playing, being curious and mischievous, and generally loving life. Within perhaps three weeks, these two little darlings were not feral in the least. They were, in fact, at between four and five months old, ready to be sterilized and given their shots, and shortly thereafter, they were ready to be adopted!

Unfortunately, one of the kitties simply would not be domesticated. While he couldn’t hide, ‘Fraidy, as I had been calling him, effectively avoided me by running to the far side of the bed, and as it is a queen size bed, I couldn’t reach him. He would watch his siblings get scratches and loads of lovings, but he wanted none of it. The only time I could get to him was if he was in the kennel and I crawled in after him. Which I did for a week or so, then I gave him a week without doing that, and he became even more afraid. So I would crawl into the kennel and pick him up gently by the scruff and hold him for a few minutes. He was still fearful.

By now Christmas break was approaching and I had an airline ticket to the US for a week; I was worried. I didn’t know what I would do while I was gone, especially if brother and sister were adopted before then. I had to keep trying. I told my friend, the one who trapped them with me, that he needed a new name, one that wasn’t a self-fulfilling prophecy. “Oscar,” she suggested. “Gideon,” I replied.  Then I continued,  “Clint Eastwood, cuz he ain’t afraid of nothin’.” She responded, “Leo. Leo the Lion!” “Oh, that’s good!” I said, but before I could get used to it she said, “no, Sampson. Tough guy.” And so Sampson he became.

The other two kitties couldn’t get enough attention and I had a family ready to take both of  them within a week of posting the ad. They said they’d be ready to take them home within a couple of days. Sampson, on the other hand, continued to be afraid of everything remotely related to humans. He wouldn’t scratch me, though. He even stopped stiffening up when I reached into the kennel for him and pulled him out. And he’d be very quiet and docile while I held him and talked to him, scratching his little head. Sometimes he’d even purr a little. I remained hopeful.

The future family of the two tame kitties offered to take all three while I was out of town. I would take Sampson back as soon as I returned. So I held back tears as they drove away with all three kitties, and hoped for the best.

When I returned I contacted the adoptive family immediately via text. “I’ll be there to get Sampson this afternoon.” The wife said, “Okay…” then she continued, “We’re considering letting you take both the males home with you.” I was taken aback, but I would happily take them all back if it wasn’t working out. “What is going on?” I asked. She explained that the longer I was gone, the more anti-social ALL the kittens had become. The only one remotely friendly was the female, whom they’d named Pepper, and even she had reverted to some of her feral behaviors. I said, “You know I told you that if they don’t work out, they can come right back home with me; don’t fret. I’ll be there this afternoon and pick up any or all of them, whatever is best for you and the kitties.” And I headed upstairs to put fresh litter in the catbox and fresh water in the bowl.

I arrived to get Sampson, and I figured I’d probably be bringing Stormy, whose name references the wildly popular series, Dr. Who, home, too. Jay and Yvonne welcomed me in and we stood chatting for a few minutes. Finally, Yvonne looked at me and said, “We’ve decided we want to try to keep Pepper AND Stormy.” The couple exchanged a look. “We want to give them a week without Sampson.” I said, “Okay, that’s a great idea. It’s likely Sampson’s fear has had a negative effect on the other two.” They took me up to the room where the cats were staying, and only Pepper was visible. “Where are the boys?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” answered Jay. We looked around for them but only saw Pepper, sitting quietly atop a box. “Uh oh,” I thought, “they’ve managed to escape!”

To be continued…

Ferals and Fosters, Part Two

Yesterday, I posted about our base’s feral cat problem, and the three cats a couple of friends and I decided to rescue. Kittens, actually, about three months old. Feral kittens, to be precise. And they were coming home with me. Why me? Because I was the sucker of the three of us that was willing to spend the time trying to socialize them.

Now you should know, gentle reader, that I’m a terrible foster mom for cats. One of my cats, Maggie, is a failed foster. She came to me after having been found in a car engine as a tiny kitten. I tried to find a home for her but finally resigned myself to the fact that she would be mine. And she is; she loves me as much as any animal I’ve ever had, I think. I can’t imagine giving her up.

Maggie, my failed foster

Maggie, my failed foster

There were only two possible ends to this, neither of them good. One, with me as the crazy cat lady with six cats and no boyfriend (ever) or two, with me in tears watching my darling little furbabies ride away with their new family. Nevertheless, I brought the three little lovelies home.  I set up a borrowed extra-large kennel in a guest bedroom. I covered everything up, even putting a large shower curtain on the bed, under the fitted sheet, to prevent permanent damage from potential accidents. I blocked off ways to get under the bed because it is vital that kittens who need to be socialized not be able to hide from the human. My plan was to let the kitties out when they felt more comfortable, and to come in and sit with them often, letting them get used to me, begin to trust me, and eventually, hopefully become domesticated enough to be adopted.

The first night I left them free in the guest room while I slept down the hall, and all was well. They scampered into the kennel in the morning and I latched the door and went to work. That evening, I went and sat with them for an hour or so, working on my computer and talking to them softly. The following morning, there was a pile of cat poo in the middle of the bed. Well, no real damage done, I thought, and off I went to do laundry before work.

Three little fosters...

Three little fosters…

The next morning, same thing. And the next, the poo was surrounded by a veritable small pond of pee. And on top of that, they had managed to get under the bed. Well, then. An hour or so later, there was more laundry in the washer, the kittens were back in the kennel, and under the bed was once again blocked off.

The next morning, exactly the same scenario. Seriously? I mean, SERIOUSLY?

To say I was frustrated would be a vast understatement. I was seriously considering taking them back to the Kitty Kabana…

To be continued…

Ferals and Fosters, Part One

A few weeks ago, the military base where I work began talking about “getting rid of” the base’s feral cats. This particular military base is home to families from a lot of different countries, all either NATO or partner nations. Relatively few of the families are American; our presence is so numerous that we have to live off base. Which is fine with me; I love living out among the Belgians! But I digress.

Pet ownership is as popular in Europe as it is in the US, but the attitude regarding spaying and neutering is vastly different. While becoming more accepted, elective spay-neuter remains the exception. The prevalent paradigm in some countries is even that such surgery is cruel. This means, of course, that when families on the base where I work get a cat or a dog, there is a high likelihood that the animal will reproduce at some point in the near future. Add that to the fact that sometimes a family will PCS (Permanent Change of (duty) Station, i.e. “move”) and simply abandon their cat, and you have a recipe for exactly what has happened here on the base, and particularly near our ancient school buildings: cats give birth to kittens, kittens don’t have human contact, and POOF! Feral cats.

Our base’s history of feral cats is long and colorful. There is even a story of one falling through the drop ceilings and into a classroom! You can stop laughing now. Or go ahead and laugh; it is pretty funny, I admit. And several friends have adopted kittens that were born homeless to feral parents. When such kittens are adopted as soon as possible after they are born, they quickly socialize to humans. Such is exactly the case with my friend John and his best pal, Bruges.

John and Bruges right after he was adopted from the base

John and Bruges right after he was adopted from the base

 

So recently a few of us resident cat-lovers decided to do something about the problem. We began advocating for the cats, and two of us went so far as to trap three little black kittens living under the math building. Their mom had already moved on, and they were probably about eight or nine weeks old. They were easy to capture using a humane trap, and we took them to our colleague’s little shed beside her house; we call it the Kitty Kabana. For a couple of weeks, these fairly wild little creatures were doing fine: eating and protected from the elements. Unfortunately they were not becoming any less wild. After reading a couple of articles on taming the kittens, we realized they needed to be inside a home, getting used to having people around. Whose home? Ahem. Mine.

Want to find out what happens? Stay tuned…