A Long-ago Foster

Recounting the stories of Sophie and Cookie as they joined my household reminds me of a few other stories of cats who stayed with us who technically weren’t rescues, but then again…

In the late 1980s I began studying optimum feline diets and along with cooking for my cats and preparing raw diets, I regularly ordered a few different high-quality canned foods through a groomer near me. The foods weren’t available in stores, and ordering enough canned food for six or seven cats for a month suited both their supplier and my budget.

In March 1991, a few months after I’d moved here, one of the owners told me of a young woman with a daughter and two cats who they had hired from a grooming school in Pittsburgh to work in the shop. She needed to move closer because she had no car nor the means to purchase one, and she would be living in public housing, which in Pennsylvania did not permit pets.

They knew she would work well at the shop because she’d done a one-month internship and they looked forward to working with her and helping her with her new start, but she had no alternatives for her two cats other than to surrender them to a shelter. However, she lived in a rural area in West Virginia that didn’t even have a shelter, so she’d be surrendering them to animal control or…just letting them go. The requirements of her job training program required that she follow through with any viable job offer or lose her benefits, and she really wanted this position, but just could not leave her cats behind. They could stay at the groomer temporarily, and that would buy some time, but it was a very small shop and focused on dogs, and the cats would have to stay in cages. Still, that was better than…the alternative.

Could I help find a foster home? If not, could I foster the cats?

My goodness, that would be nine cats in my house. Could I do that? Should I do that? In just five months I’d gone from six cats to nine. Was I becoming a crazy cat lady? Was I going to fill my new house with cats?

In about the time it took you to read that list of questions to myself, I decided there was no question I’d help this young woman, and the groomer who had been so helpful to me. Sophie would be going to live with my mother after Sophie’s spay in a few weeks, and the cats could come here to the spare cat room when she left, so I would “only” have eight cats.

And so they did, two orange and white boys, Amigo and Hermano, for the bolder, more affectionate boy who was the woman’s best friend, and the somewhat timid boy who was his brother. She had learned Spanish and started calling him “Amigo” right away because he simply was her friend right away, and “Hermano” grew from that.

The boys initially stayed in the spare cat room for a month or so, but when it became hot in the summer I began to let them out. I was aware of how small my house was (and still is, with a total of 660 sq. ft. on three floors), and didn’t want to stress the six who were a tight group by adding two strangers. The previous house had been twice as large, and the rooms were larger too.

But they were friendly and their ages mixed right in with the rest of mine, and my cats were already accustomed to fosters. I had learned that introducing one new cat gradually was a good idea, so I let Amigo out first, briefly and then longer, then let Hermano out as well, and over the course of a few months they enjoyed their time with the gang.

The woman and her daughter took the bus here to visit about once per month, and brought food and toys for the boys, spending time to play with them. She eventually found a job that offered more hours and a chance to find an apartment outside of public housing where she could have her cats and continue building her life. In time she did find that apartment, and in March 1992, a little shy of a year from the time they’d first joined us, I drove Amigo and Hermano to her new apartment, to the joy of her daughter, especially.

I kept in touch with her for several years after the boys had rejoined her and her daughter, and she was actually able to move back to her home town in West Virginia after a while and continue to support herself. But we lost track of each other in time. She and her daughter and Amigo and Hermano seemed to be on their way to a good life. I’ll always be glad I could help them, all of them, including the boys.

I’ve fostered cats for women in transition a number of other times in the years I’ve been fostering, either for a friend of a friend, or for friends who worked at shelters or in a position to refer. I don’t discuss a few of them to protect the parties concerned, even years later. No matter the reason, and all the warnings I’d “get stuck” with the cat, the family usually visited and sent support for the cat, and always took them back when they were back in a position to care for them.

Now there are programs for this sort of thing and I’m so glad for it, because I saw first hand how important it was to the adults and to the children whose lives were being taken apart. Of all the material possessions you might lose and even threats to self, pets are often most important, especially to children, and last considered in a system that is set up for people and not pets.

I’ve also known people who’ve fostered pets for those who served jail time, or who unfortunately have to move in and out of psychiatric care, and even personal or nursing care. If there’s ever a chance to help a person in this way, give yourself a minute or two to discuss it with yourself, then just go ahead and do it. The impact on the people and the animals might be one of the best things you’ve ever done.

And it’s funny how the weather can bring back such a clear memory—it was a sunny, windy day in March when the story began, just like today…

The sketch at the top isn’t the two cats in the story, of course, but a sketch of two of my boys called “Loafing”.

Browse some rescued cats and kittens!

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