Friday evening, we tried to watch Julia and give the foster kittens some downstairs time.
Currently, we are fostering four kittens. Horton, Logan, and Quartermaine have been with us since August 2021 (about nine months old now), while Molly Lansing-Davis joined us in October 2021 (about 7 months). Her two sisters were adopted last month.
They’ve all worked their way up from being crated to the official kitten room (bathroom) to the big kitten room (our bedroom) and now spend their time merrily running around the room, watching birdies through the big windows, tumbling, playing, chasing, and driving resident room cat Helena Cassadine absolutely bonkers (she loves them.)
Socializing has been tough during quarantines. Molly is all ready to find her home, the older kittens are less confident around people and need continued work. So we have rotated other cats into the room regularly and invited some friends over to hang with them. Now we are trying to get them to feel comfortable leaving the big kitten room and spending time in the main part of the house. Because they don’t have a great “recall” to their names, we can’t just let them roam for fear they would take refuge in some Godforsaken nook in the basement or attic.
So we open the bedroom door and let them come out on their own, with some artificial barriers pointing them to the first floor.
Molly was out of the bedroom like lightning, roaming the first floor like she’d been there her whole life. Horton and Logan cautiously tiptoed out, Laura scopped up Horton to help her manifest to the first floor. I tried the same with Logan who made it almost to the bottom step before he panicked and ripped my favorite shirt.
Quartermaine simply refused to leave the bedroom so he had some alone time. He’s the biggest of them all and a bit of a bully to be honest, but he’s a scaredy cat. Not even his beloved Churu treats lured him out.
Downstairs, Molly played and danced and frolicking around the rooms. Horton and Logan darting furtively as if they’ve been tossed into a B grade movie without a script. Molly and resident cat Muriel escape upstairs making short shrift of the gate, but sweet baby Molly comes back when I call her while Muriel looked at her with disgust and contempt before coming downstairs herself. Muriel is a badass and apparently wants to make Molly her protege. Nope.
After a bit, it was retrieval time. Laura scooped up Molly and returned her to her beloved Quartermaine. They are thick as thieves and make a nice potential twosie adoption.
Then how the fuck do we get the other two? I put on Julia to lull them into thinking we were distracted. We crept, leapt, scurried, and chased. We played aloof and played with the toys. Finally, Laura caught Logan in the cat tree with a beach towel. Up he went.
For the next hour, Horton refused to cooperate with the mamas. The upstairs crew were galloping and chasing and having a raucous unsupervised romp. Horton looked up at the ceiling, willing herself to reunite without giving in to us. Using a broom, yardstick, two blankets, and a towel, we finally persuaded her to be picked up by Laura. Rather, she clung to the cat tree crying piteously for just five more minutes until she acknowledged defeat and stoicly endured the trip upstairs where she joined in the merriment.
Our living room looks just as you’d imagine with makeshift barriers (USELESS!) toys flung everywhere, 46 cat food plates, and a shell-shocked crew of resident cats picking their jaws off the floor.
If you want a super sweet curious brave kitten, pick Molly.
If you want an independent cat who enjoys his space and being petted in small doses, Quartermaine is your man.
If you want a gorgeous duo who are stubborn, frisky, but ultimately compliant, the Siamese twins are for you.
If you want to watch Julia, get a dog.
If you find a lovely tee shirt with the word BITCH in simple black lettering, get me two. I’m trying not to weep too much about the closure of my beloved Bitch Media but this torn shirt has me distraught.
Visit Pittsburgh CAT to learn how to adopt any of these kittens. Tell all your friends.
We have now fostered 25 kittens/cats since 2018. You think we’d be able to outmaneuver a six pound Siamese. You’d be wrong. Our relationship endures, but our quality time mostly involves shoving pills into unwilling mouths, scooping litter, or figuring out who has which cat in sight so they can be put in the proper room at night.
PS: Everyone forgave us our trespasses, ate their dinner, ran a few more victory laps around the bedroom furniture, used the litter box (sigh) and passed out for the night. Helena just shook her head and went back to bed under my dresser.