Fostering Awe

Pet carrier in hand, I stand at the front of the animal shelter yet again. The receptionist hands me some files, “You’re good to go. Thanks again for making it here on such short notice. We really do appreciate your help.”

“It’s never a problem!” I adjust my shoulders, trying not to sound as strained as I am, “Anything for these little guys.” I’m ready to go, they really could use some air freshener in here.

She stands to pull open the door and I shimmy by, struggling not to jam this bulky carrier into her.

“Remember, we’re here if they give you any problems, love!” She smiles, waving off the fosters and I. They will, they always do. But that’s why I’m here yet again, my life could always use kitten-degree problems. Soon after I’m off to my car, loading my cargo into the passenger seat.

Before I know it I’m sitting in front of the carrier on my living room floor, flipping through the info files of this litter. Two boys, one girl. Five weeks old. Medium hair, tabbies. I flip open the top of the carrier, easing in to grab the first one. My hand fastens around its tiny, fluffy body, lifting it out to get a better look. I hold it close to my face, unable to stop my voice from lifting into baby talk. “Looks like you’re one of my boys!” He yawns, melting into my hands. “I know, I know, you’re sleepy. You can go back to sleep soon, just let me get your weight first.”

I weigh him and lower him into the soft playpen where he and his siblings will be spending the next few weeks before adoption. Half of my living room alone is cat trees, scratching posts, playpens, and beds. I can’t remember a time when I didn't dedicate my time to scooping litter boxes and filling bottles. Fostering kittens gives me a sense of purpose, a way to leave my mark.

Next I pull out another one of the boys, this time greeted with a chorus of tiny mews. He’s trying to wriggle out of my hands, paws flailing and mouth wailing. “Well hello to you too!” I coo, baby talk again. He must be hungry, feeding time is soon. Once he’s weighed and settled in the playpen, it’s time to meet the girl of the litter.

“Alright. Let’s make this easy, yeah?” I pick her up and out the carrier, getting my first good look at the sister of the three, and apparently the smallest. She’s noticeably lighter than her brothers, though she looks healthy. She lays in my hands and stares at me blankly, baby blues blinking slowly. My face softens and I beam at her, “You’re just adorable! Look at your pretty eyes!”

“Thank you!”

What?

The kitten’s eyes sparkle up at me and she continues staring, like she’s awaiting a response to the words I could’ve sworn I just heard her say. Maybe I need to give fostering a break… it may be getting to my head.

I decide it was just an oddly enunciated meow and begin to take her weight, but staying still on the scale is not part of her plans. “C’mon baby girl, hold still for just one second!”

“No, this thing is cold! I want to go in there with them!” She momentarily stops her struggling and looks up at me.

My jaw drops in awe. I know for a fact now that I haven’t gone off the deep end, she just spoke to me. This kitten just spoke words to me? I take a moment to process what this could mean, what I should do from here. I’m oddly not fearful nor confused, nor disoriented... I’m thrilled!

“...Hello?”

“Yes? You heard me, right? Put me in there!”

She is! She’s really talking to me! This kitten, after all the ones I’ve met before, is, for some reason, talking to me. Is this an excuse not to talk to people? If kittens can finally talk back to me, maybe I won’t be considered crazy for only talking to them.

“Why am I still on this cold thing? Where is my bed!? Y’know, I really expected some hospitality from you! I’m disappointed, you’re not even listening!” She leaps up and extends her front paws forward, latching her needle-adorned paws onto my shirt and trying to climb up.

“I’m… I’m listening.” I stammer, picking her up and holding her up to eye level. “How are you talking to me though? Kittens, they can’t do that?”

“We can. Well, I can. The same way you do, I just speak,” she states casually. Like a five week-old kitten speaking in fully-fledged sentences isn’t something to have questions about. I guess she never thought twice about it. Do kittens think twice about anything?

“Your brothers didn’t say anything,” I wonder. “Can they talk too?”

“Nope, I don’t think so. I’ve never seen them talk to one of you like I do.”

Before I can reply, a sudden crashing noise from the kitchen turns both of our heads. I exchange glances with the kitten before quickly holding her closer and hurrying to find the source of the sound.

I stop in my tracks upon the sight of shattered ceramic and potting soil scattered around my kitchen floor, a large uprooted succulent toppled over in the middle. I look up and see both of the other kittens somehow on the countertop, eyes wide and locked on me and their sister. I groan. I’m used to the incidents that follow after curious kittens escape their playpens, but the mess never gets easier to clean.

“I guess I’ve gotta keep a closer eye on you two! Your sister had me rather preoccupied,” I gazed at the two of them. They were way too cute to stay mad at.

One of the brothers promptly turns towards the other, “Yeah, but, to be fair, it was all his fault!”

No. Way.