Last but not least in the lineup of my furry family is Mango, an orange and white tabby female. You’re probably relieved to hear this is the last chronicle since it’s taken a couple months to introduce you to each animal. Let me tell ya, coming up with new blog posts 52 times a year isn’t easy (and why I sheepishly reprint some from years ago). I’m counting on you not remembering them because sometimes even I don’t.

Anyway, when Mango was a feral kitten, a friend’s neighbor fostered her. He’s a cat guy (yes, they actually exist). But when he couldn’t keep her any longer, I decided to foster her and get my orange cat fix since I have a thing for them.

But before I worked with her I found a family in town who wanted a kitten to be buddies with their young cat. So I brought Mango to them for a 2-week trial period. The wife called me two days later saying Mango was shut down and wasn’t the cat they envisioned having. So she came home with me. My intent was to eventually have Marin Humane adopt her out after I socialized her. Best laid plans and all that…

Fast forward weeks later when it became evident Mango was who she was going to be — my typical failed foster that didn’t fit the mold of an adoptable cuddly kitten nor the feisty feral-ish feline I could relocate. So here we go again…failed foster #10.

Now don’t get me wrong; I have to say I’m grateful I adopted Mango because she’s painfully shy and reserved much of the time, unlike her siblings. Why? Who knows. I suppose cats are like people; they’re beings who have similar characteristics but who also possess their own unique personality traits. And Mango has some interesting traits. One day she loves being with the other cats…

The next day she prefers to be an introverted hermit…

I’ve had Mango for four years now and not much has changed. None of my friends have ever seen her. Heck, I barely see her. She hides much of the day under my bed. The only time I can pet Mango is when I’m lying in bed. She’ll plant herself on my chest, purring and loving every minute of it. Unfortunately, one minute is about as long as it lasts. If I dare to move an inch, she’s airborne like one of those flying bats. And just like that, our bonding time is over.

Poor Mango is afraid of her own shadow. It must be hard living like that but I try to ease her anxiety. When she wants to go into the backyard, she meows at the door until I open it. (She has yet to discover the dog door.) She plops herself onto the patio, blissfully rolling on her back. She then explores the second level of the yard before sprinting back to the door five short minutes later, all the while looking over her shoulder for the boogeyman.

I believe Mango was meant for me. If she’d been forced to live as a feral, she’d live each day in fear. No animal should have to do that. I let her be who she is, which is not the average house cat, but that’s okay. Consequently, I have a home full of 10 furry souls, each one unapologetically themselves. And as it turns out, that suits me just fine.

So that concludes the chronicling of my 10 failed fosters! Let me celebrate with you…