There, I said it. I’m not exactly proud of it, but I’m not embarrassed by it either. It is what it is. To be honest, I’m actually okay with it and I’ll tell you why.

As you know, I’m an animal person. I’ve had many cats and dogs in my lifetime so I can’t imagine not having pets living with me. Working in cat rescue, I’ve fostered 272 kittens to date. Over the years, my menagerie grew as I’d add a cat to the count here and there when one of my fosters wasn’t going to be adoptable. I ask you,

Some cats are what I call tweeners; they’re stuck between being feral and domestic — too feral to be adopted yet too domestic to adapt to a feral life. Those are the ones this sucker ends up with.

So, when Marin Humane asked if I could find a foster for two kittens, some of our volunteers each took a day to work with the kittens at our local Elks Lodge where we converted a room into the “kitten room.”

For four months, the group worked hard to tame the kittens. When they determined they weren’t adoption candidates, I tried fostering them. Again, what a sucker. After a couple of months, I realized they were tweeners who I’d likely end up with. Seems my specialty is adopting semi-feral cats.

Now don’t get me wrong; I had to slowly integrate these two into my fold of six cats and two dogs; not exactly an easy feat. So I bought a gate to separate them so the newbies could live in my office but still see the others, and vise versa.

Then, one day I discovered the orange boy escaped the room by jumping from my bookshelf up and over the gate. He seemed extremely happy with himself, but his sister, the tortoiseshell, was frantic without him. They are practically inseparable, so I let her out and crossed my fingers.

So here’s the thing. It’s been an eventful few months with these two, who I have yet to name. Acclimating new cats into an established group of felines can be tricky. Luckily, the orange boy turned out to be a lover boy. And no, that won’t be his name.

In addition, he’s sweet, gentle, kind, and loving to all my pets, including my dogs. He now greets some of the the cats by attaching himself to their side, walking with them as though they’re super glued together. They seem a bit taken aback, but, regardless, they let him do it.

The boy rolls onto his back for belly rubs and since he’s learning to meow (feral cats rarely meow), he squeaks instead of meowing. I tried calling him squeaker, but eventually he’ll learn to meow and that name will make no sense.

It took the two of them a while to figure out how to use the dog door, but now that they have, I no longer need to coax them inside at night, which was an ordeal. Once they are all inside I lock them in for the night. (In case you wonder why I let my cats into the backyard, it’s because it’s escape-proof with the Oscillot fencing system. It works wonderfully. The cats enjoy my large backyard and are safe from predators and cars.)

Anyway, the female is an actual feral, afraid of just about everything and everyone except her brother. She runs for her life if I get too close, so I don’t. But just recently, she plopped herself down a mere 10 feet from me and didn’t sprint off when we made eye contact. Progress!

Surprisingly, those having the hardest time are the three amigos, Piper, Dash, and Skye, They’re too afraid to eat in the guest room with the newbies, so I’ve resorted to feeding them on the dining room table, like they’re my guests. The nerve!

So that’s my story of being a sucker and I’m sticking to it. I can assure you I will NOT be adopting more semi-ferals other than to foster them. Mark these words — you can bet on it. Of that I’m almost certain.