Fostering feral kittens makes me happy.

I imagine it’s also a bit like having a baby in the house, but I wouldn’t actually know – not having had one myself. I’m probably way off base even suggesting they’re remotely similar. So let’s just pretend I never made that analogy, shall we? Suffice it to say fostering takes perseverance. But in the end it’s definitely all worth it.

I’ve yet to name my newest foster. Here’s why: if he doesn’t become socialized enough to get adopted, it’s somehow easier for me to give him up to become an outdoor cat. I’d then acclimate him to his new digs through a process called relocation. That translates into a 3-week holding period on the property of the folks who have agreed to let him live in their yard. Once released, he’ll be given food, water and shelter while he also hunts rodents. It’s a win-win. Except for the rodents.

Oh crap. Is that a cat I see?

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