Farrokh Bulsara

This is how I met the love of my life, no not my husband, but my Maine coon cat.  

Things were going well and I was fostering like a pro.  My kittens were healthy, strong, social, and finding great homes.  Then I was contacted by a local rescue to help her socialize two timid gentlemen named Schmitty and Buster.  I had two girls, so it was fine for me to take on two more for a few weeks.  Buster was a white and gray tabby and he was very timid.  He cowered in the corner and it took me removing the carrier lid to get him into my arms.  Then I opened the seconded carrier and was presented with the most beautiful, mustached, black and white fluff balls I had every seen.  He was timid but his golden eyes locked with mine and I fell hard and fast.  I was about to break the first rule of fostering: don’t fall in love!!

I began working with them both and things were going well, but I found myself pay No extra care and attention to Schmitty.  I couldn’t help myself.  He cuddled me and suckled on my fluffy blanket when I was handling him.  He made the sweetest and softest biscuits in my lap.  My heart was beginning to break because I was going to have to give him back soon.  I went to my husband one night and I said, hey...I know that we have 6 geriatric cats and two dogs already, but I’m in love with this kitten.  He said we couldn’t keep him, he was right, we had too many as it was.  My heart was breaking and I was depressed because I knew that this was different than just caring about one of my fosters.  The day I took him back I sobbed, the rescue coordinator told me she would keep me posted on his adoption.

I begged almost every night, and then I put it to him like this: one day SOON, our cats are going to pass away.  They love this kitten too, he loves the dogs, and San (one of our 16 year old cats), and I can’t watch them all die without having one around to get me through it.  He agreed and I called the rescue coordinator to pick him up, she told me that she was glad I called because he had seemed depressed.

The minute we went to the adoption center at Petsmart, I watched this sad, fluffy lump go from sulking in the corner to scratching at the window to get to me.  He was ecstatic and chattering as soon as he saw me.  Chris handled the paperwork and I kissed my sweet boy over and over and promised I would never leave him again.  He purred and chirped in my arms and stayed on my lap all the way home.  

We named him after Freddie Mercury because he has the best little mustache imaginable and when he meows it sounds like soft singing.  Today, he is spoiled as hell and spends his days being pampered, cuddling our dogs, following Sam, digging at our glass window, and yelling at slight changes in his environment.  He is the smartest most handsome boy in the world and I love him dearly.

Here’s the part that people don’t tell you when you “foster fail”, your colleagues who have done rescue for a long time will react two ways: some will be just as happy as you are and celebrate because they know what it’s like to just not let one go, the rest will chastise you and call you a failure and make you feel horrible for keeping one who could have been adopted by someone else.  To them I say, he was adopted by someone who loves him more than can be expressed.  I don’t have to wait for a cat that “can’t be adopted” that I don’t have a bond with to stick around.  He is a perfect fit in our home and I don’t regret our decision one bit.