Fostering is like that.
King was an emaciated orange cat, estimated to be about 8 months – so he was well past “cute kitten” phase even though he was still a baby. He was a long-hair, for sure, even though his coat was more fuzzy with dust and slick with oil and dirt than fur.
And he was so skinny!
When you went to pick him up, he turned feather-light when you wanted to believe he had some weight under that fur.
B.B. King was NOT a fan of me. I imagine for good reason – as humans we put him into the state he was in, he had every right to be angry. He didn't owe me gratitude, I owed him love and maybe enough food to put on a couple pounds.
Fostering is also like that.
King’s first order of business was to hide. He kept low to the ground, bones scrunched under his tattered tiger coat as if he could will himself smaller while giant eyes locked on me only seconds from panic as I laid on my belly outside of the room and talked to him.
His bones betrayed him and a can of food was too hard for him to resist even with the amount of fear he had. He rammed his face into the bowl and did not look up or twitch his tail until every shred was gone. So I gave him another can and he licked the bowl clean.
Two cans down, he went back to hiding and I left more food out for him and gave him some space alone.
Nope. Not this time. Lucky hated King as much as King disliked me. Lucky hated King, King hated me, Lucky liked me, King hated Lucky...
So, I sat alone in my small den and talked to King. I worked more in the den so he could watch me and listen to all the sounds of typing and games and music.
Most people think the “magic” of earning an animal’s trust is when you cuddle and pet them. That’s not true, it’s actually when they play.
Play is the most magical thing when you have a rough foster because it means they are finally feeling a little more comfortable, have more energy and are willing to engage with you in something not related to survival.
Play works the same for people.
King wouldn’t play with me, but, he enjoyed wrestling with a little mouse toy for a second so there was hope. It was as if he would start playing and then remember some horror that might happen and forget the toy to run under something or carefully eye the whole room. He often wanted to collect all the toys and sit on them while looking around waiting for someone to rob him.
King's first reaction to me was what had been taught first - everything could result in pain and he better flinch. Even when he finally let me pet him – he would panic and bite me and run hide. I didn’t yank or yell or get mad when he bit me. You can’t get mad at someone’s fear reaction.
We continued along; King not being into me but eating as much as possible.
I saw while he was good at taking cat baths, he was actually a couple different colors...
...I had to give him a bath because he looked BAD and since he let me pet him, I figured now was a good time to destroy that trust by soaking him.
Let's just say he was locked between abject horror and shock as I scrubbed him.
Twice.
The water ran black and then green from the amount of dirt, oil and antifreeze or something weird locked in his coat. Wherever he had been hiding, it had been dirty. Cats don't like being dirty so I can image his street life was pretty rough. Then I wrapped him in towels and brushed him in front of the space heater until he was a polished vision of a cat.
King did forgive me for the bath.Eventually.
Really, King had a loving soul and seemed like such a tender heart. He was not handed the best start and, with me, he wasn't in the best forever situation. Stuck in my den or alone or with just me was no life for this guy. He needed a family and a do-over.
He was already really getting into head rubs.
As the weeks passed, he venture onto my lap for a minute or two, then some unknown shadow in his mind would cause him to return to a hiding spot. King went as far as to lay next to me and even took a nap on the couch while touching me once. I even got to use him as an arm rest once while he napped.
He loved food. He was learning there was other stuff to love, too. Just not me.
Then I got the message - He got adopted! It was a friend of a friend on Facebook. She was approved and was ready to pick him up.
I showed up with a carrier full of King - still thin but gaining weight and clean. I even made sure to brush him really good so he looked extra-handsome. I was not sure if he would bite someone so I told him to just be nice.Since the store was new to him, he sat on my lap where he knew he would be safe as we waited.
The family came and a young boy came into the corral area to check out this cat while his mom went over the paperwork. I was waiting for King to bite him. To run. To display all that behavior. I told the mother he was a little shy, I explained rapidly that he was a little nervous right now...
..And this rough and tough scardy cat walked right up to that boy and that was it.
Something switched on in King as fast as he got his new name – Tank.
It was love.
There was no sign of the scared cat that had been dragged off the streets half-starved and filthy. There was no sign of the cat that bit and hid and ran. BB King was dead - officially.
What existed now was Tank. And Tank was in love, leaving all his past behind with me for a new life. I swear he smiled as he loved on this boy.
That is the power of fostering that a lot of fosters don’t get to see – the full circle thing. I got the bedraggled mean creature who endured horrors and was unsure about everything and I didn't give up on him ever - so when he went to his forever home, he was ready to really be loved.
You see, as a foster, you love them first when it’s the hardest thing to do, so someone else can love them last.
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