Now sit back as I blast you with insane cuteness.
It only took about a month for most of the people (not the awesome ones I still hear a little from) I used to associate with to fall to the wayside and drop out of my life once I quit my job (like all those over-used sayings teach us about fake friends and real...although, for me, the "real" ones tend to be just myths). Even quicker than that have been the association with the adopters of those three beautiful baby kittens I fostered.
In hindsight, I knew that expecting something like what Emily and I have was not only asking for too much, but would be unrealistic to expect. Still, I didn't really properly prepare myself for just how easy it is to completely write someone off. Especially when you've been emotionally and financially invested in to something you gave away for free.
It doesn't hit me often that I miss the kitts. In fact, this is the first since I've given them away. Having kept Pageant has done more wonders than I ever could have thought it would. She's helped me forget sadness, move on and find happiness in how lucky I am to have her, Finn and Artemis.
Since the adoptions, the only other kitten besides Pageant that I've given real thought to is Nubé; since I've been graciously able to see him when I and my mother visit Ashley.
He's absolutely gorgeous and is blossoming amazingly. He has his quirks just like Pageant has a few of her own (some of them tell-tale signs of not having a cat-momma, ex. suckling on their own paws or, as Pageant does, blankets), but overall he's a picture-perfect fit with his family. Now, Ash, you just need to get him neutered (wink wink).
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Despite that I see Nubé and get to hold him, emotionally, I still miss him in some sense like I do Napoleon and Persephone (the owners changed her name, but for the sake of the blog and because she will always be Persephone to me, we'll keep it the same here). Even though I'm saying all of this, maybe it sounds backwards, but if I had the opportunity, I wouldn't want any of them back. The care and time it took to raise them was it for me. The emotional investment in itself was enough to send me over the edge. Still, I want to explain the human aspect where it involves animals. Perhaps be able to make some sense to myself in all of this.
Let me tell you though: it's one of the most joyous things in the world to hear from adopters when you've fostered one of their babies. I'd call the feeling giddy, but if I were forced at gun point to explain it colorfully, I'd describe it like this:
Imagine if someone (somehow) were blowing a bunch of bubbles in your stomach. As you read or listen further on how the foster babies are doing, the bubbles grow in quantity, causing a tickling, giggling sensation to rise from your throat. Eventually the amount becomes too much for your body to handle and you explode.
The result of the happiness ends in explosion.
That's how I felt at least. I can't speak for others, but I know when the kittens were adopted out and I received any texts from the adopters, I had to keep checking my face to hide my excitement even though I wanted to spontaneously combust (or as my mother calls it: contaniumly combustion...love you, mom) with the information, shoot up from the couch, do a little dance and break out in to song of what they said, to my mom and dad.
I guess because of that overtly happy feeling, I'm a bit morose that I don't receive anything anymore. In my mind, I know that's how it should be. In my heart, I beg for just a tiny scrap of insight.
Age I do believe has a lot to do with it, though I won't credit it entirely. I adopted out to a younger age group. Addressing or updating an old lady who fostered a kitten they now have would not, in any way, be on the top of their "to do" list, if it was even lucky enough to make the list at all. And I'm just not bold enough to ask, though it is my job to do so.
But this is a blog. And ahm goin tah geev eet to yooz straight: it bothers me. Otherwise, I wouldn't be typing it on here. I wouldn't give a flippity-flap if I weren't spouting this doo-wop in the first place. When someone mentions something in a huff and then says at the end "it's okay though. I don't care." Nine out of ten times that means they do, indeed, care and in some form, on this odd-ball of an earthly plane, it bothers them.
Seriously though. Regardless of whether there is some inkling, nagging little butt-munch thieving these thoughts and storing them for a random burst of failure, I'm just looking for an outlet to the insanity aforementioned.
I miss my kitts! I don't want them back (dear god, no), but I miss them greatly.
In happier news, I just received my copy of "Lost Souls: Found! Inspiring Stories About Pets with Disabilities, Volume II". Why is this happier news? Because Finn is in it!! A few months ago I submitted his story (in a greatly condensed version) to Happy Tails Books as their website was being showcased on "a newly created page for special needs animals" which I follow on Facebook. They were asking for people to share their stories for a book they were creating. The way it was worded, it sounded more like a contest that would be scrutinized for the best submissions, but I decided to submit Finn's story anyway because I just love that kid so much!A while later I was emailed by one of the creators, Kyla Duffy, and was asked to revise their edited edition of my submission. After a few back and forth emails, I was told the story needed to go through further editing before I would be notified as to where the story might be placed. Apparently they had a lot more stories than they had originally anticipated and because of this there was a bit of delay in them being able to get to every author. Despite that, I was notified again a little more than a week later that my story would be compiled in the second volume of the three volume series.
It took a month for the company to debut volume one's pre-release at the beginning of July and another to debut volume two's in August. I was beyond ecstatic to receive an email with my author certificate and information about the release, but by that time I was prepping for vacation. Deciding not to mention anything about it until I held the tangible object in my hand, I went on vacation and then got sick.
Now in better health, I remembered the book, quickly jumped on Amazon and ordered it. AND AHM SO FREEKIN EXCITED TO HAVE IT IN MAH HAHNDS! My filthy, sweaty hands.
As you might have guessed, I've read my passage over uh-guh-gillion tahms. I've read other stories too...I'm just so happy to see Finn involved that after I read another person's story, I hop right back to Finn. Once I was able to read the other stories, I was a little disappointed that I didn't add more, but I wasn't aware of how much room I had to work with at the time and also how much was too much. If I knew I had more space to utilize, there's a teensy, weensy, tahny chance I would have gone overboard.
Anyway, here's the passage if you're curious (the picture and everything):
"Invisible
Finn doesn't appear to have any disabilities at first glance, but that's only if you spot him before he runs away. His disability is the invisible kind--fear and anxiety--which, for a time, had him practically paralyzed.
This Spaniel-Mix's wonderful foster mother, Emily, had found Finn curled in the back of a kennel. He was ignoring the outside world, awaiting euthanization in a high-kill shelter. At first, Emily had passed him by, leaving the shelter for her long trip home. When she later realized that the single overlooked pup would be one of the first to die, she called a nearby rescue and asked them to take Finn out of the shelter for her because she wasn't sure if she'd make it back in time. As soon as they got him out, Emily took him in as a foster.
According to his records, Finn had been collected from a hoarding situation with hundreds of other dogs in a single household. He had most likely been abused, as Finn was terrified of humans, especially males.
Emily spent a couple of months working with Finn before I came across his picture on Petfinder.com. I'd been searching for a dog for a while then, but I had yet to settle on one because I was nervous about whether I could handle a dog, let alone a special-needs dog, which is what my heart was calling for.
The moment I met Finn, my concerns melted away, and I knew he was the one for me. Sure, he ran from me at our first meeting, but perhaps that was the beauty of it. I felt the need to help him develop a better rapport with people and learn how to just be a dog.
It has now been eight months since I adopted Finn, and while he still has a long way to go, he's getting much braver. At first, he dodged interactions with my father and brother. He sat in his crate for the better part of the day and only came out briefly at night to eat and drink. He never barked, and I had to gently prod him to get him to do even the simplest of tasks.
It took a while to see any changes in Finn, but the efforts weren't in vain. Finn now comes and goes through the house as he pleases. He still needs to be on a leash outside every now and again because he gets scared easily, but he can usually roam freely. He's given me the pleasure of hearing his voice on a few occasions and, for the most part, he acts like any other dog when he's around me. With strangers, it's a different story, but we're working on that.
Adopting and rehabilitating a special-needs animal is a long road. The decision to do so is not on that should be taken lightly, but the rewards of seeing a challenged animal live a happy life are worth the trial and effort.
-Jessica Russell"
By the passage you can tell that I wrote that in May. It was only eight months then. I've had Finn eleven months now!! Can you believe it? It's almost a full year! And even since that passage, Finn has improved. No leash for when we go outside, he's gained some healthy looking weight, no more sleepless nights because of uncontrollable flatulence, he's visibly happier (especially with my dad around), he doesn't vomit when my brother comes over any longer (even though he still has quite a bit of trepidation) and he's confident enough to where he's not just urinating, he's marking his territory (trust me, this is a huge step)!
Those are a lot of little things, but they're all improvements. I won't say everything's hunky dory because I still have to keep an eye on him so that he doesn't rip up valuables or chew on hard plastic, he also still soils himself in the company of strangers or at the vet and he knows how to push mom's buttons, but he's so cute I can't stay mad at him long.
I will say, I'm eager to share his story all of the time because of how far we've come and given the circumstances. I can't thank Emily enough for saving him, she's such an amazing person and after fostering kittens, I've come to realize just how difficult and taxing fostering can be. I've earned so much more respect for her simply from that experience.
In the future, I think I could be a good candidate for adopting older dogs and giving them forever homes to live out the rest of their days (however long or short that might be), but the temporary madness of fostering is cut for a much stronger breed of human than myself; someone who isn't afraid to cry and let their emotions show after they've freely given so much love to an animal that they'll be giving away. I give myself emotional constipation so badly that I get backed up enough to where I cause a horrible bout of depression months after the adoptions.
So if you're like me where you tend to hold things in, too worried to share (or burden as I tend to stupidly think it) your problems with someone else so that you get it off your chest, then do yourself a favor and don't foster animals. I was lucky enough to have my mother there for me when I broke down, but it's not worth taking the chances at sadness implosion. Let's leave some things to other awesome people on this planet, yeah?
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