Mobsters Steal Heart of Dedicated Foster Mom

My biggest reward as a kitten foster came when I took the biggest risk.  Our foster coordinator posted availability for two kittens from the “mean streets of Austin” she dubbed “The Mobsters.”  She described them as hissy and spitty and really needing attention.  Later it was revealed that they also had, well, digestive issues.  What could be more “adorable” than two kittens you can’t touch but will have to clean up after repeatedly?  Uh...  The poor guys sat there and had to be reposted.  I still didn’t speak up. 

I went down to the shelter a few days later, hoping for some cute easy kittens out of a large batch brought in by a hoarder — but brought home The Mobsters.  Oh, my.  Sure enough — I couldn’t look at them without them hissing and spitting at me.  They were skinny, sick and scared to death.  But I knew that their lives depended on someone being up for the challenge.  

I spent a very patient two days staying near them, frustrated that I was barely able to touch them.  Fortunately they were ravenous and were so distracted by food that I was able to touch them gently each time I fed them.  I scruffed them and they allowed me to pick them up, but ran away after I put them down.



Then — on the second night: miracle.  I scruffed one (“Domino,” dubbed for his all white fur marked by three round black spots), and held him close, then relaxed my hold.  He did not try to escape!  Instead, he suddenly nuzzled me, as if to say,” Oh, thank goodness you are here!  Where have you been all my life?”  Something resembling a weak purr tried to escape from him.  I think that motor had not run in a very long while.  This sudden display of affection moved me to tears.

Ace, the little tuxedo kitty, was a harder sell.  But a couple of days later, they both allowed me to hold and cuddle them — when they weren’t busy playing tag.  After that, they were my little buddies!  They stayed close by all day long, playing at my feet and cuddling when they wore out. 

I nursed them through their digestive issues and then through a week long bout with the dreaded URI.   They ate like mad and developed little pot bellies.

They also LOVED my dog, Jazzy, and could not get enough of him.

After three weeks, they were fat, healthy, and very sweet.  I took them back to the shelter, confident they would be adopted quickly.  And another stroke of luck for them — they were adopted by a wonderful family who vowed to spoil them rotten.  And given that their last cat lived to the ancient age of 25, I have no doubt about that!

Ace and Domino were two reformed Mobsters who stole nothing but my heart.