A Little Baby Foster Kitten

Fromage with her ball and formula splashed across her nose.

In fact, the world does revolve around me.

black cat behind curtain

Fromage being elusive and mysterious.

I had a chance to visit with Fromage, the neonatal kitten I fostered in 2009, a tiny kitten screeching for food and comfort somehow lost and found in an abandoned lot during the struggles of the G20 Summit in Pittsburgh in 2009. I took the photo above about a week after she arrived, but the photos in the article below were from her first few days. So much happened in a short time: she arrived three months after I lost Namir, Dickie came to live with us for a year a few weeks after she arrived, and the Fantastic Four had their first taste of fostering a kitten—and taught me a lesson in nurturing, that it’s best done by one, or four, of your own kind! She’s all grown up now at 3 and I still get to visit her. The other articles are linked below; enjoy watching her grow up!

Fromage on Day One--in my house, at least!

Little, little kittens fascinate me. A miniature that can easily fit in my outstretched hand with a Hello Kitty head and stubby legs sits and licks the side of her paw then swipes it across her face, though she sways perilously from side to side with the effort.

As soon as their eyes have barely opened at ten days to two weeks of age every moment is spent building skills and coordination, gathering knowledge out of the air and fearlessly exploring their surroundings and conquering the errant toy or human foot that gets in their way. They never worry about falling down or making mistakes or looking stupid.

By six weeks they can climb a scratching post, run faster than you, chase and kill a small insect or even a tiny animal if necessary, give themselves a complete bath and get into more trouble than you can imagine because they have yet to develop any common sense.

Fromage attempts to talk to Basement Cat.

Fromage attempts to talk to Basement Cat.

I am fostering a very young kitten for the first time in many, many years. She came in at about two weeks of age, fitting herself from nose to rump easily on the length of my hand, her eyes open but that cloudy blue gray that still doesn’t focus. A friend’s daughter heard her at night, tangled in brambles in a city lot, squeaking with a volume hard to believe in something that weighed just a few ounces. Her little life depended on that volume, though, and her persistence and vocal skill paid off in her rescue and is typically indicative of a cat with a strong will to live, able to face down most ills that may befall her through the rest of her life.

That early audaciousness has translated into an easy adaptability and an outgoing, affectionate personality, even in less than a week. At about three weeks old she had doubled her entry weight, at least by my little postal scale, was a little longer than my outstretched hand, her legs had grown so she was at least off the floor, her eyes were clear and her pupils reacted to light, and she was ready for action.

Fromage gets lost in one of my skirts. I hope it doesn't damage her young eyes.

At this age she is considered “neo-natal”, not newborn but still recently-born and needing some critical nurturing. Her body was really too young to digest solid food at first, so I purchased kitten formula and a tiny bottle with miniature nipples to fit on the top. She was confused by the bottle, which did not feel like Mom, so I put a few drops of formula on the inside of my arm and got her little face in it. It had warmed to my skin temperature and she began lapping immediately and kneading my arm. I slipped the nipple of the bottle toward her tongue and squeezed a little more formula onto my arm, and eventually she got the connection and finally nursed from the bottle for a little but mostly from the crook of my arm and then from a shallow dish.

It took one session to recognize the cloth I put on my lap when I fed her. She danced and squeaked and climbed all over me as I sat down on the floor with her formula.

Good girl!

Her little digestive system also needs “stimulation” in order to be able to eliminate, as her mom would lick her in strategic areas to make sure what goes in comes out; this is accomplished by me with a warm, damp rag. Because I was already handling her already I simply put her in the litterbox when she was ready to go. On her second day here she got in the box herself, the little one I set up for her like a potty chair next to the big adult litterbox.

Scratching around in the big girl box.

In just a few days both the warm damp rag and the little girl litterbox were history because she decided she was a big girl and would use the big girl litterbox, and she didn’t need any help. The third time she got in the box she began scratching around in the litter first. How the heck did she learn that?! Scratching in the litter before elimination and burying afterward are instinctive, plus most kittens imitate their mother if she’s around, but the last litter of kittens had their mom, Mimi, an excellent momcat, and still I don’t remember them using the box that successfully or that young.

At the beginning the formula seemed to satisfy her. By the end of the week she was squeaking that it just wasn’t enough so I got food appropriate for her age and introduced her to it. She barely said hello to it before she was gobbling it down, then lapping formula out of a dish. In just a few days she had no interest in the formula at all but ate her canned food mixed with formula and then with plain water, purring and talking as she ate.

She also knows the direction in which I disappear and presses her little nose in the crack between the bifold doors to the bathroom to call for me. After a few days I saw her little paw on the edge of the door giving it a shove. Oh, no, not already! I have a hook and eye to hold it closed, but if she learns that fast she’s going to be a terror.

Who is that kitten! Fromage sees her reflection in the trash can.

Who is that kitten! Fromage sees her reflection in the trash can.

Now at about four weeks her little squeaks of “ee-ee-ee” have matured into a more recognizable “mew-mew-mew”, her eyes are shading to green and she’s begun to pin back her ears and flap her little tail and run around the bathroom with great speed and coordination, climb what she can and stalk and ambush me, crouching beside the mint green toilet on the white tile floor where I’ll never notice a fuzzy black kitten.

This is all happening too fast. In her four weeks she’s gone from zero to small cat with no signs of stopping. Just in the two weeks she’s been with me she’s transformed from helpless squeaking fuzzball to capable kitten, formula to real food, pee on the floor to proper litterbox use. She has a big personality and I can see the type of adult she’ll become, friendly and outgoing, audacious and playful, that same will that saved her life also making sure that she is the center of attention wherever she goes.

She moves too fast, waving herself around to get me to rub her belly!

She moves too fast, waving herself around to get me to rub her belly!

I sit on the floor and let her run all over me. She climbs my shirt and plays with my chin, then she runs onto my outstretched legs, flops herself down in some nook, rolls over on her back and waves her little paws in the air, waiting for me to rub her belly. She then gets up and walks the length of my legs to my feet and climbs up onto my toes where she precariously balances.

Doing the Kitten Dance.

Doing the Kitten Dance.

After this gymnastic effort she leaps off my legs and does a few laps around the bathroom, stops to pin back her ears and arch her back and tail and do the little sideways dance that always cracks me up when kittens do this, eventually coming back to my lap and starting over.

I worry that she doesn’t have a buddy to wrestle with. They need to develop those muscles and coordination and social skills, but all she’s got is me. It’s not a good idea to use your hand to wrestle with a kitten because they usually grow to learn that human hands are toys and anyone can conclude that’s not a good idea when kitty gets bigger. I have plush toys that I hold in my hand when she wants to wrestle with me, and when she’s a little bigger and I won’t worry so much about her falling I’ll add a slanted scratching pad to her toys so she can climb and a few little cardboard boxes she can jump into.

Fromage beats up her plush toy instead of my hand!

This is the first time I haven’t had any of the nurturing kitties who took over fostering little ones as they got older and needed to learn big cat things. I relied on especially Moses and Stanley to teach the kitten important lessons, even if that meant Stanley playing soccer with the kitten, using the kitten as the soccer ball. Right now, Fromage is sleeping in the special “kitten bed”, the one I purchased for a long-ago kitty who helped me to foster kittens and all the kitties who have used it since then. Added in the bed are the small pillow with the gray kitty face that was Moses’ bed, and underneath that is Stanley ’s infamous pink sweater. Mimi’s Children slept in this bed, cuddled in the memories of all the other rescues who’ve lived with me, and Fromage returns to this bed frequently, so I guess they are still doing their magic.

Fromage rolls back and forth and plays with two toys at once.

I’ve been lucky Fromage has been healthy and progressed normally; I’ve fostered others orphaned young who had so many health issues it was hard to treat them all, upper respiratory infections, parasites, injuries, infections, all of them life-threatening, hard to believe something that little could fight off that much. But wherever Fromage emerged from she didn’t encounter any of the usual orphaned kitten illnesses or they would have evidenced by now. The bigger illnesses—I guess we’ll see later. Fromage certainly seems to be in control of her destiny, and perhaps that will keep her protected through the rest of her life.

And where did she get that name? The night my friend took her in and called me to ask what to do when she didn’t eat canned food, I told her to offer the kitten anything she would eat just to get something in her. Fromage chose a quality brie as her meal, so she was named the French word for “cheese”.

Other stories about Fromage:

A Little Life Saved

An Update on Fromage, My Little Foster Kitty

Visiting Feline Nieces and Nephews

Fromage Being Cute

—————————————

All images and text used on this site are copyrighted to Bernadette E. Kazmarski unless otherwise noted and may not be used in any way without my written permission. Please ask if you are interested in purchasing one as a print, or to use in a print or internet publication.


A Little Baby Foster Kitten

Fromage with her ball and formula splashed across her nose.

In fact, the world does revolve around me.

It’s hard to believe it’s been two years since a friend brought little Fromage to me, a tiny kitten screeching for food and comfort somehow lost and found in an abandoned lot during the struggles of the G20 Summit in Pittsburgh in 2009. I took the photo above about a week after she arrived, but the photos in the article below were from her first few days. So much happened in a short time: she arrived three months after I lost Namir, Dickie came to live with us for a year a few weeks after she arrived, and the Fantastic Four had their first taste of fostering a kitten—and taught me a lesson in nurturing, that it’s best done by one, or four, of your own kind! She’s all grown up now at 2, so she thinks, and I still get to visit her. The other articles are linked below; enjoy watching her grow up!

Fromage on Day One--in my house, at least!

Little, little kittens fascinate me. A miniature that can easily fit in my outstretched hand with a Hello Kitty head and stubby legs sits and licks the side of her paw then swipes it across her face, though she sways perilously from side to side with the effort.

As soon as their eyes have barely opened at ten days to two weeks of age every moment is spent building skills and coordination, gathering knowledge out of the air and fearlessly exploring their surroundings and conquering the errant toy or human foot that gets in their way. They never worry about falling down or making mistakes or looking stupid.

Fromage attempts to talk to Basement Cat.

Fromage attempts to talk to Basement Cat.

By six weeks they can climb a scratching post, run faster than you, chase and kill a small insect or even a tiny animal if necessary, give themselves a complete bath and get into more trouble than you can imagine because they have yet to develop any common sense.

I am fostering a very young kitten for the first time in many, many years. She came in at about two weeks of age, fitting herself from nose to rump easily on the length of my hand, her eyes open but that cloudy blue gray that still doesn’t focus. A friend’s daughter heard her at night, tangled in brambles in a city lot, squeaking with a volume hard to believe in something that weighed just a few ounces. Her little life depended on that volume, though, and her persistence and vocal skill paid off in her rescue and is typically indicative of a cat with a strong will to live, able to face down most ills that may befall her through the rest of her life.

That early audaciousness has translated into an easy adaptability and an outgoing, affectionate personality, even in less than a week. At about three weeks old she had doubled her entry weight, at least by my little postal scale, was a little longer than my outstretched hand, her legs had grown so she was at least off the floor, her eyes were clear and her pupils reacted to light, and she was ready for action.

Fromage gets lost in one of my skirts. I hope it doesn't damage her young eyes.

At this age she is considered “neo-natal”, not newborn but still recently-born and needing some critical nurturing. Her body was really too young to digest solid food at first, so I purchased kitten formula and a tiny bottle with miniature nipples to fit on the top. She was confused by the bottle, which did not feel like Mom, so I put a few drops of formula on the inside of my arm and got her little face in it. It had warmed to my skin temperature and she began lapping immediately and kneading my arm. I slipped the nipple of the bottle toward her tongue and squeezed a little more formula onto my arm, and eventually she got the connection and finally nursed from the bottle for a little but mostly from the crook of my arm and then from a shallow dish.

It took one session to recognize the cloth I put on my lap when I fed her. She danced and squeaked and climbed all over me as I sat down on the floor with her formula.

Read the rest of this entry »


An Update on Fromage, My Little Foster Kitty

photo of black cat and woman

Maggie looks adoringly at Fromage.

She’s quite the young lady, slender and affectionate while waving her fantastical tail.

The little charcoal gray fuzzball with the stubby tail and legs and Hello Kitty head is shaped quite differently these days! She is no less active and imaginative, though, and has each a feline “brother” and “sister”.

And an absolutely adoring person from whom I hear regular updates on Fromage’s personality and antics.

Who doesn’t like to hear great returns about the kitty they fostered! I guessed Fromage at two weeks when she came here, hazy eyes, unsteady gait and ears hardly lifted up on her head. I hadn’t had a neonatal kitten for so long I had nothing approaching formula on hand much less little bottles. We made do until I got the right stuff, though she never liked the bottles, preferring to first lick what had dripped on my arm, then pooled into the crook of my elbow.

Fromage with her ball and formula splashed across her nose.

For a little bit of background and some baby pictures, please read A Little Baby Foster Kitten and A Little Life Saved. Though it’s also in the first story, I’ve posted my favorite photo of Fromage here because it’s one of my favorite kitten photos, ever.

I have fostered dozens of cats and kittens, mostly years ago before my household had grown into a group of older cats needing extra attention, and especially not need annoying kittens around. I had always relied on those cats to welcome and teach the little fosters, but I was starting over with most of a new household when Fromage joined us. The Fantastic Four were just past two, and I learned a few important details about each of their personalities, notably that Jelly Bean will be a great nanny to anything and that they are all open-minded enough to hiss once or twice, then get down to making the new cat find its place.

And below is Maggie’s story of how Fromage came into her life and, hence, to mine.

My daughter found Fromage when she was visiting from NY in September, cooking for G-20 protestors. My little anarchist kitty.

I got a tearful phone call, went out in the night to pick her up, utterly unprepared for the fact that she was truly a newborn. Tried dipping bread in milk for her to suckle. No luck, but she latched on to the little piece of brie cheese I offered her. Hence her name. She’s still partial to cheeses.

Fortunately, Bernadette, an important part of my life, answered my tearful call for help, and took Fromage into her extraordinary care.

I was not to be the “forever home” but as each week elapsed, I felt Fromage had come into my life for a reason.

photo of two cats

Fromage hides the chenille strip from Cranberry

Photo of two cats

Fromage with big brother Mr. Peach

Has she ever. She’s still intrepid — rules the roost with large, orange 10-year-old Mister Peach, and elegant, awkward 4-year-old Cranberry, a loving Siamese I inherited when my mother died in May. I had not had a kitten in many years. Forgot the energy — those wooden shoes Fromage wears as she tears around the hardwood floors — the needle claws and teeth, the insatiable curiosity, and the gentle sweetness.

photo of black cat with show on wood floor

Fromage with purple pipe cleaner

So Fromage has a household to run! Mr. Peach is decidedly not a leader, and Cranberry, while acting superior, is actually quite conciliatory. Bring an inquisitive and capable kitten into this group and she attempts to run roughshod over them both, but she took her knocks and went on playing.

She really did hit the ground running, literally, when she went to Maggie’s house. She had her own room but time to be out to explore. First I heard reports of her being friendly and affectionate, then reports of her interacting with Mr. Peach and Cranberry, but no serious disputes coming from it all. She has continued conquering the house, annoying and making friends with her feline siblings.

black cat in camera bag

Fromage in my camera bag

photo of black cat with black shoe

Fromage with my shoes

This is what the former foster wants to hear! You never know with kittens who have been orphaned young how they will respond to leaving their foster home and settling into their new home. Often they remember humans as sources of comfort and affection, but because they missed the opportunity to grow and socialize with other kittens they can be timid and unaffectionate. I did my part with feeding and cuddling, but the Big Four did the more important part of giving her an identity and nurturing her as one of the gang, albeit the size of one of their heads.

photo of black cat walking

Fromage's tail

She has a very long tail and she knows how to wave it around. This is not the best photo of her tail, but it shows the proportion of it to her slender body, and she curls and coils it as she walks.

What a girly girl! I love it when cats reach this age, nearly as big as adult cats but still lean and ready to show off their attributes. I hear all the time about how cute and charming she is, and when she’s not busy exploring or playing she’s loving up her mom, sleeping on the bed, something she never had the chance to do here.

black cat by the open door

Ready for action

Who knows where she came from or how she came to be where she was? She was not going to be left behind, and that was that. After initially thinking all the food was hers, she now waits her turn and thanks her mom when her bowl arrives on the floor, rubbing against the cabinet and looking up with loving eyes before digging in.

photo of siamese cat by door

Fromage's sister Cranberry

photo of wallet with chat noir and fromages

Now here's an interesting find!

Read other articles about Fromage:

A Little Life Saved

A Little Baby Foster Kitten


Don’t Need It? Donate It—to Your Local Animal Shelter

photo of kittens in cage with toys and bedding

Kittens with donated towels and toys

And we’re not just talking about cat and dog food and a few blankets, but office equipment and household goods, too.

If you check the “wish lists” of any organization that offers assistance to animals, you might be surprised at what you’d find they can use. On almost every list for the shelters and organizations here in Pittsburgh I find such various necessary items as an office chair, a multiple CD player and “veterinarians able to perform rabbit spay/neuter.”

Behind the front lines of rescuing, spaying, neutering, healing, housing and adopting animals, there is an administrative body of some sort even if no physical shelter exists. Records must be kept and stored, publicity sent, checks written and staff and/or volunteers taken care of in some way.

Money is always short at shelters and rescue organizations, so it makes sense that donating items that don’t directly serve the animals themselves either saves money, such as office supplies which are necessary, or just makes the atmosphere more welcoming and healing for both animals and staff, such as a multiple CD player or a DVD player which is not necessary but which plays soothing music or an entertaining animal DVD.

Then there are office basics like copy paper, computers and printers, pens, markers and Post-its, and basic housekeeping items such as brooms, mops, laundry detergent and paper towels.

All the more for spay/neuter programs, health care for injured or abused animals and outreach and education programs.

Health care items such as gauze pads, hydrogen peroxide, Q-tips and more are used for animals as well as humans. Think of what you’ve seen your veterinarian or vet tech use.

And then there are the practical things that shelters need in great quantities and use up quickly—mostly food and bedding.
Keep reading…


A Little Life Saved

Fromage at eight weeks

Fromage at eight weeks

This is my “little baby foster kitty”, six weeks later. Quite the big girl compared to the little uncoordinated fuzzball who arrived (read “A Little Baby Foster Kitten” for the beginning of this story).

She went to her forever home over the weekend, and while I miss her vibrant personality and the daily progress and development of a kitten I am also glad to hand over a happy, healthy kitten to an excellent home, and the Festive Four are happy to have their bathroom back.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had one this young, but I’ve fostered a few dozen cats and kittens in the 20-plus years I’ve been fostering, and while I hope to give them a good beginning I never feel the need to keep every one of them unless a good home just isn’t available. I’d prefer to share the love of a wonderful kitty, and if I know a forever home is available I can love them all the more knowing I won’t need to worry about the expenses of another cat in the household, since I’m already pretty full for a house this size.

Six weeks passed so quickly in my life, but in terms of her development during those weeks she went from toddler to second-grader, perhaps third-grader, in physical ability, judgment, social skills—and consuming food!

I remember when Fromage first arrived and I initially tried to bottle feed her. She wanted no parts of the plastic nipple, but was very attracted to and comforted by the warmth of my forearm. Some of the formula dripped on my arm and she found it, licking it off right away and purring, then nibbling me looking for a nipple on my arm. I dripped a little more on my arm then filled in the little pool at the crook of my elbow where she lapped the formula, warmed by my skin, and kneaded, no doubt she could feel my pulse there, too.

The next day we began transitioning to a dish for her to lap from, and after a week added some canned food and quickly left the formula behind.

Wow, it's moving!

Wow, his tail—it's moving!

With neonatal rescues like Fromage, the danger of delayed physical or social development is common, so I studied her coordination, voice, apparent vision and hearing, eating habits, everything that was a clue to her progress. She was an early star with litterbox use, played with toys and with me, and was very affectionate with me. However, she didn’t play for very long when I wasn’t in the room, and she was very shy with other people, even a little hostile.

Social interaction with people is important, and if I had had the time to spend more hours with her I may have sufficed—plenty of others have done that with foster kittens. But she really needed the company of other cats to develop both physical agility and social skills. Kittens, puppies, and young of all species when they are born in litters, play all day long at her age, wrestling, chasing, stealing toys from each other and sharing toys with each other, eating together, bathing each other and sleeping in a pile together. Aside from eating, it’s the most important thing they do at that age.

Giuseppe is patient with this.

Giuseppe is patient with this.

Call in the Fostering Four. One night I was sorting laundry on my bed and had the four and several other of the adult cats in my bedroom. I put her on my bed among the piles of laundry and let her explore and, one by one, meet the other cats. There was a small amount of hissing, but no one left.

Now she has to learn a lesson.

Now she has to learn a lesson.

Jelly Bean had known what was expected of him right away, and was the only one never to utter a discouraging meow, but purred at the shrieking kitten the first night, sniffing at the door and asking to go into the bathroom from then on. Giuseppe and Mr. Sunshine were a little doubtful at first, sitting and staring when possible, growling and swatting when necessary, for about a half day, then they began chasing her in play and swiping a little bath at her now and then. Mewsette was the only holdout, and as soon as she realized the irritating little thing could play was dancing on the top of the baby gate so the kitten could try to grab her toes.

I blocked the top of the stairs with a baby gate, closed the door to the spare bedroom and let Fromage run around the upstairs for an hour or so once or twice a day. While she could still be kept corralled by the baby gate, the adults could visit when they wanted and escape whenever they got tired of her then go back for more.

fromage-dickiepaw

Playing Paws Under the Door

She blossomed as she quickly developed greater coordination and learned to play with four adult cats in turn. And not only them, but in the meantime I took in another adult foster who is staying in the spare bedroom, and Fromage stopped to play paws under the door with him as well!

None of my other adult cats developed any interest in her, and Mimi’s reaction was almost funny—a hostile look and a big, long hissssss. I guess she’s had enough of kittens for one lifetime.

Fromage makes it down the steps

Fromage makes it down the steps

Kittens never cease to amaze me at this stage in their development: one day Fromage got into the tub and couldn’t get out, but two days later she was hopping in and out often without touching the sides, the change comes that fast. She climbed the baby gate but couldn’t get to the top, then suddenly she was over it on the other side—where she shouldn’t be. I heard her tumble down the steps once and for a week she ignored the steps, but eventually it was too tempting and I turned around to find her crouching near the bottom studying the new room and trying to decide where to start her exploration. The next day she was running up and down the steps with a concerned Jelly Bean accompanying her; I guess he remembered those days when he and his siblings were only allowed down the steps under my supervision.

Fromage in Motion

Fromage in Motion

At eight weeks she can run and run and run and keep up a pace I can’t even match—and except for the fact that she’s about one-tenth their size and therefore has shorter legs, she can outrun the adult cats. As small as she is, she can outmaneuver them under the bed and around corners and if all else fails she can just run under their bellies and they have to spin around to see where she’s gone.

And she developed into a little sweetheart. Aside from leaping up my leg whenever she saw me, I would hold my hand out in front of her and she would stand on her hind legs with her front paws up then fall on my hand so I could scoop her up, holding her close to my face and cuddling. When I sat on the floor she would walk all over me, purring vigorously.

She also loved company. The first time her forever person, the person who had rescued her, came to visit, Fromage was less than social, not interacting with her at all—but that was before her socialization by the Communal Quartet. I marched every visitor to the house up the stairs to see her (and I had to twist very few arms to get people to visit with her—most people asked). The next time her forever person came to visit, Fromage strolled out of the bathroom and executed a luxurious cat stretch and furled and curled her tail and walked over to her.

Already those predator eyes

Already those predator eyes

But it’s the arrogance of a kitten that age that I love so much. They think they own the world, exploring fearlessly, challenging other cats and animals in their environment, playing with toys, climbing anything they can grasp, developing a vocabulary, yet they are so tiny and delicate, easily hurt, susceptible to so many diseases.

The night I took her to her new home, much larger than mine and with only two other cats, she cautiously explored the living room at first, finding a safe place behind the couch, then moving through the dining room with a little less fear all the time. She was at first a little startled at the sounds of so many voices, especially loud men’s voices, but after being around our conversation just began to ignore it. She’ll have her own room for some time to come, but run of the all but the basement whenever possible. She runs off to explore, then comes back to her person arching her back and rubbing herself against a leg with a vigorous purr, then she’s off to explore some more.

I was glad for my role in this, knowing how to handle a neonatal kitten. But it was really the people who rescued her who played the biggest role in Fromage’s life, and without them her future would be very different, if she had one at all.

If her strident shrieks hadn’t been heard that night, or if they had chosen to ignore her, chances were slim she would have lived a day or two more without her mother. If she somehow had, she should have ended up as another stray cat on the streets dodging cars and people and fighting off illnesses that cats with owners are vaccinated against. If she had survived the coming winter, next year she’d start producing kittens at two to four litters per year, and since she would have grown up without human interaction they would be considered feral, adding to the overpopulation already on the streets. Her life would likely be short and unpleasant as are the lives of most cats who live entirely on the streets with an average life span of three years, and kitten survival at less than 50%.

How much better that she has her own house and her own person and two cats to boss around, enough to eat, spaying at the right time, and she can live a good, long life with people enjoying her gregarious, affectionate personality and admiring her intelligence and beauty! I can’t wait to hear the progress reports.

Read the first article about Fromage: A Little Baby Foster Kitten