*Editor’s note: The Pinedale Roundup is offering this series, Roundup Rescue, chronicling the adventures of eight foster kittens from Happy Endings Animal Rescue, a nonprofit 501(c)3, as a public service to our community. Through the eyes of a foster, you'll get a glimpse into what the experience is really like—the early mornings, the endless laundry, the antics and the incredible reward of watching vulnerable animals grow into healthy, adoptable pets searching for their forever homes in our community.
There is a predictable progression to kitten boldness I can now map with precision. It begins with the toes. You’re standing in the nursery minding your business and something small and determined latches onto your foot. Reconnaissance. Within 24 to 30 hours, that same kitten — always one of the bold ones — has abandoned the foot and is halfway up your leg. The pants are merely a taller gate, and they have already climbed the gate.
Spindle figured this out first. Then Marigold. Then Dot, pausing briefly to assess the structural integrity of the denim before committing. These three — sharp, fearless, ready to take on the Wind River Range — are the advance scouts of this litter. Spindle approaches every challenge as a problem to be solved. Marigold charges at the world like autumn catching fire. And Dot — snowy ink-blot girl, stealer of chairs, defender of stolen chairs — has a genius for occupying any warm spot the moment it becomes available. You can chant “Quack, quack, seat back” as many times as you like. Dot will wait you out.
Then there is Velvet. Velvet does not climb your pants. Velvet does not need to. She was identified the moment she entered rescue as the one everyone is going to want, and she has conducted herself accordingly. She has a charisma — and a matching waddle — that captures every room without apparent effort. She leads the charge and plays by herself with equal contentment, secure in the knowledge that the room belongs to her either way. When she wants your attention, she sits at your feet, cries once, and waits. Just once. She does not repeat herself.
Aureo has a different strategy. You sit down, get settled, and become aware of a warm ginger presence — almost solid, with just a ghost of tabby in the light — arranged behind you in the chair without your noticing. He is a thinker, content to be near you, watching. He does not require your permission. Locket, meanwhile, has claimed the shoulder. She rides there in the afternoons while I work, a lynx tabby girl who arrived looking unfinished and now moves through the world like she owns the air rights.
Part of the daily routine is what I call the Eye Wipe Bandit. Young kittens need their eyes cleared regularly — warm cloth, quick gentle swipe, never the same section twice. Some kittens submit with weary grace. Others make it a theatrical production. All eight have strong opinions. None favor the warm cloth.
Memorial Day brought an unexpected development: a dress. I rarely wear them, but I reached for an old favorite — a waterfall hem, shorter in front and longer in back — for reasons entirely unrelated to kitten dynamics. That dress moved through the nursery like a minnow on a hook. The hem was irresistible. I lost count of how many times I peeled a kitten off the bottom of it. My own cats watched from various vantage points with the composed smirks of animals who do not do this and would like that noted.
Miller missed the dress entirely. He was in veterinary jail that day — his second stay, because this kitten has already lived a life — where the staff raved about him so thoroughly, he could have had a second adoption application from the very people treating him. He came home the following morning. The clinic’s loss.
Six weeks ago these were eight indistinguishable scraps of fur and need. Now they are Velvet, who waddles in and owns the room. Dot, who steals your chair without remorse. Spindle, whose ambitions remain ungoverned. Marigold, all fire and forward motion. Locket on your shoulder, Aureo behind you in the chair, Ash at the bottom of the stairs with something to say. Eight distinct individuals, every one loud, affectionate, purring like a small engine at the slightest provocation. Two — Miller and Aureo — already have applications waiting. Two homed, six to go. They moved to Happy Endings Animal Rescue in mid-June; early July, they’re yours. Come meet them. Bring pants you don’t mind.
Next week: Spun Gold and Ink Blots
