Toolbox

When Gravy Boat and Meatball Sub left to try out a new foster home, Taco Truck became an only kitten overnight. She protested loudly at first, but quickly decided this arrangement was actually fantastic—unlimited Nimbus snuggles and freedom from the kennel.

Because her kennel was now being used for four new kittens.

The day before Taco Truck’s sisters left, I received a screenshot of a text exchange between intake and a good samaritan finder begging for help with a momma cat and three older kittens. The visible text mentioned a fourth kitten they were still trying to trap—but the photos told the real story. The entire family was being kept in a kennel barely large enough for a single cat. About 75% of the space was taken up by a litter box, where the whole family huddled, while the remaining sliver held food and water.

No explanation came with the screenshots, but I replied immediately—and enthusiastically:
“ARE YOU ASKING ME TO TAKE A MOM AND BABIES?”

Intake called to explain that they weren’t sure the rescue would take them. We primarily focus on neonatal kittens who need intensive support to grow, not three-month-olds. But if an exception were made, the kittens would need an experienced foster due to their condition. I let them know I could kick Taco out of the kennel and make room if they decided to move forward.

The next day, I got the call.

When I picked them up, it was just four babies—the last kitten had been caught—but mom was staying behind to be spayed and adopted outside of the rescue.

For freshly trapped older kittens, they were shockingly friendly. They were also shockingly sick. Shortly after arriving home, I had to subject them to a truly unreasonable amount of medicine. They were filthy—as expected for a family forced to live in a litter box—and I immediately broke out into hives. After meds, we went straight to the sink for baths.

Three kittens submitted to this nonsense with forlorn cries, clearly too stunned by the sudden changes in their lives to fight back. But the runt fought everything with every ounce of her very limited strength. She was half the size of her siblings—basically a skeleton with a light dusting of fur and skin. Because of her condition, she also needed subcutaneous fluids, which she protested even more vigorously than the oral meds (three kinds!), eye drops, soap, and towel dry. 

Why “the Toolbox”? This was one of the easiest litters I’ve ever named. These kittens are serious fixer-uppers. I cannot count the number of times they sneezed directly into my face or how many boogers I’ve excavated from their noses.

That first night, they surprised me by all curling up with me to cuddle. Feeling safe, secure, and still groggy from being sick, they didn’t move all night—completely ignoring my coughing, hacking, and dry heaving, as I am also very sick right now.

Home sick from work, I spent the next day with them doing absolutely nothing productive. Morning meds took nearly an hour. Thankfully, most of them were willing to take medication mixed into food, which was far less traumatic than syringes and pills. Jigsaw, however, needed frequent breaks—too congested to breathe and eat at the same time. The process was exhausting, but she saved enough energy to climb up my leg and sleep on my chest for an hour before joining her siblings, who had taken over the bed.

I was deeply honored by the amount of kitten belly they showed me in trust after everything they’d been through.  And Socket Wrench was eager to show that he really is a good boy.   He loves rubbing his face into my hands and face, purring up a storm. 

As Jigsaw began to feel better, her small stature became more obvious. She looks like she belongs to a different litter, but her teeth indicate she’s the same age—and likely a biological sibling. She’s very stunted, but still a firecracker. While the others tolerate medications and cleaning with mild protest, Jigsaw must be handled with care—and respect. 

The second night was also cuddle-heavy, but by night three, they felt well enough for ALL. NIGHT. ZOOMIES.
Yes. All night.

I was awake anyway, thanks to my uncooperative lungs. Even Jigsaw joined in, her eyes clearer and brighter than they’d been since arrival.

Every household should have a well-stocked toolbox—and once these little fixer-uppers are healthy and fixed, they’ll be ready for homes of their own. They’re incredibly friendly, resilient, and already so loved.

4/5/26 update, starting with: 

3/3/26 Facebook Post- might as well just copy it here because facebook remembers the chaos better than I do.
My Toolbox is currently… under construction.

Their surgery records say they’re fixed (we fast-tracked that when Socket Wrench — tuxedo troublemaker — started humping his sister Needlenose Pliers a.k.a. Noodle 🙈). Priorities, people.

Their URIs cleared up after round one of meds, but the two big kids have had… drainage. And by drainage I mean discharge, pungent smells, and an impressive amount of steam mopping and disinfecting wipes.

They’ve been on all our standard protocols, but things were getting worse, so we ran a fecal. Don’t ask me what the results were. I vaguely remember:

• One thing started with a C (not coccidia)

• One started with a T

• One required a backordered medication starting with R

The “R” finally arrived today.

The first three weeks here, the Toolbox and I basically ran a joint pharmacy. Between my pills, nasal sprays, ear drops, inhaler… and their pills, syringes, gels… medication time took about an hour a day. They were SO good about it. I’d slather everything in Churu and perform like an octopus playing keep-away from siblings while convincing distracted kittens to swallow their meds. It was chaotic but doable.

This new stuff?

They said NO FREAKING WAY.

It must be outrageously bitter. Foaming at the mouth. Spazzing. Socket has the biggest dose and managed to spray medicated foam in a 3-foot radius. It was… cinematic.

So now we have 13 more days of torture and continued quarantine. Another medication is on the way and I’m just praying it’s not equally nasty.

They did eventually forgive me and resumed curling into my lap. Because kittens. ❤️

Individual Toolbox Notes 🔧

🐒 Monkey Wrench
Professional blanket burrower. One day I thought I’d lost him — he was under the fluffy kitten blanket the other three were laying on. Loves showing his belly. Occasionally his little pink “tool” makes an appearance and I remind him to put it away. That’s happening less now that he’s been neutered longer.

🦷 Needlenose Pliers (Noodle)
Shows affection with her teeth. Not biting… just gently placing them around my body parts like she’s taste-testing me. She’s obsessed with Nimbus and sits at the door staring at him like a tiny lovesick gargoyle.

🧩 Jigsaw
Smallest body, biggest opinions. Follows Monkey everywhere. Tough to medicate, easy to adore. Often comes when called because she knows she’s important.

🖤 Socket Wrench
Big hunk of love. Nonstop purr machine. Follows me everywhere. He is absolutely meant to be someone’s work-from-home supervisor and emotional support paperweight.

So that’s life in the Toolbox right now: quarantine, chaos, questionable smells… and a whole lot of love.

Under construction. But worth it. 💛

Luckily, my mentor gave me the green light to try hiding the nasty medication in veggie caps, so I ordered some with next-day shipping. Total game changer.

Even though the pills were huge, once tucked into the capsules and coated in Churu, they were surprisingly easy to give. Jigsaw actually seemed to like them—so much so that I had to guard the capsules to keep her from stealing them before I could even fill them. For once, medication time wasn’t a battle.

They were also prescribed a second set of meds, which they happily ate mixed with Churu. The combination worked beautifully—no more leakage, no more constant cleaning. A win for everyone involved.

Things were finally looking up. I started thinking about writing their bios and getting them ready for PetSmart once they finished their antibiotics.

And then… Jigsaw’s ear.

One night while petting her, I felt a bit of crust. At first, I wasn’t worried—this is the same kitten who has zero concept of personal space and has absolutely stuck her face directly into her siblings’… situations… while they were using the facilities. Baby wipes and the occasional head bath were just part of life.

But this was different. It wouldn’t wipe away. And on closer inspection… there was fur loss.

Lights off. Blacklight on. Internal panic activated.

I sent a picture to my mentors to confirm what I already suspected: ringworm.

Within 24 hours, I found evidence of it on three out of four kittens (somehow Socket escaped unscathed), with Monkey winning for both quantity and severity.

Guess what that means?

More meds.

We started with topicals—chlorhexidine and antifungal cream—but our medical lead recommended switching to lime sulfur dips for better effectiveness. I was not prepared. I’ve seen the videos. I’ve heard the stories. The smell is… indescribable. When my medical lead joked that I should just bathe in it myself, I may or may not have threatened retaliation involving inappropriate lawn décor.

We had to wait a few days for them to finish their previous medication before starting Itraconazole (Itrafungol), an oral antifungal that has completely changed the ringworm game. Having dealt with ringworm before pre-Itrafungol, I can confidently say this is a massive improvement—for both humans and kittens.

The kittens didn’t mind it either. It’s a sticky, slightly sweet liquid, and they lapped it right up in Churu. A far cry from the previous routine of gloves, towels, gauze, Q-tips, and the general chaos of lime sulfur dips.

The timing, however, was less than ideal.

They were supposed to go to PetSmart before my trip to Disneyland—but ringworm treatment takes a minimum of three weeks, and my trip was just over a week away. Finding a respite foster is usually doable, but ringworm tends to scare people off.

Fortunately, one very brave foster had just sent her own litter to PetSmart and offered to take mine. We had a plan. Her kittens were adopted, she was ready… and then her adopter called to report fleas.

Our rescue is diligent about flea prevention, but these fleas were persistent—resistant to multiple treatments. Until that situation was resolved, my kittens couldn’t go there.

With my trip rapidly approaching and most of our ringworm-experienced fosters unavailable (thanks, spring break), my mentors asked if I’d consider leaving the kittens at home and having caregivers come to them. Not ideal—but given that they were older, stable, and otherwise doing well, it felt manageable for the four nights I’d be gone.

We found a kind, wonderful human who quickly fell a little bit in love with my chaotic crew. She sent me pics and vids throughout my vacation. 

But when I got home…

They made it very clear they had been deprived of adequate attention.

Noodle, who had mostly outgrown her love-nips, doubled down on claiming parts of my body with her teeth.

Monkey insists he must be carried at all times.

Jigsaw has become more independent from her brother—but much more committed to my lap.

And Socket is absolutely convinced he is travel-sized for my convenience.

He is not.

He is also not invisible.

None of that matters to him. And honestly… not one bit to me either.

Update 5/23/26
The Toolbox happily continued their treatment until we finally got results clearing them of ringworm, and they were ready for Petsmart. I sent them off with a detailed letter for their future families—tips for protecting their sensitive skin from enthusiastic love nips, and some husk to help with their delicate tummies.

Because of their long stretch of illnesses, they arrived at Petsmart just as adoption season was picking up. One week earlier, they would have been the stars of the show… but instead, they found themselves competing with much smaller kittens. I wasn’t surprised when none were chosen on their first adoption day.

That night, I prepared for an extra-deep clean, and the next morning I rolled up my sleeves to get started. But not long after pulling everything away from the walls and stripping the furniture covers, I had to stop. My cat, Roxas, needed to go to the emergency vet. His cancer treatment had suddenly stopped working, and he declined so quickly the vet wasn’t sure he would survive diagnostics.  We came home with an empty carrier.

On the way back, I got a call from the Petsmart team—Socket Wrench had peed on a volunteer and then pooped all over the kennel. Since I was nearby, I stopped in while my mentor worked on finding a placement, as my kitten room was no longer suitable for anyone.

When I arrived, I got the full picture. Monkey Wrench had spent over 24 hours basically living in the litter box—except no one was actually using it. He had turned it into a bed, and no one could figure out how to go potty.

I set up a second litter box with a blanket, and Monkey happily settled in… until all his siblings piled in on top of him. He wiggled free and went right back to the actual litter box.

So we added a third—also lined with blankets—and finally, they had a “bed” that wasn’t the bathroom.

Only then did we realize the real issue: none of them wanted to use the pellet litter. As soon as I switched them to clumping litter, they all made a mad dash to finally go potty.

After that, everything settled. Monkey was still a bit shy, but the others were playing and asking for attention. We decided to let Socket stay and see if things improved now that he had proper litter access—and they did.

Not long after I left, Noodle found her forever home. Her new family sent pictures right away—they were already in love, and so were her new feline brothers. Now called Evie, she has a window to watch the world and a family that truly appreciates her “unique” personality.  The following week, Jigsaw and Monkey found their homes too… leaving Socket all alone.  Socket does not enjoy being alone.

So he did what he does best—he charmed every volunteer who stopped by to clean the kennels.  Unfortunately, someone missed the signs about his litter preference and switched him back to pellets, resulting in another… eventful day. The head cleaner quickly corrected it, added bigger signs, gave him some husk for his tummy, and restored his preferred setup.  While the med team debated pulling him for a foster break, Socket made the decision for us—he charmed his way right into his forever home.

Evie’s family has since posted in our alumni group, and you can hear the love in every word. I’m still hoping to get updates on the other three—but for now, it looks like this whole crew finally got their happily-ever-afters… just with a few extra steps along the way.

Evie's new home