Traveling Buffet

These three were older than most kittens we take in. The two with white markings were nearly at surgery weight, while the runt—who looked like the roundest, plumpest little dumpling on the plate—was trailing by almost 200 grams. Despite appearances, she was decidedly not fully baked yet.

They were also far more cautious than our usual “no thoughts, just vibes” baby kittens. Two cowered and hid, attempting to become invisible, while the third slunk around the room screaming like she was auditioning for a very dramatic food commercial—probably calling for her mom.

I spent several days earning their trust using the universal language of kittens: treats.

Two of them quickly learned to recognize the sound of my treat bin opening and, provided I was sitting down and therefore non-threatening furniture, they’d cautiously approach to beg. The third trailed behind like a raccoon at a picnic—snatch-and-dash tactics only, flinching dramatically if I so much as breathed.

They were also extremely playful, enthusiastically chasing feather wands and wrestling each other like a trio of sentient meatballs in a bouncy castle. By day three, I had achieved full furniture status. As long as I remained stationary, they ran past me, over me, and around me with no interest in interaction.

Day four brought a breakthrough. The dark one—named Gravy Boat (though my husband insists on calling her Potato Nugget, or simply Potato)—purred for me. She leaned into my hands, mostly ignoring the dehydrated chicken treats, and appeared to have an epiphany: perhaps foster life is gourmet.

I suspect she told her sisters, because they soon followed suit—even while I began administering a week of medications, which normally tanks one’s popularity.

The real game changer, though, was my youngest house cat, Nimbus. Nimbus does not enjoy being away from me and has taught himself how to leap over the six-foot gate in the kitten room. The kittens were immediately obsessed. Gravy Boat, in particular, was ready to risk it all for him.

We have a two-week quarantine period, during which Nimbus spent considerable time on the other side of the plastic panels, waiting with varying degrees of patience. His relaxed demeanor and obvious trust in me helped the kittens realize I was not, in fact, a monster.

Taco Truck (the one with more white) began purring soon after Gravy Boat. Meatball Sub held out a few more days, but once she committed, she COMMITTED—becoming the most aggressively affectionate kitten of the bunch. She insisted on curling under my chin in bed or crawling up my chest while I did computer work. All three purred easily and stopped fleeing from me, though strangers were still a hard pass.

Once out of quarantine, they integrated easily with my other pets and immediately latched onto Nimbus, following him everywhere. Nimbus, of course, was following me—so I developed a tiny entourage.

They also quickly discovered our nightly ritual of shower snacks. Yes, we keep cat treats in the shower. Yes, we distribute them to anyone who shows up when the water starts heating. No, I will not be taking questions.

Gravy Boat gravitated toward Nimbus and the other cats.
Meatball Sub became my shadow—and by this point had fully accepted being called “meat-uh-ball” in a high-pitched voice, as that was the only way I ever said her name.

Taco Truck? Taco Truck chose chaos.

She loved climbing the kitten wall, scaling cat trees, and—most concerningly—walking along the bannister. Despite plastic panels designed to prevent kittens from slipping through the rails, Taco Truck repeatedly climbed on top of the bannister. No photos exist because I was always too busy panic-scooping her or luring her away with snacks. I even crocheted a safety net to prevent a fall at the greatest heights.

To kennel-train them for PetSmart, I kenneled them whenever I was at work or gone for more than an hour. Taco Truck hated this and staged loud, vertical protests.

One morning, I couldn’t find her anywhere. After surrendering briefly to my bladder, I found her sitting smugly on the master bed. We soon realized she was climbing over the seven-foot door and launching herself over the six-foot gate.

I shut the inner door.
She opened it.

I now barricade myself into the kitten room nightly to contain a three-pound criminal mastermind.

While fostering The Traveling Buffet, one of my former fosters, Apache (now Nova), experienced a relapse of neurological symptoms and found herself back at UCD for diagnostics—emerging with a truly avant-garde haircut. Very post-modern. Very “I don’t understand it but I respect it.”

Someone casually suggested she might need a hat to keep her head warm, and like any reasonable person, I immediately spiraled into a full-blown cat-hat crocheting phase.

Fortunately, these little potatoes were already comfortable enough with me to be drafted as hat models while I worked out sizing for kittens, tweens, and adult cats. They posed bravely. They blinked slowly. They tolerated my nonsense like true professionals in the service industry.

And yes, I know this is technically a blog about the kittens…
…but Nimbus also participated, and frankly, he’s just too cute to be excluded from the exhibit. Consider him a guest artist, a celebrity judge, or the emotional support garnish on this already very full plate.  Of course, Nova sent me some pics when she got her hat too!

On the day of their spay surgeries, the rescue asked if I could spare one kitten for a special circumstance, foster-to-adopt situation with a family needing a single kitten. I immediately said Gravy Boat could not go solo—she is deeply obsessed with other cats, especially older fluffballs.

I sent photos of Taco Truck and Meatball Sub. The family gravitated toward Meatball, and we scheduled a meeting. In her final nights with me, Meatball escalated her affection—nursing on my ear, attempting to insert her entire head into my nostrils, and purring nonstop between 1–3am. I couldn’t even be mad.

When the family arrived, they liked Meatball—but were utterly charmed by Gravy Boat’s round potato body. After some discussion (and a crash course in “two kittens are actually easier than one”), they agreed to try both girls. They’re still shy in their new home, but hopeful, tentative names have emerged, and I’m rooting hard for a forever pairing. They sent me this hilarious set of photos of them settling into their home.

Within minutes of her sisters leaving, Taco Truck began sprinting through the house crying for them. She needed comfort from me, Nimbus, and approximately seventeen treats. She’s since taken Gravy Boat’s place as Nimbus’s shadow.

I may need to rewrite her bio to require another cat… though let’s be real—she’s going to be a chaos demon regardless. Absolute future internet cat material, assuming her adopter has creative video editing skills and a strong sense of humor.