I foster cats and kittens and have for about five years. I have two of my own female cats, and about two years ago I was given a stray female that someone had rescued from their yard where their dog tried to eat it. She was under a year old and heavily pregnant, which is usually a really bad combo. Sure enough, three weeks after she arrived, she popped out three kittens. Despite my best efforts, including hand-feeding the tiny black kitten she rejected, none of them made it past day two. Whilst very sad, this is pretty common, given she was injured and very young to begin with.

I kept her for another two months, getting her used to humans and caught up on her vaccines. She went from a terrified, half-starved, neurotic mess, to a very friendly and playful cat. I posted an updated photo of her into our foster group chat. One of the newest members was a middle-aged woman who had just moved to town and told us she’d been fostering animals for years.

She asked if she could have the cat, as she looked just like her old cat that had died the previous year. She even offered to take care of the vet bills if she could have the cat. I explained that the cat was due to be desexed in two weeks but she said that would be fine.

I thought, “Score!” to myself, happy that the kitty dubbed Lady would be going to another experienced cat owner. I dropped her off at this woman’s house and the woman seemed ecstatic. Lady seemed pretty happy, sniffing around the woman’s hallway and batting at a fake plant. I handed over the vet bills and didn’t think much of it again, which for me is a coping mechanism because I do very much miss the cats I hand over.

About a month later, there was a huge fight in the group chat between the “private” fosterers and the ones like me who are attached to a local vet’s office, who also runs the pound. As a result, the group chat disbanded and two separate ones were made, but I remained friends with a couple of the private fosterers and they reached out from time to time with questions or random comments. One day, one of the other girls messaged me, telling me I was going to be mad.

Turns out “Miss Experienced Fosterer” had never gotten Lady desexed, and had continued fostering male cats that had not been desexed. She had posted a picture in the group chat of poor Lady, again heavily pregnant, her ears and face covered in scars and missing fur from where she’d clearly been attacked, probably during mating. My poor former kitty looked miserable. The woman’s message said, “Can anyone take her? I don’t have time for kittens.” Most people in their chat had obviously forgotten where she got Lady. Luckily, my friend offered to come get her right away and brought her straight to my house. When she saw me and my cats she collapsed on my lap and refused to move for three hours, with my other cats coming over to lick her and snuggle. I took her to the vet, had her wounds addressed, and brought her home again.

That was over a year ago. She and her two kittens, Comet and Captain, are all desexed, vaccinated, and living happily at my house, where they will stay. Lady still panics whenever we go on holiday and hides immediately when she sees a male cat. She’s much shyer and more skittish than she was when she left here the first time, and it will probably take years for me to gain her real trust again. 

I have never and will never give up cats to anyone without a background check and check-ins again.

This story is part of our Animal Shelter Roundup!

Read the next Animal Shelter Roundup story!

Read the Animal Shelter roundup!

(I work in a hotel. A dog is barking in a room during breakfast time, and we can hear it in the lobby. A guest — the owner of the dog — approaches me at the front desk.)

Guest: “That barking is putting me off my breakfast.”

(Thinking she’s joking, I let out a small laugh.)

Guest: “Well, what should be done?!”

Me: “Er… I suppose you could go eat your breakfast with your dog, and then it might stop barking?”

Guest: “No! No, that is not my dog. It is someone else’s dog. I want to file a complaint.”

Me: “Ma’am. It’s definitely your dog.”

Guest: “No, my dog doesn’t bark when I leave my room.”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t know how else to tell you. There’s only one dog staying here. It’s your dog.”

Guest: “MY DOG IS GOOD! SHE DOESN’T BARK FOR NO REASON! THAT DOG IS PUTTING ME OFF MY BREAKFAST AND I WANT YOU TO FIX IT.”

(I started to smile; I couldn’t believe the sheer stupidity of the conversation. She turned around and stomped down the hallway, presumably to “prove” it was not her dog. She got to her room and the barking stopped. I never saw her again, hopefully because she felt like a huge jerk for yelling at me about her own dog. And how exactly does a barking dog interfere with your ability to eat breakfast? I mean, really.)

(It’s early in the day and not many people are at the mall. As I enter through the main doors, there’s a flash of black near my ankles. I look down and see that a black cat has shot past me into the mall.)

Me: “Where did you come from?”

Cat: “Meow.” 

Me: “Let’s get you back outside, okay?”

Cat: “Meow.” 

(I carefully reach downwards, prepared to pull back if the cat reacts poorly. But it doesn’t object to me scooping it up and holding it. I’m about to take it back outside when I notice a female scowling and making strange gestures with her hands, almost like she’s making a cross.)

Me: “Uh, ma’am?”

Female: “You picked up a black cat! You’re cursed!”

(I changed my mind and walked over to the mall security office, more to report the female’s behavior than concerned with the cat. But of course, mall security was concerned about the cat, and since the female didn’t actually do anything to me, they couldn’t do anything about her. The cat had no ID of any kind or any indication of where it came from. And that’s how I met my furry owner. He’s owned me for seven years now and has added my girlfriend and my son to his list of pet humans.)

Caller: “My dog is pregnant!”

Me: “Ah, would you like to make an appointment to confirm?”

Caller: “Confirm? I already confirmed!”

Me: “Oh, I see. So, a follow-up appointment. Could I have your dog’s name, please?” *takes details* “I don’t see anything in her records about her pregnancy. Did you have her tested at another vet?”

Caller: “No, we’ve only ever gone to you.”

Me: “Then I would advise one of our team examine her to confirm.”

Caller: “I just told you. I’ve already confirmed. I peed on the stick and everything.”

Me: “Sorry? You used a human pregnancy test on your dog? 

Caller: *huffs* “No, I put [Dog] on my stomach like you told me to, and peed on the pregnancy test I got from the pharmacy. It was positive.”

Me: “…”

Caller: “Hello?”

Me: “Sorry, umm, we wouldn’t advise that as a means of determining your dog’s pregnancy. You should come into the vet where we can test her. And I would probably advise you go to the doctor and have yourself checked.”

Caller: “Are you saying I’m crazy?”

Me: “No, I’m saying you might be pregnant.”

Caller: “Oh.”

(We make an appointment, although I’m doubtful the dog is actually pregnant.)

Me: “Before you go, could I just ask where you got this pregnancy test idea? You said we may have advised it?”

Caller: “Not you specifically. A vet on Reddit told me about it.” *hangs up*

(I was working reception when she had her appointment. I asked if she had been to the doctor, to which she went on an elaborate story about seeking a holistic abortion centre — something else she read about online. The vet who examined the dog confirmed she wasn’t pregnant, and told me after the woman had left that she had never met anyone so out of touch with reality.)

This story is part of our celebration of Not Always Right publishing over 100,000 stories!

This story is included in the roundup of Not Always Healthy stories to toast this achievement!

<< Previous Story  |  Roundup  |  Next Story >>

(I train seeing-eye dogs and service animals for a living and have for the past ten years. The number of people who ignore a vest on a dog ceased to surprise me many years ago. On this day, I have three six-month-old golden retriever pups with me who are being trained as therapy companion animals — not seeing-eye dogs — so their training is a little different, and it’s not as strict as it is for dogs who need to be alert animals or guide dogs. I’ve taken them down to the dog park for socialising in their little vests that state they’re in training. When we get there, the dog park is mostly empty, save for a young couple in their 20s and their four- or five-year-old daughter. They’re throwing a ball for a chocolate lab puppy around the same age as my trio of loveable idiots, and mine are whining at me because they want to be “freed” to chase the ball. Sticking to their training, they’re sitting at my feet practically vibrating with excitement. The little girl tosses the ball and it rolls within three feet of my pups, who all amp up their whining. The other family’s dog seems to get spooked by mine, so it hangs back, and the little girl comes to retrieve the ball.)

Little Girl: “Oh! Mummy! Puppies!”

(I’m already impressed that she hasn’t barrelled forward to grab at the pups like most kids her age would do; even adults tend to think that because they’re small and cute they are up for grabs. While they all frantically wag their tails at the thought of a new friend, they stay seated. The little girl cocks her head to the side and starts sounding out the letters on their vests.)

Little Girl: “T… tr… tra… Train! Excuse me, are these train dogs?”

(Her parents have come over and we all giggle at her saying “train dogs.”)

Dad: “They say, ‘dog in training,’ sweetie. What does it mean when a doggy has a vest on with words on it?”

Little Girl: *sadly* “To leave them alone because they’re doing a job. I just wanted to look at them; they’re cute.”

(Her own puppy has sidled forward to sniff at mine, who are all ready to explode by this point but are still seated, waiting for the all-clear. The mum calls her dog back and holds his collar, apologising.)

Me: “That’s fantastic! You’re very clever. But guess what? These puppies are learning to be good friends to kids who need to feel safe and loved, so they can play. You ready guys? FREE!”

(The three balls of golden fluff EXPLODED from at my feet. They started running in circles, pawing at the other puppy, yipping excitedly, and licking the little girls’ shoes. Her face was something I’ll remember forever; a kid getting to play in a pile of puppies is something truly magical. She asked lots of questions about different kinds of helper dogs, and promised me she wouldn’t bother any dogs in vests unless their human said it was okay. Her parents thanked me, but I thanked them, as well, as learning to behave around kids is something very important to support dogs and we got in some great practice that day. That kiddo was so great for already knowing what a service animal was. I hope I can meet more like her in the future.)

This story is part of our Service Animals roundup!

Read the first Service Animals Roundup story!

Read the Service Animals Roundup!