So I picked up the new foster, Carson, late last week. Quite an experience.
(Oh, and Carson is “Carson” because I gave naming rights to another co-worker who is a big supporter of my fostering efforts! Thanks, Elaine!)
As the sun was going down and it was starting to snow, I drove out in rush-hour traffic to an industrial plaza in the suburbs. I had to drive around to the back of the place and hunt for the unit number; none of the places seem to have signage up. I pulled up to door number 15 which was surrounded by transport trailers sans trucks and huge garbage bins. There was no one around and it was getting darker and darker. I parked, climbed the snow-covered stairs, and knocked on the solid metal door. Instant relief when the door opened to reveal a brightly lit space and the familiar face of one of the volunteers (a driver) I’ve actually met. There, in a wall of cages, were our imports all looking a little dazed after their trip*. It was all very organized and I didn’t even have to know which one I was taking. They loaded him in the carrier and off we went. He didn’t make a sound all the way home while I talked and talked, whatever I could think of and repeating myself, just so he could hear my voice.
When we got home (after having to pass a bad, traffic-stalling accident) I put him crate and all, with the crate door open, in the cat room. He stayed in the crate for a couple of hours, but eventually came out. He doesn’t seem terribly afraid; he comes out into the room and is curious about the other cats. But he runs from me and flinches when I pet him. It doesn’t help that he has some really bad mats and some bare spaces where maybe some have been cut out. I have a feeling that people haven’t given him much reason to trust them, so we’ll have to work on that.
* This group is from a criminal seizure carried out in December by MAPAQ (Quebec Department of Agriculture). We aren’t given any other details.