I love fostering cats. Mostly kittens. A few months ago, I was taking care of a litter of six with their mom. The mom was great, took care of her kitties, and was super sweet. But she was in a hoarder home (specifically the mom because the kittens weren’t born there). I ended up getting sent to a hospital. But it turns out, the mom had some parasite from before. It killed one of the kittens. My mom in her eternal wisdom decided to wait a week before telling me. Because why would I care if a six week kitten that I’d loved since birth was dead? You know, just weird stuff like that.
She was afraid of how I’d react. She brought hot chocolate too, to soften the blow. And then she was all confused when I got mad at her.
The dead kitten’s name was Ember. She looked just like her mom, and she was so freaking loud. She meowed all the time. A couple weeks later, her brother Cinder died. He was gray and had a super short tail, and he never meowed. At least mom told me that time instead of trying to spare my feelings.