I don't like to admit defeat, but I've reached that point with one of my own foster cats. Owen has been part of our family since early May 2010. I've been working and working with Owen, but have found that he's been playing WAY too rough with my little old lady girl cats. Owen is a sweetheart. He loves everybody and everything. He's on my lap all the time.
Problem? Owen is a "Social Moron." He doesn't understand that a hiss and growl from my little old lady cats means "Stop it right there, buddy".
It's been several months with me working with him. Sadly enough, Owen thinks his name is now "Nooooooooooooo-wen".
Today, I came home to this:
Owen looked guilty. But you know how it goes - something is broken and we always assume the worst with the usual suspects.
I've been breaking up more cat fights than a Jersey Shores bouncer. Poor Owen was even the victim himself recently and I had to take him to the vets:
Tomorrow, I'm taking Owen to a new foster home where he'll no doubt have a lot more success. The couple is THRILLED that he's a rowdy guy and they're going to really enjoy him.
As for me, I feel like a failure. I know that's ridiculous thinking. I did my best with Owen and I haven't had to move a cat in many years. But this one of the most important aspects of fostering - imagine if we didn't have this information about Owen. He could end up in the wrong home again and again before we'd figure it out.
When he's adopted, it'll be the RIGHT home - the FIRST time.
I hope I don't cry when I drop him off tomorrow. The guilt is overwhelming tonight.