Headline: I was a dog person. Then a one-eyed stray showed up and ruined everything.
The Short Version
Hi, I'm Alex. I'm 34, I live alone in Portland, Oregon, and I have three cats — Miso, Nori, and Dumpling. None of them were planned. All of them were foster fails.
Eight years ago, I was a graphic designer who liked dogs and didn't think much about cats. Then a one-eyed stray sat down on my doorstep like she owned the place, refused to leave, and by the time I stopped crying about it, I'd already bought litter, wet food, and three different types of scratching posts. She didn't stay forever — she was always too feral for that — but she left me with a litter box and a very confused sense of identity.
Since then, I've fostered and rehomed over 40 cats. Newborns. Seniors. FIV-positive. Feral-ish. Surrendered-by-moving-owners. Found-in-a-Walmart-parking-lot. I've done tube feedings at 2 a.m., ringworm baths that took four towels and a lot of swearing, and the emergency vet panic call when a kitten stopped eating. I've also cried in my car after every single foster goodbye, including the ones I knew were coming.
I'm not a vet. I'm not a behaviorist. I'm just someone who's done this long enough to know what usually works, what's definitely a scam, and what's just good marketing dressed up as science. Everything I write about, I've tested on my own cats or my fosters — and I'll tell you when it went spectacularly wrong.
By day, I'm a freelance designer and illustrator, which means I can make a foster kitten's weight-gain chart look like it belongs in a magazine. On weekends, I hit Portland's estate sales and flea markets for vintage glassware nobody needs. I cook constantly, I have a record player that's older than I am, and I've accepted that every meal I make will involve at least one cat on the counter.
This blog is my debrief — the notes I wish I'd had, the mistakes I made so you don't have to, and the stories that made me a cat person against my will and better judgment.
Your cat, your rules.
Meet the Residents
Miso — Orange tabby, 9 years old, founding member of the chaos committee.
Miso was my first foster fail. He came to me eight years ago — malnourished, crusted with upper respiratory goo, barely holding on. I stayed up for two weeks syringe-feeding him and doing the nebulizer treatments the vet prescribed. By the time he was healthy, I was too attached to even pretend I was going to give him back. I didn't know it then, but he was teaching me how to be a cat person.
Today, he's the undisputed house boss. He manages the other cats like a grumpy middle manager who actually cares about his team. He disciplines Dumpling when she's too obnoxious, grooms Nori when she's anxious, and spends the rest of his time trying to drink water out of my glass. He has opinions about everything and he's not shy about sharing them.
What he's taught me: Sometimes the ones who need the most work give back the most.
Nori — Black Devon Rex, 5 years old, professional hider and accidental love story.
Nori came from a breeding situation that didn't work out. She was surrendered with a shaved belly and a complete distrust of humans. For the first three months, she lived under my bed. I'd slide food and water under there, change the litter box in the dark, and talk to her while I worked — reading emails out loud, narrating my design projects, just letting her get used to my voice without any pressure.
Then one day she crawled into my lap while I was on a Zoom call, and I had to pretend I wasn't crying. She's been a Velcro cat ever since — but only for me. She's still terrified of strangers, and she will absolutely flee if someone rings the doorbell. She sleeps in my hoodie pocket whenever I let her.
What she's taught me: Trust cannot be rushed. But it's worth the wait.
Dumpling — Calico, 2 years old, the "oops" cat.
I went to the shelter two years ago to return a foster cat I'd been caring for. That was the plan. Walk in, hand over the paperwork, walk out. Then I walked past the adoption floor and saw this little calico paw frantically reaching through the cage bars, grabbing at anyone who walked by. She was so desperate for attention it was honestly embarrassing. I stuck my finger through the bars, she latched on, and I said something like "okay fine" to no one in particular.
She's the opposite of Nori in every way. She has no boundaries, no shame, and no understanding of personal space. She's the cat who sits on your laptop while you're working, eats things she shouldn't, and then looks at you like you're the one who made bad choices. She's also the most affectionate cat I've ever met. She greets everyone at the door, purrs like a lawnmower, and uses her entire body to head-butt you when she wants pets — which is always.
What she's taught me: Sometimes the right cat finds you, even when you're not looking.
How This Blog Works
I post in five categories, roughly once a week:
The Debrief — Foster case studies. One cat's story, from intake to outcome. Medical curveballs, behavior breakthroughs, and the emotional rollercoaster in between.
Three-Cat Diplomacy — Multi-cat household management. Introductions, resource guarding, and reading the room when tensions rise. Based entirely on the chaos unfolding in my living room.
Cheap Cat, Happy Cat — The anti-consumerist corner. DIY toys from trash, budget meal toppers, and product reviews that tell you when something is a waste of money. I've spent a lot so you don't have to.
The Dog Person's Guide to Cats — For the former dog people, first-timers, and anyone who's ever said "cats are so mysterious" with a confused look on their face. No jargon, no shame.
Between the Paws — Lifestyle stuff. Estate sale finds, cooking with cats on the counter, Portland cat-friendly spots, and updates on fosters who've moved on.
A Few Ground Rules
I don't do fluff. Every post has at least one practical takeaway you can use. Cute cat photos are a bonus, not the whole point.
I don't do judgment. Feed kibble, feed raw, feed whatever works for your budget and your cat's health. Keep your cat indoors or build a catio — I don't care, as long as you're thoughtful about it. Your cat, your rules.
I don't do unverified remedies. I'll tell you what I've personally tested and what the vet told me. I won't recommend anything dangerous, and I'll always say "talk to your vet" when I'm out of my depth.
I do mess up. And I'll tell you about it.
Why "Cat Debrief"?
A debrief is what happens after a mission — you sit down, you go over what worked and what didn't, and you figure out what to do differently next time. That's what fostering feels like. Every cat is a new operation: intake, assessment, care plan, medical management, behavior work, and eventually, the goodbye (or the fail). You learn something every single time.
This is where I write it all down.
Now go give your cat a chin scratch for me.
— Alex