This original essay, published here as an A+ exclusive, also appears in our new mini-book collaboration with everyone is gay, YES CATS!, which you should check out.
The Incredibly True Adventures of the Backyard Bobbis
One unbearably steamy summer Sunday in New York City, my girlfriend Stacy and I found five feral kittens in our backyard. They were terrified of us and bolted every time we opened the door — but they kept coming back. It took almost a week for us to understand that their mama was a feral cat we’d been feeding for a year, a black and white tuxedo we’d named Bobbi Jean. She came to the sound of our voice when we called out to her when we were walking down sidewalks or getting off the train, following at a distance and then waiting patiently outside our door while we prepared her food.
Bobbi Jean didn’t trust humans enough to let us touch her, or even stay near her while she ate, but she knew we’d never hurt her and that we were willing to share our food, so we decided she was counting on us to rescue her babies. We named all five of her kittens “The Bobbis.”
Over the course of the next month, we sat outside for hours with food, coaxing The Bobbis into eating in our presence at the same time every day. While we were doing that, I got Trap, Neuter, Return certified with the ASPCA and gathered the equipment I would need to trap them. We outfitted a room for the Bobbis with a big purple kitten den and a climbing castle and plenty of soft blankets.
We knew we didn’t have long to rescue them. Feral kittens have a very short window of time during which they can be socialized. They learn the way of the street so quickly. We also lost one of the kittens, Bobbi Jean Jr., to a car accident.
Top: Frodo Bobbi, Dobby Bobbi, Beth March Bobbi, and Socks Bobbi trying to make it through the summer. Bottom: All the Bobbis four months later.
Finally, after a month of preparation, we were ready to trap the four Bobbis who’d made it through the impossible heat of the summer: Socks Bobbi, Dobby Bobbi, Beth March Bobbi, and Frodo Bobbi. The day after we trapped them, they visited the ASPCA, where they were spayed and neutered, vaccinated, and treated for fleas and ear mites. Then, they returned home with us.
Very, very, very slowly we earned their trust. They would eat in front of us, while we sat on the floor and looked in a different direction. They would eat with our hand on their food bowl. They would lick baby food — Gerber No. 2 chicken! — off of our fingers. They would let us stroke their backs, once or twice, as gentle as a whisper. We nudged them around their food bowl, lifted them quickly from one spot to another near their plate, coaxed them into our laps with tasty treats.
After weeks and weeks and weeks, all four of them finally let us pet them without food around. Then, they began to seek out affection from us. They crawled into our laps unprompted! They ran to us when we opened the door! They wanted to include us in their cuddle piles, and brought us stuffed toys so we could play their games too.
They got strong and they got big and their fur got silky and their eyes got bright and we fell in love with them.
And just when we were ready to start looking for forever homes for them, they got sick. Very sick. In one night, all four of them were admitted into an emergency hospital in New York City and diagnosed with feline panleukopenia, an often deadly virus that kills most kittens with 24 hours. The prognosis wasn’t good. Because FPV attacks quick-replicating cells like white blood and bone marrow, kittens the age of the Bobbis have a 70 percent mortality rate, even with with treatment. When the Bobbis first came to us, we knew it was likely they might never let us even touch them, but they’d learned to trust us completely, and the night we checked them into the hospital, they clung to us and cried for us and pressed their shaking faces into our hands when we reached into their carriers. We didn’t know if they’d live to see the morning.
Top: Socks Bobbi the day we found him. Bottom: Socks Bobbi four months later.
They survived the night. And the next one. And the next one. On the fourth day of their treatment, the doctor told us that while they would normally want to keep infected cats in the hospital, our Bobbis were a special case. They needed to come home because sometimes the difference between life and death for kittens is knowing they’re fighting for someone they’re bonded to. And while feral kittens are often baffled by the human world, well into adulthood, our Bobbis understood completely that they were safe and loved when they were with us.
Their medical bills were super expensive, but our friends and family who had watched the Bobbis’ progress from terrified feral cats to cautious street cats to affectionate lap cats bonded together and raised almost $5,000 dollars for them. We gave twice-daily medicine for almost a month, monitored them every hour, and held them and loved them and begged them to keep on fighting. And then one day, the medicine was gone. And they’d made it. Not just one of them, but all of them.
Most people don’t get it. So much time and so much money spent on four sad little street cats. People think it’s a waste of time, of energy, of income, of life. They laugh. They ask why. Why? Why? Why?
I can’t speak for why other people do what they do, but I can speak for me, a person who has spent countless thousands of dollars saving animals in my lifetime (and been a beneficiary of the internet’s uncommon generosity when my beagle, Scout, was dying and needed very expensive life-saving surgery). Some people’s souls are sustained by art and some by reading and some by writing and some by church and some by food and a million other things. I have always been a person whose soul is sustained by my relationships with animals. They ease my anxiety, lessen the burden of my depression, focus my ADHD. Just being near them, taking care of them, loving and being loved by them.
Socks Bobbi on the way home from the hospital, reaching through his makeshift carrier to hold my hand.
My mother has borderline personality disorder among other things, including various addictive behaviors, and despite my superhuman efforts, I have never been able to make one bit of difference in her life. Trying to help her is like trying to fill up the Grand Canyon by throwing spoons full of water into it. That’s what it feels like to try change the world in any real way, to me.
It’s brutal and bleak and everything is so far out of our control, and really, truly, in the grand scheme of things, nothing we do matters on a global scale. Or a national one, really. Or a state one or a county one or a city one or even a neighborhood one. Sometimes, though, I get a chance to save an animal’s life. It doesn’t matter to the world at large. It doesn’t change the fact that the climate is out of control and America’s infrastructure is crumbling and the public school system is underfunded and diseases are ravaging less developed countries and wars are ravaging developed ones. But it matters to a kitten, and that matters to me.
I started saving animals when I was five years old, when I saw a mama cat get hit by a car and found her babies and hid them under my house. I snuck out to sleep with them at night, to keep them warm. I fed them my own food I smuggled away from the dinner table. And when my parents were yelling at each other and when my mom was slapping and screaming at me and when the kids at my school were making fun of me for being a cross-eyed dyke, I’d think about those kittens who were counting on me to keep them safe. I’d make it through another day.
The Bobbis’ mama, Bobbi Jean, comes to our back door every day for breakfast and dinner. She follows us home when we see her out and about. We saved her babies, like we promised her we would.
The world is burning, burning, burning. It has been as long as I’ve been alive. I can’t put out the fire, but maybe I can save one tiny life. Maybe I can save four. Maybe it only matters to me and the little guys I saved — and to their mama who will never know what it’s like to be scratched under the chin, or to fall asleep being petted in a lap by the fire — but that’s okay. The world is dark and light is precious. We all have to sustain our souls somehow.
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Oh Heather, this is so beautiful. I made the foolish mistake of reading this at work, and am now trying not to cry at my desk. Thank you for writing this, and thank you for saving the Bobbis (I love all their names!).
same
Wow. I’m not a cat person, or a pet person, really. Severe allergies has meant that animals are kept an arms length or more away from me, so I’ve never had the opportunity to bond with them.
I’m saying all that to say, this is the first piece about animals to ever make me cry.
This story and your words broke my heart right open and filled up again to the very brim.
Once again, I am in awe of your writing, Heather. And once again, I feel privileged and lucky and blessed to read your words.
My love for the Bobbis and their journey is immense.
THIS IS THE NICEST THING I’VE EVER READ. -many, many cry face emojis-
I want to hug you and the Bobbis so hard!
My favourite cat was called Bilbo, so I’m appreciating the names you chose too.
This is so sweet and I loved reading it. I used to feed a feral momma cat too and she had a litter of kittens in my yard last April. Then she got hit by a car (on Mother’s Day!) and I had 3 two week old kittens to bottle feed and carry around everywhere I went. My best friend took one and I kept the other two. Truthfully, I’m more of a dog person, but it’s really special to have raised them from so young. I imagine having to earn their trust like you did is a similar special accomplished feeling.
Side-note though, how do you deal with the litter box situation for 4 cats? because I’m at the end of my rope with 2.
This is so beautiful. Feral cat colonies are a real problem in New York–every person who spay & neuters & rescues these cats is a hero. “I have always been a person whose soul is sustained by my relationships with animals.” Yes, this. Rescuing my cat (who was abandoned as a kitten) and raising her brought me out of a period of depression and continues to give my life more meaning. Wondering if you’ve read Donna Haraway’s book When Species Meet? She waxes poetic on these relationships between humans and companion animals, how in our “dance of relating” we become undone and remake each other. I recommend it! And can’t wait to hear that the Bobbis are all in wonderful forever homes!
this was really beautiful i love the bobbis!!
i love you beth march 4 ever
also you.
Heather, you are too good for this world. I’m so glad the Bobbis are all doing well.
At the risk of sounding overwrought:
Part of rescuing animals is the vulnerability of knowing things can go wrong, and it might break your heart or empty your bank account or both, and trying anyway. Those possibilities (particularly the first one) are so scary to me that I tend to feel like I can’t even get involved in animal rescue (beyond adopting my dogs from rescue orgs, of course). Heather, you gather up your great big heart and you go to work in these ways even though it’s hard and time-consuming and expensive and makes you vulnerable. You’re a hero. And it does make a difference to the bobbis, of course, but even more than that, it means your heart is open, and that makes the world an infinitely better place. I hope one day I’m as brave as you.
Heather, you’re a true hero. I’ve followed along with the Bobbi’s story on instagram, and talk about them to friends and my girlfriend as if I know them! I’m just really happy that the Bobbi’s are doing well, thanks to you
I’ve gotta tell you, watching the Bobbi Journey has been a real bright spot in my social media feeds. Even when they were sick, the outpouring of support warmed my grumpy cynical heart. So know that it mattered to more than just the few of you – your caring and devotion sustains souls all over the Internet.
Yes, I completely agree! I feel like the extended Bobbi family took care of me too this fall.
If I could cry I definitely would have. Thank you, you are amazing!
This is so important and so beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with us.
This was really beautiful. I love the kitty names so much.
I fostered kittens this summer too and I feel a real somewhere out there connection with you, heather. it’s like we are just two queers under the same big sky trying to raise these kittens the best we can because loving and caring for them is about all we can do in this stupid shitshow of a world. the four we couldn’t keep are gone now and it hurt so much to break up the band, but it is so satisfying to see those little specks I saw on day one turn into bouncing, loving, healthy beings that are bringing other people (children at that! I mean cue the sobbing forever) so much happiness.
you did such a beautiful thing and your writing is breathtaking per usual. I hope there is a forthcoming backyard bobbis series because I want to know all about their next adventure.
I love this so much. My cat is a rescue tuxedo. He was 3 when we adopted him and he is missing toes on one foot (the shelter thought his foot was likely caught in a trap when he was young) and we often hypothesize about what happened in his life before he came to us.
I thought this would just be feel-good pix of cats. And then it got real and dark. A+, A+.
Heather Hogan you are the best human.
Heather Hogan, actually the best. Thanks for keeping my heart warm with this beautiful story! I have loved following the Bobbi’s adventures on social media. You and Stacy are amazing cat moms.
I can’t tell you how much I’ve followed their story!! OMG THE BOBBIS!!!! is my reaction every time I see soemthing about them!! Heather, you’re so wonderful and IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY. The part where you talked about saving kittens as a kid brought tiny tears to my eyes.
“Most people don’t get it. So much time and so much money spent on four sad little street cats. People think it’s a waste of time, of energy, of income, of life. They laugh. They ask why. Why? Why? Why?”
I remember when we lost my sister’s dog 2 months ago. Her name was Penny. She was a chihuahua that my brother in law had saved after the 4th of July. We lost her to a coyote right in their backyard. When I was telling the story at work someone asked how I could be so emotional over a dog. A dog that wasn’t even mine but I said that they just didn’t know the feeling to have loved a pet and have that pet love you back. UNCONDITIONALLY. I had the chance to take of my sister’s dogs whenever they were out of town for the summer. Penny slept next to me along with their other dog Brody. For a month and many times before whenever I was at my sister’s. People say “it’s just an animal” but it’s more. They’re your family. Your little furbabies.
I was tearing up before I was even halfway through, and by the end of it I was bawling. This really hit home, Heather. Thank you so much for sharing.
Somehow this past summer my one cat turned into two cats and a pitbull, while nearly everyone in my life watched and responded with about as much faith as they might put in a toddler trying to work a stove. I can’t really blame them – around this time last year I was barely functional so by June when I adopted my dog I was, at best, still struggling to take care of myself. But, despite the opposition from my (then) girlfriend and my parents, I knew I had to do it. Fast forward to October, and I finally put a stop to my unhealthy relationship with my substance of choice so that I could save my tiny feral snuggle bug, Silas. Taking care of my brood of fluffs provides me with day to day structure that is absolutely vital to my wellbeing, along with unlimited snuggles on my very darkest days, and I honestly don’t know what I would do without them. There are some days where the only thing that keeps me going is the fact that they are depending on me to love them and take care of them. I may spend half my paycheck at petco every month, but I genuinely don’t care. They rescue me every single day, and until now I felt like no one understood. Thank you❤
Another article that is worth every penny of a year-long A+ membership!
Heather, you and Stacy are the absolute best.
I know how awful that trip to the hospital and following days/weeks must have been and an beyond impressed that neither of you just lost it completely.
It was great to see the before/after pics to show what all that love has let the little furballs grow into.
This is such a beautiful story. I have been following the journey of the Bobbis on Facebook and I am just so happy that things worked out for you and Stacy and these four precious cats.
Thank you so much for writing this and being you. You are a hero.
<3 <3
I think it was that last photo that got to me the most.
Following your Bobbi updates on Facebook has been a real treat. I’m so glad they’re doing so well. Now excuse me, I seem to have something in my eye…
I absolutely love this article and have been thinking periodically about how adorable and amazing it was for days. GO KITTENS. All over gchat and Facebook, I have been saying to friends, “There is this heartwarming Autostraddle article filled with resilient kittens, sorry, members only. :P”
i finally got around to reading this and was not at all expecting its immense impact given my neutral at best attitude toward cats. but when i started sobbing my dog came to check on me and i cried wet sloppy tears all over him too. thank you for this.
My heart grew three sizes while reading this.
This is my first time reading about the Bobbis. My dog Roxie passed away five days ago at 15 years of age. It is you who is crying. Thanks for writing this Heather.
The feels.
Heather you are the best most wonderful truest Hufflepuff.
This is so moving. I love this idea that, even if we might not have a large-scale impact, the “small-scale” impact of our actions and decisions still matters profoundly.
That all said, I just have to say: Heather, from where I stand, what you do DOES matter on a global scale, and you ARE changing the world in a very real way. Your writing has touched so many people around the world. I know I am not alone in saying that your words have offered me hope, strengthened my connections with loved ones, and given me the courage to live more authentically. I am deeply grateful for your work.