The Worst Volunteer Experience of My Life...

...so far and hopefully, ever.

Nothing planned for volunteering this week except lots of self care.  Don't you hate it when things just don't work out?

Speaking of not working out, it seems like there are a lot of volunteer horror stories that don't get out.

Now before writing that sentence, I looked up some horror stories.  Some were as horrible as mine, if not worse.  Many were not (volunteering at a shelter and having to clean up a wall smeared in crap sucks, but trust me, could be worse.)

***This isn't to scare anyone away from fostering or volunteering.  This is just a personal story and we do hope to foster again later.***

My horror story starts with a cute little kitten I named Oliver.

Oliver after being hand fed with some litter stuck to her butt

Oliver and his/her three siblings were abandoned (or so I was told) and needed a foster home till they were old enough to be neutered/spayed.

I wanted to foster animals for a while and my husband agreed to allow me to do so.  I got four cute little kittens that were supposed to be at least 6 weeks old.  I didn't know any better then.  When I became a tech student, I found out that they were more like 4 weeks old when I got them.  That may seem like not such a big deal in the human world.  In the cat world, weaning starts at 4 weeks old.  In other words, I should have probably still been offering a bottle to some, especially Oliver.  I wasn't given kitten formula or a bottle.  Just some canned food and adult kibble which now I know were probably part of the problem.

Tortie and her other siblings were exceptionally good at scaling the cat tree!
Oliver, not so much.

Oliver was a funny little kitten.  I believe she was a girl, but not for sure (again, I just didn't know any better.)  I assumed she was a runt because she was so much smaller than the others.  I noticed that she was getting pushed out of the way so I'd hand feed her most of the time.  She couldn't chew the kibble so I hand fed her mostly wet food.  I noticed Oliver wasn't very good at balancing like her siblings.  She also didn't attempt to clean herself.  I contacted the coordinator about her as I was worried about her being so small and stumbling around.  I was told I was doing everything A-OK.  We thought she was just an odd ball or that she may have had some mental disability.  I spent a lot of time with her attempting to keep her clean and fed.  Naturally, we wanted to adopt this weird ball of fluff that couldn't seem to take care of herself at all.

Then it happened.  I came home and Oliver didn't come to greet me with the other three.  I heard weak meows and found her lifeless body on the base of the cat tree.  I was told the shelter wasn't contracted with any vets in my area and that I should take them to the main building to get care.  I hadn't been paid yet and there was no way I'd make it the 50 miles to their shelter and back and have gas to get to work till payday.  I, once again, did what I was told.  I called the coordinator over and over and over again.  I left who-knows-how many messages.  I called the shelter that also couldn't get a hold of her.  Three hours later, she calls and tells me she is about an hour away on vacation.

That is fine and dandy.  I understand humans need vacation too.  But at least give me a plan in case of an emergency!

She showed up to my door finally, acting as if I ruined her vacation.  I probably did but wouldn't have had to if I had alternatives.  Again, I completely understand.  I'd be upset if I had to take an emergency on my vacation too.  That wasn't the upsetting part.

Three days later I get an angry text message saying Oliver died.  Yes...duh.  She was basically dead when it took over four hours to get a hold of you lady!  She then told me that the autopsy came back and said I didn't feed her in over a week. 

Say What?

First off, you're full of absolute C.R.A.P.  There is no way I'd starve only one kitten. 
Second, she was not skin and bones.  She was smaller size wise, but equally as plump as her siblings.  I asked for a vet report and got cussed out.  She literally was painting me as an animal abuser.  Ok then. 

Jump ahead a few months.

Now I'm a vet tech student.  I also now know that kittens tend to just...die.  There are a variety of reasons why a kitten might die at no fault to the mother or human aid.  It also seemed fishy that the vet said it had been over a week (but didn't mention liver failure which is what will happen if a cat doesn't eat for about 3 days.)

At this school, I happened to meet someone that volunteers at the physical shelter/hospital I was fostering from.  Apparently, the other staff was trying to get the coordinator fired because she was causing too many issues.  They had lost almost all of their new fosters and the old fosters were complaining about her.  They wondered why they were struggling to find and keep foster homes.  Well, she is brunette and was the payroll.  Starting there would have helped.  Maybe listening to other staff members or long time fosters?

Although I knew it wasn't me, I didn't kill Oliver, and that the entire community had an issue with this coordinator, it still hurt.  It still stings.  In fact, it is why we haven't fostered for our local municipal shelters.  It is one thing to make a mistake.  It is a whole 'nother thing to be blamed for something you have no control over and then painted as if it were intentional. 

The sociology side of me wonders why she is/was this way.  Why did she feel that she had to put blame on anyone?  Couldn't she accept that sometimes bad things just happen?

The human side of me, and I mean this in the most Southern way possible,