05/08/2025
There is no creature on this planet more intimidating than a group of 8th graders. Not bears. Not cobras. Not even the guy at the DMV who sighs aggressively when you're missing one form.
Eighth graders walk around like tiny mob bosses who are three Red Bulls deep, clutching every insecurity you've ever had in their cargo shorts, just waiting to throw one at your head. They're feral. They're hormonal. They smell like a toxic cocktail of vanilla Bath & Body Works body spray, Axe, a locker room, and misplaced confidence.
We avoid them at all costs. We cross streets. We give skate parks a 500-foot radius. We only go to Walmart after 10 p.m., when they've gone home to play Call of Duty and send cryptic TikToks to their crush.
And yet… somehow… their energy has infiltrated our shelter. In kitten form.
When people think they're adopting a kitten, they imagine a sweet Disney montage: a tiny furball trotting toward you in slow motion, curling up on your chest, purring like a miniature lawnmower while You've Got a Friend in Me plays in the background.
Reality check: sometimes you're adopting Trevor from 8th grade homeroom. Trevor has a scuffed JanSport backpack. Trevor's spiral notebook has the cover ripped off and random curse words doodled in bubble letters. Trevor once asked a teacher if they'd "always had that nose" and ruined her day.
That's an undersocialized kitten.
These kittens often come in as strays and grew up without much human interaction. They're scared. They don't trust you. And just like middle schoolers, they protect themselves with attitude.
But just like eighth graders, undersocialized kittens still deserve love (even if they roast your skinny jeans). So here's your guide to adopting a kitten who's basically that kid who once told us My Chemical Romance was "classic rock."
Give them their own space:
When you first bring them home, set them up in one room with everything they need: food, water, a litter box, and hiding spots. It's basically their teenage bedroom, where they can sulk, journal about how unfair life is, and occasionally emerge to glare at you.
Keep your interactions with them short at first:
Think "cool older cousin stopping by to say hey," not "aunt who asks if you have a boyfriend yet."
Go slow:
Speak softly. Crouch down. Hand-feed treats like you're bribing the class troublemaker with extra dessert.
Gentle handling:
Pick them up softly with proper support, pet them gently, and help them feel safe while being handled.
The goblin will emerge:
Don't be fooled by initial shyness. Once they feel safe, they'll unlock "2 a.m. chaos mode" and do curtain parkour and hallway sprints.
Accidents happen:
Just like you have to teach an 8th grader that deodorant is not optional, you might have to teach your kitten that litter boxes aren't either. Be patient. Progress will come.
Yes, they might glare at you like you've ruined their life. Yes, they might act like you're the lamest human alive. And yes, you may find yourself saying, "I don't know what I did wrong" to a literal kitten.
But one day, they'll decide you're their person. And when they finally curl up in your lap and look at you like you're their safe place, that's better than any Disney montage you could imagine.
