What Feral Kittens Taught Us About Leadership, Trust, and Healing

We didn’t plan to become kitten rescuers. But in December, my girlfriend and I opened our home to a litter of feral-born kittens. Since then, we’ve helped five of them transition from terrified, hiding, and hissing to becoming playful, curious, affectionate companions. And now we’re working with two older rescues—8 to 9 months old—who carry even deeper, more ingrained fears.

This experience has changed me. Not just as a person, but as a leader.

It taught me that trust isn’t something you get to demand. It’s not something you can talk someone into. It’s something that’s earned—patiently, quietly, and on the timeline of the other. Whether that “other” is a five-week-old kitten or a new team member walking into a new environment with decades of complex history behind them.

The Partnership Behind Every Rescue

While I’ve spent countless hours building trust through presence, my girlfriend has handled everything that makes that possible. She ensures medical needs are met, handles food, clean litter, and infection treatments—essentials for a safe, healthy environment.

Without that partnership—without those needs being met—there would be no space for trust to grow. And that’s one of the earliest lessons that connects directly to leadership:

You can’t build emotional safety if practical needs are ignored.
Clean litter boxes matter. So do clear policies, fair pay, and consistent expectations.

Patience on Their Timeline, Not Ours

One of the hardest leadership truths is this: You don’t control the clock. You can provide everything—resources, encouragement, consistency—and still, trust won’t arrive on your preferred schedule.

I wanted our first kittens to trust me sooner. It was frustrating when I’d offer treats and they’d refuse to come near. One kitten started inching forward. The other stayed back, desperately wanting the treat but too fearful to move.

I’ve never harmed them. I’ve only ever shown them care. And yet they still run when I approach—most of the time. Once in a while, if I’ve been sitting near them long enough, I’m able to slowly approach and pet them. And when I do, they usually love it. They purr, lean in.

But then? A sound. A shift. Something unfamiliar—and they’re gone.

No mistake on my part. No broken trust. Just a reminder:

Trust isn’t a straight line. It resets and rebuilds—over and over.

Others Wanted to Give Up. We Didn’t.

When we first started, we were unproven fosters. The rescue organization provided guidance and checked in frequently. After a few weeks of what seemed like slow progress, they grew concerned. They suggested we consider returning a few of the kittens to the feral colony—fearing they’d never acclimate.

But we were there. We saw the signs. Tiny ones:

• They didn’t run when we entered the room.
• They moved around with less fear—no longer sneaking, just walking.
• They’d stay in the open, even if they still wouldn’t let us touch them.

To others, it didn’t look like progress. But to us, it was everything.

Eventually, we earned the first touch. Then the first purr. And finally—trust.

Today, all five of those kittens are in loving homes. Their adoptive families never saw the trauma—and that’s a good thing. They’ll have 15+ years of love and safety because we had the patience to meet them where they were, and not give up.

It’s Our Job to Prove Safety

Here’s what I’ve learned—first from the rescue kittens, now reflected in every team I work with:

• Fear doesn’t look the same in everyone. It may show up as resistance, disengagement, control, or even defiance.
• You don’t get to demand trust. You have to prove—repeatedly—that it’s safe to engage.
• You can’t separate emotional safety from practical needs. Shelter matters. So do systems, benefits, onboarding, and team norms.
• Progress is rarely dramatic. Sometimes trust means a kitten stops hiding. Sometimes it means a quiet employee finally speaks in a meeting.
• The one who’s the most difficult at first might one day be the hardest to say goodbye to.

The Data Validates This Truth

According to the 2025 World Happiness Report, emotional well-being is declining—especially among younger generations. Gallup’s global research confirms a rise in stress, disengagement, and loneliness.

But one of the most striking insights is this:

People believe others are less benevolent than they actually are.

That perception gap decreases emotional resilience and increases fear. When people assume others aren’t kind, fair, or trustworthy—even when the data shows otherwise—they pull back. They protect. They hide.

Just like a feral kitten.

And here’s the problem: you can’t explain safety into someone.
You have to prove it. Over and over. Until they feel it in their bones.

The One We Nearly Gave Up On

There’s one kitten who stays with us in a different way. His name was Nesta.

Nesta was the most troublesome of the first five. He wasn’t the cutest. He didn’t have the bandit mask or the striking eyes. He had no symmetry—just a wide, wary stare and a face that made him look… intense. The others hissed out of fear. Nesta scratched. He was defensive. He used his claws. And he left more marks on us than the rest combined.

People worried we wouldn’t find him a home. Honestly, we worried too.

But we kept at it. Extra handling. Extra patience. Extra scratches.

And then, Nesta began to change.

He purred at a single touch. He made biscuits in front of the couch while we watched TV. He played with our dogs. He ran to us when we called his name. He ate from the dog bowl with the dogs. He nudged us lovingly, curled up on laps, and filled our home with warmth and affection.

He became the most loving, confident, playful soul in the litter.

And when it came time for adoption—he was the hardest one to let go.

So What Kind of Leader Do I Want to Be?

When I think about Nesta, I don’t just feel love—I feel responsibility.

Because if that kind of transformation is possible for a scared, scratched-up, overlooked kitten…

What might be possible for a human?

All creatures carry potential. Some just hide it better than others.

And I have to ask myself:

• Am I the kind of leader who creates the conditions for that potential to be revealed?
• Am I willing to go slow enough… to wait long enough… to believe hard enough… to find out?

Leadership isn’t about fixing people. It’s about believing in them long enough for them to believe in themselves.

And that doesn’t come with guarantees.
Just the hope that—given time, safety, and the right environment—what once felt impossible… might one day curl up beside you and purr.