Yo-Yo

Yo-Yo – The Tabby Whirlwind Who’s 90% Play, 9% Mischief, 1% “Ew, Human Cooties”<br/><br/>Yo-Yo is the kitten who greets you at the door with a toy in his mouth, a question-mark tail, and the clearest “What are we destroying today?” expression you’ve ever seen on a cat.<br/><br/>Playtime is his love language, his religion, and his full-time job. Wand toys? Murdered. Crinkle balls? Launched into orbit. Random receipt on the floor? Clearly a stealth mission. He’ll follow you around chirping and trilling, desperate to know what you’re doing... right up until you open the door wider than two inches. Then he remembers he’s supposed to be a mysterious free spirit and pulls the emergency brake.<br/><br/>Petting is... complicated. While he’s eating, you are graciously allowed to rest a hand on his back. He will tolerate exactly 2.3 seconds before giving you the most offended side-eye and trying to inch his entire body away without pausing the nom-nom-nom. It’s not personal; your hand is simply gross and possibly made of broccoli. Petting at any other time? That’s a hard pass—he’s got places to be, strings to chase, and a reputation to uphold.<br/><br/>Picking him up? Sir, this is a ground-floor establishment only.<br/><br/>Yo-Yo hasn’t had a proper playdate yet, but he is absolutely smitten with every cat he sees through the kennel bars. He chirps, he trills, he presses his little face against the door and yells “COME BACK, I WASN’T DONE FLIRTING” when they leave. A confident, playful feline buddy (or two) would probably make his entire life.<br/><br/>Yo-Yo is searching for a home with endless toys, high perches for dramatic surveillance, and a human who understands that love sometimes looks like being followed everywhere, meowed at constantly, and never actually touched—yet. Give him time, routine, and a cat friend who speaks zoomie, and one day he’ll decide hands aren’t so bad after all (probably).<br/><br/>If you want a kitten who keeps you laughing, keeps your floors toy-covered, and keeps you earning every future cuddle, come meet Yo-Yo. He’s already planning your first game of chase—he just hasn’t decided if you’re allowed to win yet.<br/><br/>Visitors to the shelter are by appointment only and after a form has been submitted online:<br/><br/>https://www.marshmallowfoundation.org/forms/

Yo-Yo – The Tabby Whirlwind Who’s 90% Play, 9% Mischief, 1% “Ew, Human Cooties”

Yo-Yo is the kitten who greets you at the door with a toy in his mouth, a question-mark tail, and the clearest “What are we destroying today?” expression you’ve ever seen on a cat.

Playtime is his love language, his religion, and his full-time job. Wand toys? Murdered. Crinkle balls? Launched into orbit. Random receipt on the floor? Clearly a stealth mission. He’ll follow you around chirping and trilling, desperate to know what you’re doing... right up until you open the door wider than two inches. Then he remembers he’s supposed to be a mysterious free spirit and pulls the emergency brake.

Petting is... complicated. While he’s eating, you are graciously allowed to rest a hand on his back. He will tolerate exactly 2.3 seconds before giving you the most offended side-eye and trying to inch his entire body away without pausing the nom-nom-nom. It’s not personal; your hand is simply gross and possibly made of broccoli. Pet

Yo-Yo – The Tabby Whirlwind Who’s 90% Play, 9% Mischief, 1% “Ew, Human Cooties”

Yo-Yo is the kitten who greets you at the door with a toy in his mouth, a question-mark tail, and the clearest “What are we destroying today?” expression you’ve ever seen on a cat.

Playtime is his love language, his religion, and his full-time job. Wand toys? Murdered. Crinkle balls? Launched into orbit. Random receipt on the floor? Clearly a stealth mission. He’ll follow you around chirping and trilling, desperate to know what you’re doing... right up until you open the door wider than two inches. Then he remembers he’s supposed to be a mysterious free spirit and pulls the emergency brake.

Petting is... complicated. While he’s eating, you are graciously allowed to rest a hand on his back. He will tolerate exactly 2.3 seconds before giving you the most offended side-eye and trying to inch his entire body away without pausing the nom-nom-nom. It’s not personal; your hand is simply gross and possibly made of broccoli. Petting at any other time? That’s a hard pass—he’s got places to be, strings to chase, and a reputation to uphold.

Picking him up? Sir, this is a ground-floor establishment only.

Yo-Yo hasn’t had a proper playdate yet, but he is absolutely smitten with every cat he sees through the kennel bars. He chirps, he trills, he presses his little face against the door and yells “COME BACK, I