After Lamb Chop, our elderly cat died from wonky kidneyosis, we got our new kitties from Croydon Animal Samaritans, a small charity. It was always going to be rescue cats (we'd wanted a kitten for ages, but Lamb Chop didn't play well with others so we didn't dare subject her to that). After a brief email exchange about suitability, foster lady came around for a brief chat and to check we weren't planning to eat them. To be honest, I'd have gone elsewhere if they hadn't exhibited due diligence. A couple days later we popped around to see a potentially suitable couple of kittens. An hour later they opted to follow us home.
Anyway, they were neutered, vaccinated, and chipped. Actually, The Honeymonster had one vaccination to go, so we had to sign a form saying we'd do that, and return it with the vet's signature to confirm. And another form to say that if there was any problem we would return the kittens to them and only them (and that we wouldn't sell them). The were open about their history (La-La was a serial bed pooper, but her original owners didn't want a litter tray out all the time, and The Honeymonster had taken a literal taste to the horrible family child). Oh, and the bout of explosive diarrhoea they'd both had was described in Tarantino-esque detail.
As I say, they didn't hold anything back, and the foster lady's main concern was evidently owners who wouldn't dump them at the first sign of trouble. I was almost expecting to be sprayed with shit and then have my limbs bitten off when we finally visited. We were fortunately disappointed.
So, we now have the Two Kittens of the Apocalypse. And they're great. Other than when they re-enact famous battles of WWII at the bottom of the bed at 4am. Which is every morning.
I wouldn't ever get a cat or kitten from a newspaper ad or a 'breeder'.