Of Cats and Traps — Part 1

I came late to cats. I did have one cat in my college apartment. Chat was a good buddy, but I was on my way into the Navy, so I had to find him a new home. I brought him to some old family friends, two aged Polish sisters living on a farm in Adamsville, Rhode Island, where he was spoiled rotten, but managed to keep his girlish figure by working as a farm cat all day.

Later I inherited a barn full of community cats, that is, no longer feral cats who interact with people on a regular basis. Judy, the postmaster had been feeding them for years. When she retired, I drew the short straw amongst the 200 or so folks in Syria, Virginia, and became their feeder. Twist my arm, this was great! There were about ten cats, who ate once a day. None were friendly enough to pet — six feet was their safe distance, but my wife and I enjoyed the effort.

Then, one day, peeking out from behind an old apple basket, was a kitten, no, three kittens. The next day there were more. The kittens were a delight. They scampered around playfully when they saw us, remaining just out of petting range, but soon we were up to nineteen felines. Cute little kittens turn into full size cats with full size appetites, who then have more kittens. At one point in the past the contract mail delivery lady had gotten all the cats spayed at her own expense. Clearly some new breeders had moved in.

We named many of our cats: One pair was Trudy and Jerry Katz, named for a couple my parents had been friends with many years ago. Both seemed to resemble their human namesakes. Then there was Mr. Big Cheeks, the male who spent his time behind the others at feeding time, just looking at the action. He in fact had very big cheeks. There was Little Big Cheeks. She was born in one of the litters after we began feeding. She had long, golden hair, and an enormous mane, making her look like a lion, and somewhat like a puffed-up mini-Mr. Big Cheeks. At first, we thought she was a male, but she was eventually revealed as a girl when she too had kittens.

We did our best to keep the cats out of the street by providing clean water as well as food, but we occasionally lost one to a traffic accident, leading to the establishment of the kitty cemetery in our yard. Each time we lost a cat I felt as if I’d lost a child.

When the barn population crept over nineteen, we decided that cute wasn’t enough. Population control was needed. At $250-$300 per cat to spay or neuter, we were way over our heads.

To be continued