Fiber Follies

Here’s the story. If you have time, it’s probably a poster story for feral cats. I had intended to write about my first experience trapping, spay/neuter and release, which occurred 3 June.

But everything is different today.

I have been trying to get my ferals spayed and neutered for a year.

Last year at this time I had two queens and two five-month-old kits. Then my neighbours brought home an intact male barn cat, which they refused to neuter. I had hoped to capture him but could not get an affordable feral neuter done anywhere. Programs were either backed up for several months, lacked a location for surgeries, were a long drive away or were nearly as expensive as taking to the regular vet. After three months, neighbour’s husband spirited the very handsome man-cat off to Lollypop. Their problem solved, but now one of the queens and her daughter were pregnant. I tried all the programs again.

Both queens littered in August 2008. One male kitten survived from the young cat’s litter-we don’t know if there were more since he’s the only one we ever saw. He found a home at my husband’s place of business and is now an indoors-only, neutered, well loved pet who just happens to own the place.

The older queen is extremely terrified and defensive around people. She doesn’t bring her kits out in public until they’re around 7 or 8 weeks age. Her August kits were very flighty and almost impossible to calm but have become somewhat friendly over the winter months. By winter’s end, the one male from that litter was getting busy being a male, and another neighbourhood cat-intact and sexually mature, of course, showed up. Both males were after the females. The neighbourhood cat had a collar with no tag. He was extremely friendly but stopped visiting after several weeks and hasn’t been seen since. I hope that his owners decided to care for him instead of casting him out on the streets.

Both queens littered again. Phoebe, the younger cat, had a litter of five on our front step, which she moved a few times since. When the babies were not yet a fortnight old, Phoebe was attacked by a marauding dog (a different  neighbour problem). This dog snapped up her whole head in his mouth and tried to shake her to death. She escaped somehow and the dog ran off. She lost a part of her tongue and had a big bite wound on her throat and a scrape wound on her scruff from that attack. Her neck swelled alarmingly, I had no idea how she could move her head let alone eat and care for the babies. I fed her kitten milk replacement, later mixing it with Fancy Feast, then after a week she demanded real meat and a bit of kibble. It breaks my heart to see her try to eat. Without the tip of the tongue she can’t clean herself easily, & it’s very hard for her to keep food in her mouth long enough to chew it. Still, that wonderful cat is a great mama to her babies. I brought the kits in for safety, warmth and food when she was trapped for her spay. After bringing the four cats caught back home, I  set her loose last, with the babies piled nearby so she’d see them. She rocketed off, right past the babies. I was prepared to care for them until they could be given nice homes. A few hours later she returned to eat. And eat. And eat some more. I grabbed one of the kits and placed it nearby. She ignored it. I put it nearer. She ignored it. Eventually she took interest, scruffed it and hauled it off to wherever she planned to put a new nest. A few hours later, she came for a bite. As she finished I put another kitten nearby. She took it back. A third kitten went back to her very late. I stayed up until 3 a.m., ready to hand over the last two kits, but Phoebe did not return that night. She was back next morning and within two hours had fully restored her family. I missed the little ones-they had gone from hissing in fear to purring and trying to climb out of their carrier whenever they saw me. I only had them about 36 hours. I also felt good that my dear little Phoebe, whose life has been so difficult, was happily mothering her babies again. I was tempted to keep the kits until they were old enough to home, but felt good after having given them back to their mother. It was the right thing to do. Phoebe quickly ramped up her affection toward us. Maybe it was the result of the spay, or maybe she realised that we’d given her babies back. I like to think that it was a bit of both.

I knew where she kept the kittens but did not divulge that information. The Husband is too easily tempted to go handle them-hey, they’re very cute little things. But I feared that if we gave in to temptation, Phoebe would move them farther off so we’d never find them.

By the weekend she had indeed moved them. They were now much nearer. I had placed a big old tractor tire into the front garden, in which was planted an acer. The tire contained a little dirt and a LOT of compost-I would occasionally lift the mulch and dump raw compostables in. Phoebe had created an opening just under the rim, facing the house. Those kits were pretty froggy in their tire nest! They’d creep out, veer around on the straw mulch, then slip back in. The bold little grey kit tumbled over the side but cheerily climbed back up. On Sunday I was so enchanted that I almost skipped Mass. Those dear little babies were having a grand time.

It was a treat to sit back and watch. Phoebe watched from the front step unless she was eating, which she preferred to do right by the door.

Monday morning, The Husband called for me to come out and see the grey kit, who was prowling the front walk, a fair distance for wobbly kitten legs to carry it. Husband picked the baby up and set it back on the mulch in the tire nest. He left for work. I spotted Phoebe scruffing Grey Baby and depositing it into the front picket area. I didn’t entertain thoughts about why-I assumed that she was uncomfortable with our having handled the kit. It seemed that she’d put all the kits in the picket area while deciding where to make the next nest.

Some time later I retrieved the grey kitten, who was soundly sleeping and entirely alone in there. It was set up in an old kennel with cushy cat bed, a bit of rug, a tiny litter pan and a box inverted over the cat bed so it could cave if it so desired. Little cutie awoke and ate from the bottle. I burped it, then placed it into the litter pan, which it used like a pro. After it chatted a moment with me it fell asleep. I worked a bit, then decided to go retrieve another kitten so little Grey Baby wouldn’t be alone in here. I figured that I’d acquire the kits one at a time, a few hours or even a day or so apart. I hoped that this would allow Phoebe to adjust her milk supply toward fewer hungry babies.

A damn neighbour’s dog was sat in the yard, facing down a very upset Phoebe! I have had nothing but trouble from neighbours on two sides, both of whom must have dogs and neither of whom will take responsibility for keeping their dogs off my property. I have asked repeatedly that they restrain their dogs but they simply can’t be bothered. They’re all urban people in a rural setting, and so sure that they can just let their dogs run free despite my protests.

The dog who I found in the yard gawping at a hissing, growling Phoebe is the same dog that attacked her Memorial Day weekend, resulting in throat and neck wounds and the loss of part of her tongue. I ran out shouting at it.

I’ve spoken with this particular neighbour on several occasions about letting their dogs run loose. Each time they promised it wouldn’t happen again. The last time I’d asked was the day before the TNR. And here, five days later, that dog is at my doorstep terrorising the cats!

The dog was run off. Phoebe came to me, uninjured, thank goodness. I offered her food, which she sniffed but did not eat. Strange, she’s been such a voracious eater since the kits were born. She walked to the tire, calling. I followed.

The tire garden’s straw mulch was now packed tightly all the way across. No gap for kits to slip through. Very puzzling! It had still been open when The Husband had put the grey baby back. I shut Phoebe in the garage with a dish of food and reached into the tire. No kittens! I took a long look through that tire, then started to pull out the soil. No kits. I looked round the property, in areas where she’d previously nested with this litter. No babies. I released her from the garage, then went about to look everywhere again. She remained near me, calling for her babies. She stood attentive while I pulled more dirt from the tire, both of us hoping that the babies would emerge. No. We went through all the prior nests together, me feeling, lifting mulch, parting leafy plants, looking, her sniffing round where I explored, calling for those kits.

After a few hours I had to admit to myself that these babies had been taken. I have found no sign anywhere of them. There are neither blood nor remains to be found. I wandered a distance around her normal nesting areas in hope of finding–something.

Nothing.

She’s calling and calling for her family. I have the little grey safely inside in the old kennel in my office, where it is clean and well fed and happy. Except for lacking siblings and mother, that is. Phoebe is still wandering and calling. My heart is broken over the loss of her last litter, and the anguish she feels.

I don’t normally allow myself to express a desire for vengeance, but I will now.

I do not know if that dog had actually taken the kits-it seems improbable that it would walk off with four kits, then conceal the nest. I doubt that dogs operate that way. However, that dog was on this property menacing the cats. I can’t prove that it had done anything but it should never have been here. I won’t completely discount the possibility that a wild animal carried them off, but why would it take four kits then carefully tamp down the mulch to seal the entrance? Doesn’t make any sense. And the wildlife that had once strolled through the place didn’t like being shot at by my lovely neighbours nor did they enjoy the feral cats competing for the area near the house. I do not know if a human slipped in to take the kits, to do whatever with them. My neighbourhood contains people who don’t hesitate to cause harm to innocents. All the black ferals have disappeared, except Marta who keeps turning up again after being gone for weeks. I guess the people who kill black cats just cannot catch her. Don’t blame the coyotes or fox, since the same wonderful neighbours have been careful to kill as many of either as they could shoot. Those black cats did not venture near the coyote and fox runs, nor did the fox and coyote venture up into the yard. I also highly doubt that coyote and fox would select only black cats to kill. That was done by people.

Phoebe’s kittens? I’ll never know, but the way four disappeared and the straw was left packed leads me to think it might have been a deliberate human act. I deeply hope that the negligent dog owners will soon wish they were in hell with their backs broken. If a person came and grabbed the cats, I hope the same thing of that person.

May your consciences cripple you.