After months of feeding the same five cats every morning, I decided to work up some nerve to trap a few of them, and implement stage three of my personal “Stop the Kittens” program. Kittens are cute, yes, but more than half of them die and the rest go on to fight for turf and roam in search of procreation.
One such kitty, almost a year old, has become our friend. We love Teddy, otherwise known as Theodore on bird-hunting occasions (the only time I felt sorry for a grackle on a particularly gruesome hunt that resulted in a squawking cacophony of birds and grackle bird-blood-feathers all over my porch). The first day this little guy appeared, he ran all the way to my hands when I was putting food out. I’d never had a wild cat come that close. Most of them hide till the coast is clear. The last time I set out traps, Teddy was one of the lucky victims even though I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks.
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