At left is Bart, Prince Among Cats. Ordinarily my husband and I adopt from shelters, but Bart found us first.
He showed up in our driveway one scorching June afternoon in 2004 to scrounge from our garbage. When I arrived home and let our dog out of the car, she made a beeline for the trash cans and stuck her nose between them. A high-pitched keening rippled through the air like an audible heat wave. Pulling Josie back, I peered into the shadows to find the source of the noise: a tiny, terrified brown and white kitten.
After a brief struggle I managed to get the little guy inside, locked up Josie and our other cat, put out some water and food, and left him alone. Within 30 minutes he’d refreshed himself, taken a short tour of the kitchen and living room, and curled up to sleep atop the couch cushion behind my head. When Tom came home, he rolled his eyes at my foundling, but within 24 hours we both had abandoned any thought of sending the little stray to the shelter and an uncertain fate.
Bart will never know how lucky he is. Though still in the prime of his life, he’s already outlived the average homeless cat. He’ll never be ripped to shreds by dogs, eaten by a coyote or bobcat, shot, hung, set on fire, or skinned alive by a sadistic teenager, or crushed under the wheels of a car. He’ll never again go hungry, nor will he ever suffer from malnutrition, parasites, communicable diseases, insect or scorpion stings, snakebite, or abscessed wounds from fighting. I expect to have another eight to ten years to enjoy his company and cater to his whims. If the consequences of quantity of life diminish his quality of life beyond reasonable limits, we’ll do the responsible thing and allow our vet to put a quick, humane end to his suffering.
Millions of other cats die each year simply because there are too many pets and not enough caring, responsible homes. The lucky ones are euthanized at shelters or veterinary clinics. The unlucky may spend weeks, months or years scrounging on the streets or in the wild before dying from disease, starvation, predation, accident, or malicious acts. Thousands of self-identified cat lovers compound this cruelty by supporting programs to “manage” colonies of free-ranging homeless cats, which only prolongs these animals’ misery, jeopardizes the health of people and pets, and results in the needless deaths of neighboring wildlife.
I give most feral cat defenders the benefit of the doubt for good intentions, even though an obsession with prolonging the lives of as many cats as possible even at the cost of millions of other animals’ lives seems more like hoarding than humanitarianism. I’m equally certain that some leaders of this movement manipulate big-hearted but naive or emotionally vulnerable people into doing their dirty work: wasting their own time and money subsidizing feral cat colonies, badgering humane organizations and animal control agencies into promoting and conducting in situ feral cat “management,” agitating against cat-control ordinances, etc.
Rather than plow into the growing mountain of evidence demonstrating the damage free-roaming cats do to wildlife, their threats to human health, and the ineffectiveness of TNR (Trap-Neuter-Release, also known as Trap-Test-Vaccinate-Alter-Release) in controlling, much less eliminating, populations of feral cats, I’ll refer you to the excellent resources compiled by the American Bird Conservancy:
Cats, Birds, & You (PDF brochure, excellent for handing out to people who let their pets roam)
There’s more on this issue at Making Tracks, the blog of The Wildlife Society.
Another summary site that includes critiques of TNR-biased research studies: TNR Reality Check
I’d also like to send a National Feral Cat Day message to the ostensibly respectable “humane” organizations that support TNR:
If you really care about feral cats, the only truly humane, ethical, and environmentally responsible alternative to euthanasia is TAPPIES: Trap, Alter, and Permanently Place In Enclosed Sanctuaries.