At the risk of echoing Bryan Adams, that troubadour of the ’90s, I will state a truism: everything we do, we do it for the cats. When it comes to free-roaming felines, this isn’t always easy.
It’s not that there’s any difficulty in loving them. That’s the easy part. Even if they’re scared, even if they hiss and pop and do everything in their power to scream “I AM FERAL AND I AM ANGRY”, we love them simply because they are cats, they need us, and they are wondrous.
It’s not even that there’s any difficulty in trapping them. OK, that’s not exactly true; it can be downright James Bond-y to outfox felines who know how to elude every trap in town. But even this, for all its challenge, is not emotionally hard.
It’s certainly not difficult to provide the care they need. Even if a feral cat growls the whole time you’re in her orbit, there’s no satisfaction quite like seeing her savor a (fancy) feast you’ve given her, or watching her bounce back to health after life-saving surgery or pain-ending dental care.
All of that takes time and love and patience and resources. But none of that takes quite the emotional toll of choosing to do what’s in a cat’s deepest interest when it goes against our own gut instincts.
We’ve talked before about the struggle to carry out the “R” part of TNR — that is, return to the wild. Our hearts want every cat to know warm laps and cozy couches and human love.
But not every cat wants the indoor life. And to love them is to love them as they are, and to give them the life they were born to live.
I struggled with a similar issue as a little girl. A shallow creek ran behind my house, and each summer I brought no shortage of toads and newts and crayfish into the house to love and treasure forever. (The passage of years has made me realize just how saintly-patient my parents were.) But toads, newts and crayfish did not want to live in my house. They did not want to be treasured by me for even five minutes. They wanted the rhythm of the creek, the wild wandering life that they had chosen, that God had given them.
And so, each summer night for many years, my parents would escort me — and my amphibian captives — back to the creek, belting out “Born Free” as I wept my goodbyes. (The passage of years has also made me realize just how saintly-patient our neighbors were.)
I caught myself crooning “Born Free” again this month as we bid farewell to our latest TNR treasure.
This young tabby, barely out of adolescence herself, came to us with her newborn, Elizabeth (pictured above). Elizabeth’s mom, hereafter creatively known as “Elizabeth’s Mom” (pictured below left), was the very epitome of feral. She hissed. She paced. She crouched. She refused to make eye contact.
She wanted the life she loved.
She also wanted to raise her little munchkin, however, and so Elizabeth’s Mom stayed with us through Elizabeth’s babyhood. She raised her little girl with love and fierce devotion — but Elizabeth’s Mom never showed an iota of comfort with the whole being-inside thing.
And so, once Elizabeth was weaned and happily adopted, we spayed her mom…and returned her to her colony.
Sanctuary Operations Manager Danielle was the one to personally escort Elizabeth’s Mom back home to the wild. Danielle tells me that our tabby friend ran and ran and ran, a superabundance of energy and joy overtaking her as she found herself back home. We’d given her everything she would need to flourish, and loved her enough to let her go where her heart longs to be.
Amazing sponsors, it is thanks to you that Elizabeth’s Mom and hundreds of other stray cats past, present and future can know both health and freedom. By cherishing feral cats exactly as they are, nurturing them to health and strength and joy, and allowing them the lives they were meant to love, you are giving these extraordinary felines a fresh start. May your holidays overflow with the same grace and love with which you lavish our cats. It’s a deep delight to serve them with you. God bless you!