Animal Killer . . .

Yes, I am. It's absolutely awful to admit it out loud (even in print).

A few months ago we were adopted by the ugliest, scroungiest, blackest cat you've ever seen. He is all black with bright yellowy-green eyes. Very eerie. He just showed up in our yard one day and started fighting with all the neighborhood cats and intimidating Archie--our big, tough, orange kitty who is evidently neither big nor tough, although he is still orange.

He had Archie so scared that the poor cat let this ugly old stray eat and drink first every time he was fed and take over all Archie's favorite bushes and hiding places.

Well, we didn't know what to do with the stray cat, so we put out extra food morning and night (we couldn't let him starve right in our front yard), named him Shadow Cat, and started making efforts to try and tame him.

Fast forward two months . . . Shadow Cat is still walking all over poor Archie, feuding with the other neighborhood cats, and hissing and spitting at us any time we come close. And, frankly, I'm fed up with it. I love my Archie and hate to see him being picked on and I don't want him getting any awful diseases from this nasty cat. Plus, I'm afraid to have the kids in the front yard at night. It's time to do something about the situation. So we call animal control, and plead for someone to come and take this cat away.

"No can do poor, sad, pitiful, homeowner. You'll have to catch the cat yourself and bring him to us. And if you can't do that (of course we can't, he's completely feral) then you'll have to rent one of our cages." Unfortunately, said cages have a $75 deposit plus a $10 per week fee AND a two month waiting list.

So, Jerry got creative. He took our cat carrier out in the front yard, tied a string to the door and ran the string through the front door of the house. Then, every time we fed the cats we put the food in the cage with the cage door wide open and sat just inside the front door watching and waiting. The first night Shadow went in to eat and Jerry yanked the string and ALMOST got the door pulled closed, but Shadow Cat was too fast and managed to escape. Then he was wise to us and only ate when we weren't watching (hey, I said he was ugly, I never said he wasn't smart). This went on for almost a month. FINALLY, this morning Shadow Cat got careless and Jerry (with Lindsay's help holding the string) caught him and locked the cage.

Now comes the hard part. After school this afternoon I had to take this hissing, spitting, ball of black anger to the shelter--Shadow Cat wasn't a fan of our little cat carrier. Up to this point I am just feeling relieved that we actually caught the smart, sneaky little bully. And I'm terrified to get my hands too close to the air vents or wire door for fear he'll swipe at me or bite me. But as I'm loading him into the back of the van and he is hissing and swiping at the bars and bouncing around so much I can barely hang onto the carrier the guilt starts to set in. He looks so scared and miserable.

So, I get to the shelter and as I'm sitting, waiting for someone to take him away, he just sits calmly in his carrier and stares reproachfully at me through the door. No more hissing or spitting or bouncing around for him. It was as if he had accepted his fate but still couldn't believe it was me who turned him in. My own little Julius Caesar staring out his "Et tu, Brute?" with huge greeny-yellow eyes. And that was it. He didn't make a peep or even move the whole time I was dropping him off. It felt like everyone at the shelter was thinking "what's she dropping off this perfectly nice, tame feline for . . . the horrible witch of a woman." I wanted to explain to everyone I saw that he really was an awful, wild cat who had taken over our front yard and been a royal pain in the tukas. But, no one asked. They just looked reproachfully at me. I left the shelter feeling about 2 inches tall and trying hard not to cry. Sure he was a feral cat and we gave it our best shot, but still, for almost two months he was MY feral cat and I was more than a little sad to see him go.

But, that's not the worst part. The worst part is that he really is very wild and I'm almost positive he will have to be put down. So, there you have it. I'm an animal killer. I just dropped him off to be killed -- this poor, sad animal who came to my home seeking shelter. What a horrible feeling. I can only hope the strays stay far away from our house from now on--or I'm in serious danger of becoming the old cat lady. I don't know if I'll ever be able to make that trip again--I'll just have to adopt every animal that stops at our house no matter how wild they are.