by Cynthia L Parker

Created on: January 19, 2009

While I have long understood the plight of feral cats, my first encounter with them began a year ago. My long-time feline companion, Margot, had recently died from cancer and a close friend who runs a pet resort asked me to come by to view some kittens she had just received. She placed a small black bundle of fur into my arms and, as he nuzzled my neck and I cried, the healing began to take place and love pulled at my heartstrings again. It all seemed so simple, yet I soon found out that it was all extremely complicated.

The sweet little bundle at my neck was one of three kittens who, along with their mother, had been "imported" from St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands. The feral cat population in the islands is extreme and a TNR (Trap, Neuter and Release) program is in effect to help deal with the out-of-control situation. Additionally, the U.S. actually allows for six such felines to be imported into the U.S. at a time as part of a "solution" to the problem. While my personal ideology does not think this is a solution, considering the U.S. problem with neglected, abandoned and homeless pets, once these animals are in the States, they do need homes.

The mother cat was a little over a year old and had already given birth to two litters of kittens. Two solid-black beauties from the first litter and the calico runt of her second litter had made the trip to the States with her. I was willing to take two of these kittens home with me and soon chose the male from the first litter and the little runt of a female. While the male, Jasper aka Jaz, acted as if he had been domesticated all of his short life desiring constant affection and crawling between the sheets of my bed to sleep against me the little female, Ruby, immediately hid underneath my couch. No matter how much I coaxed, she remained in her sanctuary for an entire week, only sticking out one tiny paw to grab morsels of food from my hand.

Jaz and I would sit on the couch and commune, while every once and a while I would call out to Ruby to come and join us. Jaz would sneak under the couch with her, as if to offer solace, but would not stay for very long. Just as I was beginning to harbor serious concerns that she would rather starve than come out, Ruby poked out her nose and after a good, long sniff, darted from the underneath the couch only to disappear underneath a nearby chair.

For the next two weeks, Ruby changed her hiding place on a regular basis, creeping out when she felt she was least likely to be seen.

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