Huzzah! Tiny lives in my garage

I felt anxious from the moment I woke up, knowing I was going to try and trap Blue Baby and Frankie today. I’m still a relative beginner at this and have had a few unqualified disasters since starting this work. These two were tiny (read: naive) enough, though, that I figured they would not balk at going in the drop trap, and I was right. They were a little anxious, sniffing around it, but their hungry bellies overrode their suspicions, and as soon as both were in the trap, I yanked the string and down the trap came. (Wile E. Coyote would’ve been proud.) They did what all ferals do in this situation – bashed themselves mercilessly against the sides of the trap in their frantic attempt to escape, which is extraordinarily unsettling to watch, especially when they’re babies.

I quickly grabbed the other trap – a standard one – and pushed it up close to the drop trap, which has no floor – only sides and roof – and the challenge is then to get them to leave the drop trap and venture into the traditional trap, which is long and narrow and has a floor. You do this by lifting the gates between the two traps, making sure the traps don’t come apart, and by covering the traditional trap so it’s like a dark tunnel that would entice them to enter. Of course that didn’t work this time. For literally 15 minutes I cajoled them to move, but they were frozen with fear. They were probably also in pain; Frankie’s little white nose was bashed and scraped. I just had to wait until they figured it out. When they finally darted into the darker space, I closed the gate behind them, and couldn’t resist lifting the blanket a bit to see them huddled in fright in one kitten clump. I also couldn’t resist touching them through the wires, just a little. They were soft as little bunnies. “You’ll be okay, little angels,” I cooed to them, which didn’t seem to help their fright at all.

I whisked them to my garage, where I had already set up the giant dog crate on top of a table and draped it with dark cloth. Inside the crate, I had placed a carrier with an uber-soft, thick fleece blanket inside it. (The crate itself is way too big for them to feel safe; they need a smaller hiding space within it.) Next to it, a little litter box (please, God, let them figure that out quickly) and in front of the carrier, some of their beloved tuna and some water.

I covered them up, and will leave them alone for a few hours so they can get their tiny heart rates down. Once they learn they’re not going to be imminently killed, they’ll venture out for some food.

I confess to also having feelings of grief for Mama Grace. She disappeared from the sidewalk the moment she saw me carrying the trap. It’s possible she is unaware that I trapped her kittens, but I suspect she’ll figure it out. When this has happened in the past, she has disappeared for several days, and I feel crushed by guilt. It’s impossible to know if she understands why I subjected her litter to this violence, in order to save them. I wish I could explain it to her, but I can’t.

So I’m trying to be content with the joy I also feel. These are the littlest, least hostile kittens I’ve ever trapped. I hope this means we can forego the hiss-hiss-scratch-scratch phase and get right to the cuddling. The next few days will tell. In the meantime, I am awash in gratitude that two more lives will be vastly improved for having human love in them. Grateful that I can help.