Category Archives: Feral Cats

Anything to do with feral cats

Urban Outsiders

On more than one occasion, I’m sure you’ve heard the term urban, so what does it mean? The definition of urban says “relating to, or characteristic of a city or town” So now I want to present an idea to you, the readers. One that you may be unfamiliar with. Urban Wildlife. Maybe you’ve heard this term before, maybe you haven’t. But I’m here to talk a little about what urban wildlife is, and how it affects you. Urban wildlife can be found anywhere that supports human life. Just in case you aren’t sure what some good examples are, raccoons, rats, pigeons, mice, and squirrels could all be considered urban wildlife. Think about how often you’ve seen raccoons digging through the dumpster in a back alley, or a squirrel snitching some food off of the ground in front of a trendy food truck. Many people wouldn’t consider this wildlife, in fact, to many people they are simply vermin. You even see animals like deer attempting to cross a busy road, so now I’ve got you thinking, what has this got to do with me? Well, pal, I’ve got news for you, you play a major part in this whole urban wildlife mess.
An increase in the number of wildlife encounters you have could come from a number of factors. A few of those reasons could be habitat loss, noise or light pollution, pollution, or invasive species. This could mean you run into more less than friendly faces while you’re out and about during the day. Fortunately, there are ways you can help minimize the damage this might cause. You can start by locking all of your outdoor garbage cans. This might not seem like a large thing, but having a source for food could draw more unwanted pests. You should also regularly dispose of fallen fruit, use spill-proof birdfeeders, and keep your pets indoors at night. This will do a lot to protect your property. Remember, most of these animals have adapted to be able to handle human encounters, so don’t be afraid to call for extra back up from trained professionals if things get out of hand.

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Kitty Krisis

I have a wild cat problem and surprisingly enough it started a year ago. ONE WHOLE YEAR. I have left myself subject to this craziness for a year, and all because of my beautiful, 3 year old daughter. Last year, a neighbor’s cat helped a wild cat have 3 kittens (if you catch my drift), and my darling Ariana was ecstatic. She was really into Sagwa, the Chinese Siamese Cat at the time and wouldn’t even listen to the reasons that we couldn’t let the kittens live in our backyard. Her big brown eyes were (and still are) my kryptonite, so I gave into her little fantasy and allowed the kittens and their mother to roam around our property.
Unfortunately, a couple of months ago the mom got hit by a car so now there are only the kittens left, but they’re hardly kittens now. At first it was alright having them around, they didn’t bother us too much, but now they went from cute cats, to absolutely untamable monsters! I had the local animal control pick them up, neuter them, and bring them back so that I won’t have more cats wandering around, but now I wish I had let them keep them! They pee on everything and poo everywhere, not to mention that they sleep all over my outdoor furniture and cover the cushions with hair. They’ve gotten mean too! They hiss at Ari and I whenever we walk outside! I should have made the neighbor take care of them but no, now I have to deal with this wild cat problem!
This is almost a plea for help, I need someone who can remove the cats and pretend like I didn’t hire them so my daughter doesn’t hate me. I can’t stand the smell of them anymore and I’m so scared that Ariana will go outside and one will attack her. She has such a big heart that she would try and get close to them if I didn’t watch her. Please get rid of these cats! I know that I was irresponsible and this wild cat problem is MY problem, but I’m begging for help!

Feline Frenzy

It had only been a month since we flipped the home before we found the cats in the basement. My husband Curt and I have been flipping homes for four years now and we’ve dealt with animals in the past, but this is crazy! We only finished the house just over a month ago and it went on the market about a week after that, and about two weeks ago, we found that someone had moved in without our knowledge. I was bringing in some stuff for the staging of the house when I sported about three cats crawling under the home into the basement!
When we renovated the house we must have accidentally broken one of the grids on a window downstairs because they had been hopping down into the window well and were crawling into the basement from there. Well we fixed that right up and thought it would solve the problem. WRONG. It turns out that most of the time, the cats weren’t in the basement, but under the house! There were only going in the basement once in a while to sleep, but were going under the house to do their business (if you know what I mean). Now the basement reeks of urine and feces and I can hear the mewing of what I think are kittens under the house.
Well after the embarrassment of confessing mine and my husband’s ignorance to the problem, we’ve been given two weeks to get the cats out of the basement (or out from under the house) before our potential buyers will put down a bid. If it takes longer than that we lose our buyers! I’m begging, I know where they’re getting in now and I’m not too worried about price. We just need a good natured contractor who won’t scare our buyers away but will get rid of the cats under the basement (the quicker the house sells the bigger the tip you’ll get!).

Cats Gone Wild

I always knew my grandmother had a big heart, but I never knew she’d let 6 stray cats live in her house!  We recently lost my 86 year old grandmother to a stroke, it was hard but we gathered together to go through old family treasures at her house and find old pictures for the funeral.  We were prepared to find some weird things, my grandma was a “collector” after all, but when we walked in and were met by the stench of urine and the meowing of several cats, we were all stunned!

Old Grandma Nan had always taken in the needy.  She adopted two of her six children and often let their friends stay at the house when needed.  She was known to buy frequent fliers new coats, shoes, and school supplies since their families didn’t always have much.  Two things you could count on at Nan’s house were a warm bed and a hot meal, no matter who you were.  Well, apparently that’s just what she gave to these stray cats.  She had bags of cat food in the closet and enough milk to serve the army, and newspapers laid on the basement floor for them.

Since anything even slightly usable in the house smelled like cat pee, we salvaged what little we could and instead visited the aunts for some of grandma’s memorabilia.  After all was said and done, we still had the house.  It was paid off long before so it was ours to pass off to whoever would take it, and I took it.  My husband and I are now busy tearing out the carpeting and staining the wood walls, but even with all the renovation in the world, nothing will stay nice without getting rid of these darn stray cats.  As much as my grandma would hate me getting rid of them, they’ve got to go.

Cat on the Prowl

I recently discovered what I can only call a cat on the prowl.  I don’t know what it’s looking for but I can tell you that I’m sure glad he’s roosting underneath my neighbor’s house, not mine.  It’s a big, white and yellow tom cat that has been slinking around the neighborhood for about a year, and while my neighbor was gone last summer, he found himself a nice place to sleep.  I noticed him around their property once or twice, I didn’t think too much of it since he usually goes to the crazy cat lady Maurine’s house where he gets free food, I guess I just assumed he was hers; until Carl called.  He asked me if I’d seen anything strange around his house lately, said he could smell a strong odor like urine and thought maybe a cat was around.  I told him about the big tom and then he promptly thanked me, and hung up.

Well I guess that big ole’ cat on the prowl had made himself a nice, warm den underneath their house and he was fond of using the facilities there (if you know what I mean) because that place sure did start to smell real quick and the neighbor’s started complaining just as fast.  The poor guy, his life hasn’t been real easy and I know throwing this on his plate couldn’t have helped, but you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.  I saw a van out front just yesterday so I assume he called someone; hell I hope he called someone because it’s startin’ to bother me too!  I only live maybe 20 feet from his place.

I been keeping an eye out for that big pussy cat, I’m thinking that if I see it maybe I can help him out.  I don’t really know how but my son has a little BB gun he left here when he went to his dad’s house, maybe I’ll just scare the thing away.  Either way I’m praying that someone’ll get that thing out of here.  I’ve seen people with squirrel problems and coon problems, but this cat on the prowl is stirring a whole new pot of coffee and I don’t like it.

Feral Cats Eating Chicken Delight

I’ve dealt with feral cats eating my chickens in the past, but never to this extent.  It’s usually one maybe two A YEAR and usually by a dog, raccoon, or a skunk; I’ve never lost five chickens in two weeks to cats of all things.  I’ve seen them in the field behind my house a couple times in the past and they’ll breed and have kittens then run around, they’ve probably killed a chicken or two in the past, but usually they aren’t too much of a problem, until now.  Given it’s a little snowy around here so the food isn’t as easy to come by, but their little paw prints decorate the ground around my chicken coop telling me they’ve been hatching this plan for a while.  It wasn’t four days ago when I walked out to fill the water in the coop, that I watched on of the bigger cats crouch outside the door, wait for the hen, and pounce on her as she came outside!

Well I’ll tell you what, until these damned cats are gone, my chickens are staying right inside the coop, and my husband is building a run, one that’s fenced in too!  I won’t stand by and watch these feral cats eat my chickens or my name isn’t Angela.  I’m not only upset about this for the sentimental reasons that you’d be upset about losing a dog or cat, I mean I am of course, but do you know how much eggs cost these days!  If nothing else my chickens save me plenty of money by producing eggs for me.  Now half of them are dead and the other half are too scared to do any laying!  I had to go buy a dozen to make my grandmother a meatloaf just yesterday, and I am not very happy about it.

So, rather than replace the chickens (which I will do sooner or later) and watch these stupid feral cats eat them, I’m going to step up my game.  Not only will I have a fenced in run by next week, but I’m going to call Wildlife Removal, or any other trapping company that will take care of the pesky feline’s (I’d try the Human Society but they’d just be excited the cats were alive!).  Maybe I’ll even buy that Chocolate Lab pup my husband has been eyeing for a good six months.  Whatever happens it’ll be soon and it’ll be effective.  I’m not going to just watch the feral cats eat my chickens, I’m going to do something about it.

Feral Cat Scratch


I had plenty of worries when I sent my first-grader son to the bus stop the first day of school, but feral cat scratches wasn’t even on my radar of potential problems.

He’s my first child to go off to a full day of school, so it took a lot of courage for me to let him walk out the door by himself that first day, go off and wait at a bus stop full of older kids, get on a bus with a driver I didn’t know, and head off to school without me.  He had assured me that he would be fine without having me walk him down to the bus stop every day, and I knew he was right.  Especially, since I could still sort of see the bus stop from the window in my front room.  For a month, every morning after I’d kissed him goodbye, I’d close the door and then rush to the window to make sure he got to the bus stop okay, and wasn’t harassed by any of the older children.

After several weeks, though, I was reassured.  He always walked on the sidewalk, played nicely with the other children, and stood obediently in line to board the bus when it arrived.  The routine settled in, and I soon stopped watching him after he left the house.

The other day, though, I noticed he had some scratches on the back of his hand when he got home.  When I asked him about it, he said that a cat scratched him that morning at the bus stop.  Even though it didn’t look very serious, I cleaned up his hand with some antibiotic cream.  The next day, I happened to run into my neighbor whose driveway was the bus stop.  “I didn’t know you got a cat,” I said, hoping to gently broach the subject of the cat that scratched my son’s hand.  Surprised, she responded, “What are you talking about?  I don’t have a cat.”

I explained what had happened, and got even more concerned when my son came home with yet another cat scratch on his arm that day.  I called my neighbor up, and we decided we’d both watch what was going on at the bus stop the next morning.

What we saw shocked us.  When the children arrived at the bus stop, several feral cats came running up to them.  These weren’t tiny kittens, but full-fledged mangy stray cats.  The children flocked around them, picking them up, petting them, and feeding them some bits from their lunch boxes.  My neighbor and I must have realized the danger at the same time, because we both ran out our front doors at the same time, calling out to the kids and shooing the cats away.

I’ve contacted the parents of each one of the children at our bus stop so they can inspect their children for scratches or bites, and my son has now had to endure a series of shots from our pediatrician.  Feral cat scratches could transmit all kinds of infections or illnesses, and I won’t take any chances.

Needless to say, we’ve contacted someone to get rid of the feral cats, and I walk my son down to the bus stop every morning, much to his dismay.

Feral Cats in the Yard

“Feral cats in the yard again,” Sheila muttered to herself again, as she let the dingy curtain drop back into place.  “Why can’t they just let an old woman sleep?  Yes, yes, I need to sleep.”

Sheila groaned as she shuffled back to her bed.  She clung onto the bed covers as her right foot searched for its slipper.  Balancing wasn’t easy these days, and she nearly tipped over.  Soon enough, her big toe nudged the edge of a once-soft slipper, and she managed to scoot it and its mate back out from under the bed.  Spared the trouble of getting down on her knees, she sighed with relief and soon had both slippers on.  Who cared if their lining was filled with holes and no longer warm?  She wasn’t about to go through the trouble of purchasing brand new slippers.  Besides, putting them on was an act of habit, not of comfort.  She hadn’t had full feeling in either foot in years.

Her light and troubled sleep had been interrupted once again by the sound of angry feral cats in the yard.  Fighting, hissing, mewling.  Their nocturnal activities bothered her precious few hours of sleep each night, and she had had enough.

She groped around the night stand for her glass of water, and took a shaky sip.  Her frail body was betraying her spirit.  She felt as if she were still young, still out each night with her friends, drinking and flirting and having a grand time.  So many of those friends were gone, and the few new friends she had made weren’t interested in partying.  Massaging her sore left hand, she admitted to herself that she wasn’t up to it, either.  What time was it?  Ten thirty at night?  Ah, there had been a time when her night had just begun at ten thirty.  Now, it felt like an ungodly late hour.

She heard a particularly loud cat growl just under her window, a long, high-pitched, grating sound.  It was followed by a bump up against that side of the house.  Why on earth did the feral cats insist on fighting in her yard, just under her window?

Her slippers shushed against the floorboards as she made her way into the bathroom.  Sheila didn’t even bother snapping on the light.  She knew where everything was, including the bowl of ice water she had prepared just a few hours before.

Sheila grunted softly as she shuffled slowly back to her open window, desperate to keep all the water in the bowl.  A few sloshes here and there and her slippers were wet.  Well, that was to be expected, she supposed.  Quietly, she balanced the bowl for a moment on the window sill, and then, slowly, tipped it over.  The feral cats in the yard had been too busy with their fighting and posturing that they hadn’t paid attention to the soft noise above them before they were doused with freezing water.  Furious and sputtering, they ran off into the night.

“There has got to be a better way to make a point,” Sheila thought to herself, as she let the bowl drop outside as well.  “Perhaps tomorrow I will call Allstate Animal Control,” she whispered, as she groped her way back to her bed, slipped out of the soggy slippers, and pulled the covers back over her.

Get Rid of Feral Cats

feral cat removal

My owner just has to understand she needs to get rid of feral cats.  If I’m going to be labeled an “outside cat,” then I gotta be safe.  I gotta make sure my food bowl belongs just to me, not to any old cat that wanders by.  I need to stay healthy, which means these mangy feral cats shouldn’t infect me with their nasty little mites and ticks and other tiny creepy crawlies.  And, my bed.  Oh, my bed is mine.  But half the time I have to chase one of these wild cats away from my own bed, and I’ve gotten scratched and bit more than once.  Imagine, my precious, silky fur and skin marred by a wild cat’s scratch.  Yep, my owner has got to get rid of feral cats.

The day my owner decided enough was enough and made me an “outdoor cat” came as a complete shock to me.  So what if I scratched up her new leather couch?  Isn’t that why she bought it, so I could keep my claws nice and sharp?  And, I really did think the litter box was optional.  Sometimes that corner on the carpet, right by the fireplace, was the most convenient and comfortable place to relieve myself.  She let me get away with all of that for a while, and then HE came.  Some complete stranger that made her get all lovey-dovey.  He would be fine over at our house for a while, until he started sneezing and wheezing and sniffling and chuffing.  What was his problem, anyway?

One day, after an innocent little “marking” incident in her closet, my owner just set me out.  I guess she just can’t take it.  She set me up pretty nicely, though.  As an outdoor cat, I get a little more freedom, she got me a nice cozy and secure bed, and she makes sure to set food out for me twice a day.  I miss curling up on her slippers, or the warmth of the bed, or jumping up on the kitchen counters.  But, the outside life isn’t so bad.  That is, except for the neighbors.  We have just got to figure out a way to get rid of feral cats so I can enjoy my territory without fear of finding one of them curled up in my bed or chomping on my food.

I thought I could get rid of feral cats on my own.  I marked the perimeter of my territory, and spent several nights fighting with them to scare them off.  But, there are a couple of them that keep showing up.  It’s annoying to fight them off of my food dish or out of my sleeping box, but I’m afraid I’m going to end up really sick or injured one of these days.

It’s definitely time my owner get Allstate Animal Control to get rid of feral cats.  Then, I can go back to destroying, I mean enjoying, my owner’s home all by myself.

Feral Cat Control

feral cat removal

There’s a reason I wear thick jeans when I go to work as a feral cat control officer.  Some people prefer loose-fitting khakis with lots of pockets, or shorts when the weather gets really hot.  I didn’t normally discuss the fashion choices available to feral cat control officers, until the incident.  Now, I bring it up with all the new guys, just so they know what could happen to them.

The day of the incident was an extremely hot day, but our washer had broken down and my shorts and khakis were both in the wash, so I was stuck with wearing thick jeans with the brown animal control shirt my company has issued to us.  Grumbling, I headed into the office, grabbed a cold soda out of the machine and picked up my assignments for the day.  It was going to be a pretty easy morning, it looked like.  I had a nice, air-conditioned drive ahead of me out to a more remote area where someone wanted feral cat control to trap a stray cat that had been spotted in the neighborhood.

So, I stopped grumbling, hopped in the truck and headed out.  It was an hour and a half drive, and I was relaxed and in a good mood when I finally pulled up to the client’s house.  He explained that the reason he’d called for feral cat control is because a white cat had been roaming the neighborhood, getting into people’s garages, attacking people’s pets, and using his own backyard as its personal toilet.  He’d had enough and wanted feral cat control to get rid of the cat.

I went about setting up a trap in an area the client pointed out to me.  Apparently the cat preferred living in and around a wood pile in his backyard.  Fortunately, as soon as I started setting up the trap, I spotted the cat watching me.  Slowly, I reached my gloved hand out, making soft mewling sounds, and the cat immediately approached me, sniffing my hand.  Quickly, I snapped it up and held it in the crook of my arm to secure it while I grabbed a collar and leash that I carry with me.  I was surprised at how easily I got the collar and leash on it, and even more surprised that the cat started to purr and exposed its neck so I could pet it.  It was very sweet, and I wondered if it truly was a feral cat, or if it had been a domestic cat dumped out here.

I didn’t have to wonder long, though.  Suddenly, without any warning, the cat leaped up onto my shoulder, and then clawed its way down my back.  I twisted around to let it jump safely to the ground, holding tightly onto the leash so I could regain control of this wild cat.  It went up on its hind legs, hissing and spitting and clawing at the leash holding it captive.  But, when it finally realized it wasn’t going anywhere, it went on the offensive.  It ran around my leg three times, shortening its leash as it did so, and then grabbed my denim-clad leg, clawing its way up, up, up until its claws sunk into my thigh far too close to my unmentionables.  It hung there, tenacious, as I gasped and grappled with this wild animal.  Finally, I was able to tear it off my leg and get it into the trap and then into the truck.  I had to sit in the truck for about ten minutes until I regained enough composure to let the client know I had gotten rid of the wild cat.

And, that is why thick jeans are now an official part of my feral cat control uniform.  I will never wear anything else.