And then there were none

As in, and then there were no more fertile feral female felines running loose in our backyard.

Socks, the last of the above, a small calico with a predilection to run whenever I was in the area, has given up her in-heat ways the last few days and the number of suitors has dropped to near zero. As she's been staying home, the time was now to trap her and get her spayed.

So much easier said than done. Our trap is rusty and has been ill-used. I could kick it and it wouldn't latch. Out came more WD-40 and sandpaper. I brought it up to the patio and set it with a pork rib. When I peeked out an hour later, Socks was in the trap, and it was not sprung. I opened the door, she jumped out. We repeated this episode.

The spousal unit suggested tying a string to the trap door, re-baiting it and waiting for her to make her move. I could be hiding inside the back door and pull the string, thereby snaring our last un-neutered charge. I suggested that if he thought this was such a good idea, he could watch and wait, as I had better things to do than resort to a cartoon trap.

The gauntlets, so to speak, were now thrown.

I set more pork in, tying the rib top and bottom to the trap. He set the trap where he could easily watch and spring it, and I went on my way. It wasn't five minutes later that he had her.

Well, really now. Who knew it would work? And so quickly?

That would be several dozen animals trapped for me, to his one. But, even I admit, it was a very important one.

We bring her home Saturday from the vet. She wasn't really happy with her new adventure, but she might not have been thrilled with motherhood either. This way, at least one of us is happy. Me. And in Socks' world, I'm the one that counts.