Sam, the escape artist

Given cat Sammy's proclivity for jumping into the neighbor's animal trap, it was thought best by all to put a collar on Sam. Trap the cat, see the collar, know he belonged to someone, release him. Easy, peasy. Or, easier said than done.

The problem is Sam. In less than two weeks, he's lost two collars and managed this morning to drop a new, different one in the driveway. It was a breakaway collar (well, they all are) that's for cats because cats climb and cats fall and a dog-type collar would hang said cat.

I picked up this newest collar and headed for Sam's neck. Sam must believe in the adage of 'fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice (or three times in this instance), shame on me.' Sam is having nothing to do with me.

Until I can collar him again, I can only hope that his blue eyes will get him out of the trap.

Caution advised

It's been raining and rainy so I haven't set the trap the last couple of nights, just turned the camera on. Besides, I haven't seen a raccoon or possum for about a week. Could they be gone? Frightened by the mere sight of my well-baited trap?

Probably not. Especially since I was just reviewing the last three nights' photos and found something I've not seen before. There, business end toward the camera where it cannot possibly be missed, is the tail of a skunk. Raised.

Perhaps he was merely leaving his opinion of the whole set-up. I hadn't set the trap. Was he complaining? Warning me that I might have a very nasty surprise one morning?

I am warned.

Fish food: An adventure not for the faint of heart

Sweet potato peelings not having the desired effect in my effort to entrance a raccoon (or possum for that matter since I found one on my film), I decided to try fish food.

I've never had fish, not even the gold variety one might win at a fair booth. Never had the desire to have my cats circle a fish bowl or tank and constantly lick their chops, thereby upsetting not only the fish, but me. So, opening the fish food was a revelation, and a bad one at that. Sheesh! It smelled like fish!

I shook a few flakes onto some grapes--might as well appeal to all tastes-- and set up the trap.

My cats instantly--INSTANTLY!--went on point. Now, we're talking about half a teaspoon of fishy bait here. But they started circling. I said bad things to them and tried to scare them away.

Thirty minutes later, Sammy was in the trap and, from the photos, Duchess (don't forget that name) had circled him and sat on top of the trap in support of his plight. I let him out.

Checked an hour later. Socks was having an absolute conniption in the trap. This is the little cat who had successfully stolen the slice of deli turkey last week. The lure of fish food must have made her careless. She was clinging to the trap and I had to tump her out.

Back to the couch I go. Last night was the Dancing with the Stars finale and the cats were ruining my rhythm.

Next commercial. Duchess. Obviously someone is a slow learner because by now there's no food in the trap because it's been turned over and dispersed by Socks. Duchess patiently allows me to release her. And she performs this same trick a hour later.

So the upshot is I have 111 photos on the trophy cam, four of them after I let Duchess out the second time and none of them with a raccoon.

Dare I try the pork ribs tonight? How much sleep do I want?

And, Happy Thanksgiving!

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.

The trap thief revealed

After a week of snow and rain, I was ready to once again undertake to trap feral fertile female number 3, aka Socks. She's wild, and made even more so by being the object of many a tomcat's pursuit. In fact, she disappeared for a couple days. When she showed back up yesterday, skittish as ever, I started planning.

(I must interject here that her sister disappeared a week after she was spayed, but her mother has stayed close by. I wish Stripe well and my only solace is knowing that wherever she is, she is spayed and has had her rabies shot.)

Back to Socks. I put the trap out where she usually stays and managed to catch a tomcat of unknown owner. I let him go, hopeful that he is more trap-wary. This morning, I decided to try an early day regimen using cat food instead of pork ribs.

The last time I did this, I found that my bait would be gone and the trap empty. And so this happened again this morning as I watched backyard cat Sammy ease his way into the trap, consume the food and leave. Obviously, my trap was not as trap-worthy as it should be. If well-formed Sammy could scoot in and out, then I had no hope of catching little Miss Socks.

WD-40 in hand, I went to work on all hinges and lectured Sammy not to go in again, as this time he would not be so lucky. Sure enough, I went inside and watched him practically run into the trap for the fresh food. It was a good 5 minutes before he realized his predicament. Another lecture and I let him go. This time, when I put fresh food in, I went upstairs to dress and didn't come down for another hour or two.

That's when I let Sammy out AGAIN and closed the trap. I had no more patience with it for the day.

Tonight, I'm going back to pork ribs, which he does not seem to favor as much as canned cat food. But should my newly discovered trap thief go back in, it could be morning before he gets his freedom.

Two down, one to go

Well, I don't have the answer to the identity of my sneak thief, the animal clever and light-weight enough to get in the trap, eat the bait, and then not set said trap off upon exiting. But I do have Sister.

Sister, a mother kitty many times over, showed back up yesterday. She brought several suitors with her, so my time frame of trapping her became narrower with each kitty purr and growl. I loaded the trap with a half-broiled pork rib, moved the trap to where I could observe from the house, and watched.

First rattle out of the box, I found Sister, who does have access to all food passed out on the patio, sitting on top of the trap. She really, really wanted that pork rib. Several suitors were encouraging her in her pursuit of it. Note it was dangling from one string and tied by another to the bottom of the trap. It wasn't going anywhere without a lot of effort. Also note that two of these suitors had already been in the trap. No doubt they were giving her (good?) advice on how to stay out of it. That would be the only good advice they'd be giving her. And so, I went to bed last night with the trap empty, but Sister close by.

This morning, I shone the flashlight in that direction and found two pairs of eyes looking back at me. One pair skittered away and one did not. Just exactly who had fallen prey to the pork rib?

There she was. Very upset with circumstances. Mad at me, even. Really out of sorts by the time she rode in the back of the pick-up to the vet's. Serendipitously, I was able to retrieve her newly-spayed daughter Stripe and leave her. What an exchange!

Now to entice Socks into my scheme. She's a clever kitty, but then, so was her mother.

A sneaky fellow

'Tis the season for female kitties to be led astray. I know this because unknown tomcats have begun to arrive on our property. I've been feeding three near-feral females, a mother and her two half-grown daughters, for several months now. I've known this time is coming when I'd have to get serious about taking them to the vet and it has arrived.

Mother cat, Sister I call her, has now disappeared. She is, no doubt, being bad (or doing what comes natural to a cat, my husband reminds me) with the neighborhood boys who have also disappeared. Of her two daughters, I can pet one and she, unsuspecting darling, let me pick her up yesterday and put her in a carrier. She is now awaiting her surgery so she can become a responsible member of the kitty community: all sleep and rodent-catching, no procreation. She will, however, probably never allow me near her again. It is a price we will both pay.

The other daughter is skittish and I will have to trap her, as I will her mother. Which bring us to the subject at hand, my latest trapping adventure.

So far, I've caught my own outdoor, neutered, sweet as they come, but not particularly bright, yellow cat. I've lost track of how many times he's wandered into my traps. One of these days, Sam may make a more fatal error and get caught in someone else's. He just needs to learn to stay on property.

Sam, though, is not the problem. The problem is whoever is going into the trap, eating the cat food, and getting out without being caught! He's done it three times! My husband thinks this is quite funny. (And so he can keep thinking until we have another batch of kittens.) Therefore, I've gone into the trapping archives and pulled out the trick which I used to catch my first raccoon: a pork rib tied top and bottom to the trap.

It's out there now. I'll let you know who the sneaky fellow is.

Playin' possum

Yesterday morning I heard the commotion before I even opened the back door to feed Sammy, Duchess, and crew. The outdoor cats were upset about something and it was quickly obvious who: two half-grown raccoons were variously running across the fenced backyard and climbing the hackberry tree. They'd already made a fine mess of the cats' water by spilling it and leaving dirt in the bowl. No sooner did I put down food for the cats and go back inside to watch, than one bold fellow was onto the food. I put an end to that by opening the door and yelling at him.

I haven't seen raccoons all summer and now there were two. It was time to trap.

So last night I set the trap between the hackberry tree and the regular feeding spot. I loaded it with a pear and sunflower seeds and spent five minutes chasing cat Sammy away from it.

Ninety minutes later, the trap had done its trap-thing. Wonderful! Except I'd got a possum.

Now, I haven't seen a possum in/near our yard in ten years. How befuddling is this? Still, even though he wasn't who I wanted, I couldn't let him go.

Today, he has a new country home, which is where he belongs instead of mere blocks from downtown. Tonight, I'll try again for the elusive raccoons. Wish me luck!

The Armadillo Wars: Part I

I would like to think this is the only Part, but I am not so naive. Twenty-eight years of living within sight of downtown has only assured me that creatures great and small don't care a thing about city limits. I've trapped possums, raccoons, and unruly cats. I am about to take on a new creature.

For those who don't know (or have never seen one upright and scurrying as opposed to dead and feet up on the highway), here is an article about the armadillo, the, to my horror, mascot of Texas I have learned. The people who named it so have obviously never had one in their back yard. Tearing up their flower beds.

Guess who does?

We have had passing acquaintance with armadillos before, and I've managed to beat them at their own game with the judicious use of blood meal. This trick I learned from back neighbor, Lucille, a farm woman transplanted to town by her children just before we moved here. It is her house we recently purchased and whose yard my husband is mowing. Again. But she had an armadillo under her house and used the blood meal trick at the entrance to its burrow (after making sure it wasn't in it) and that was that. Armadillo gone.

I did this last year for the invasion and one treatment was all it took. I have a different breed of armadillo on my hands this year.

I looked into my garden area yesterday morning and it was painfully obvious from the rooting and pillaging that had been going on on the south side, that an armadillo had visited. The good news was he had not disturbed any plants or bulbs (so far). The bad news was he was there at all. We think he's on a grub hunt, and I can certainly supply him with them. Part of me should be thanking him for ridding the area of them.

When I figure out which part, I'll let you know.

I hoed his holes into non-existence yesterday, sprinkled liberally with blood meal and dusted my hands. That was that!

Naive. Naive.

This morning, he'd been in all the familiar spots (blood meal? What blood meal?) plus doing rack and ruin to another area.

I have declared war.

If I could figure out how he is getting in, I could help myself in the strategy. He can't come under the fence because it is blocked by stones. He can climb I have learned, so blocking the gaps between the chain-link fence and the gate and house will just frustrate my back yard cat. I could blood meal his path down the driveway and may try that first.

But misery loves company and I've found a couple of online sites that deal with my problem. Texas A&M has a sense of humor with it (I do not) but thiscommercial site is more what I'm looking for.

It looks like Trapper Kay will have to come out of retirement. I can dig grubs as well as the armadillo and he'll have a fresh bowl of them waiting for him this evening.

Wish me well.