Our Cats: His Name Is Very Feral

I was originally approached by a neighbor in 2011.  The situation was basically that an older land-owner in the area had ceased to maintain his 800 acre tract. Among roaming packs of coyotes and feral hogs on the property, there were feral cats on the acreage that needed help

Up to this point I had trapped plenty of times before, but never a whole colony of anything.  It seemed straightforward enough... these were wild cats showing up in people's backyards in decent numbers.  They were never someone's pets, they were never someone's "outside cats."  The only human contact they had ever known was running away from humans.  They lived in the woods and were being pushed into the backside of a neighborhood by predators on the same tract of uncleared land they were sharing.

I set up my first trap around sunset one night... Nothing special, just a medium size Little Giant single-door trap with dry cat food inside.  Within 3 hours I had my first cat in the trap.  I can't accurately describe how terrified a feral cat is the first time you walk up to them in a trap and they realize they can't run away. Imagine the cartoon tazmanian devil in a trap. It's a pretty accurate visual. A short trip to the nearby vet, and the cat was spayed and its ear was clipped so anyone in the future knows that TNR has already taken place.

This process repeated itself about 10-15 times within a month or two with similar results.  There were only a few cats left to trap and the job was almost done.  Then one evening a large male panda cat showed up in my trap.  In the 5 minutes it took me to put a jacket on and get to the trap, he had eaten all the food.  I was greeted by this when I walked up:

I was only able to get that picture after him flipping out for a good 10 minutes.  He had expended all his energy and was now just completely scared out of his mind.  Every instinct and experience with predators he had already told him he was done for.  When I went to pick him up from the vet, they told me their greenhorn vet-tech got torn up by this cat when they pulled him out of the trap to do the surgery.  He looked just as terrified on the ride back.  When we got back I released him and didn't think much else of it.  In my mind it was onto the next one.  I gave him the nickname "Very Feral." Of all the cats I trapped, he was the most feral.

Over the next few months, I would see him here and there.  Each time I called out to him "Hey Very Feral!" which was quickly followed by him scurrying into the woods as fast as he could manage.  After all, I took his balls.  Literally. I didn't see him for awhile, but when I did he looked a lot skinnier.  A nearby land-owner said he was even coming on her property and getting roughed up by her dog, just in an attempt to get food.

I did something I had never done up to that point, I tried to put myself in his shoes.  He was likely starving.  He was likely very scared.  He was likely being pushed off his hunting ground and didn't have a backup plan.  He was trying his best to survive.  That night I grabbed an old bowl, filled it with some dry food and left it by where he usually showed up at.  The next day the food was gone, so I repeated the process.  

A few more repetitions later, I was walking up one evening to fill the bowl as usual.  I turned the corner slowly and there he was, sound asleep next to the empty bowl.  I walked up within a foot of him.  I wasn't about to try to pet him, so I just said softly "Hey Very Feral."  My voice instantly woke him up.  He took a half-second glance at me and started running toward the treeline.  Halfway there he just stopped and looked back at me.  The best way I can describe the look I got was "You had me... You had me dead to rights yet you did nothing?!"  I let him watch me fill the bowl with food and walk back home.  I really think that experience was the turning point in our little dysfunctional friendship.  Over the next few nights he was always around when I showed up to fill the bowl.  I started moving it a few feet closer to my property each time.  Baby steps, maybe 8-10 feet each day.  After a week or so I came out in the afternoon to fill the bowl, and he was at the end of my driveway giving me a look like "I thought me coming here would be easier?"  From that day forward, he would only eat on my property.  

Then we reached our next milestone, I would watch him eat sometimes and afterward he would usually slowly walk away.  This time he rubbed up on my leg as he passed by.  Once again I did not attempt to pet him.  A few more times like this and I successfully tried to pet his back.  You could tell it was a new sensation for him, but he didn't react negatively.  Then it hit me - I had just pet the Very Feral, and he didn't flip out. I started coming out after that and he would just be on my property, I don't think he even went to the woods anymore.  I could pet him while he ate and he didn't mind.  The few outside cats I had didn't mind him, and he didn't mind them.

Then the real test of our friendship came... moving day.  Most people in the know about feral cats will tell you moving them results in roughly a 80-90% flight loss.  Meaning 80-90% of feral cats will run away/not stay if you move them somewhere else.  But before I had to even cross that road, I had to trap him again.  I tried for two weeks, he remembered the trap and wouldn't go near it.  I had no choice, on moving day I had to go hands-on.  I had a helper.  She was the head-trainer at a national pet store in town.  She thought I was crazy for going hands on with a feral cat I had only known for a few months.  I told her to prep the trap door and hold on.  I started petting him, and then just picked him up.  The tazmanian devil was back.  He was two feet from the trap but it still took me almost a minute to drop him into it.  I stepped back as she closed the trap.  My hands were cramped, I was sweating profusely.  Then I realized I didn't have a bite wound.  In fact I didn't have a scratch on me.  He refused to go all prison-rules on me.

I transported and released him.  He was there when I came out the next morning.  He didn't run away. We actually became pretty good friends.  He even lets people that are with me pet him now.  The most feral of feral cats has become a porch cat. You'd never know I didn't adopt him from a pet store if I didn't tell you.

He has never left our new piece of property.  We can pet him whenever we want.

Here's a picture of how he looks these days:

The next time someone tells you feral cats are "unmanageable," tell them the truth.