The Art of TNR

Cage Match

Trap Neuter Return Is Challenging, But Worth It

By Judy Sutton Taylor



At first glance, trap-neuter-return—the practice used to reduce and control stray and feral outdoor cat populations—seems like it has crazy cat person written all over it. Cats are humanely trapped, evaluated, then vaccinated and neutered by veterinarians. Kittens and tame cats are put up for adoption, while healthy adult cats that are too wild to be adopted are returned to their habitats where volunteers—those aforementioned crazies—monitor them and provide food and shelter from extreme weather conditions.

But the truth is that TNR is just about the best thing for cats that’ve been dealt the tough hand of a life outside fending for themselves, and it’s just as beneficial to the communities in which they live, whether they’re populated with cat lovers or not. Neutering cats rids them of their most unappealing behavior, like fighting, crying through the night and, obviously, repopulating. It’s the “return” part of the TNR equation that troubles a lot of people—no one likes seeing cats darting through their backyard or sprinting across deserted parking lots. But advocacy groups like Washington, D.C.-based Alley Cat Allies say studies show that unless a site is unsafe for the animals, return is the best option there is. Removing cats entirely almost always brings new, unneutered and unvaccinated cats to areas that have been previously habitated. Managing the population—usually recognizable by left ears that have been tipped when they received vet care—slowly but surely brings the numbers down.
Volunteering to help with TNR offers a unique opportunity to provide long-term care for cats without having them as pets, not to mention a nice way to meet your neighbors. [Locally, the best place to start is with the Chicagoland Stray Cat Coalition, an alliance of area humane groups, (773) 517-5199; ChicagolandStray.org]. To be sure, though, TNR is not for the faint of heart—I learned that firsthand a few years ago when I agreed to help with two trapping endeavors simultaneously, even though I had no experience whatsoever.
The first involved setting traps and monitoring them in the backyard of an elderly woman who had been feeding a growing colony for years. The second was helping a group of people in a nearby neighborhood trap a colony of 13 cats living at a site where a new high-rise was set to begin construction. Both sounded simple enough, but here’s what I learned: Warm and fuzzy, TNR is not.
I fast let go of any illusions I had about helping sweet, cuddling kitties. Feral by definition means wild, and most of the cats I came in contact with were as undomesticated as raccoons and possums—who also found their way into our traps on occasion. Case in point: A city girl since birth, I had never laid eyes on a possum until one snarled six inches from my face in that woman’s backyard—the steel grids of the cage door thankfully between us. I ran screaming from him as fast as he scurried in the opposite direction.
Once the cats were in the trap/cage, there was plenty of hissing, spitting, and thrashing around although throwing a sheet or towel over the cage usually helped calm them down. Still, I can guarantee there was no purring.

Be prepared, and persistent

Besides traps, which shelters or advocacy groups usually supply or rent out, I fast devised a checklist of things to bring along with me for trapping: old sheets or towels, newspaper (to line the traps and my car if I planned on transporting cats to a vet clinic), thick gloves to protect my hands from possible scratches, and plenty of cans of juicy, smelly food like tuna, sardines, or anchovies to entice the cats into the traps. I also learned to dress extra warm since cats are more likely to be out and about in the wee hours—I was setting traps at both places after dark and either checking them throughout the night or bright and early in the morning. In one neighborhood, Indian summer turned to late fall frost as the last of the 13 cats managed to crane his neck over the trip coils that shut the trap door, grab a bite of food and happily jaunt away night after night. It took two-and-half months to finally trap her—just days before construction crews started demolition in the area.

Expect the unexpected

Perhaps feeling a bit cocky after these two successful ventures, I offered to help a neighbor with a cat she had seen milling around her own backyard. Marie, named for the neighbor, was sure to have kittens if we didn’t get to her soon. Flash ahead nearly three years and Mario (Surprise! Marie turned out to be a boy) sits here on my lap, purring and shedding all over me as I write. Mario turned out to be what’s known as a “semi” feral—he showed signs of having had interaction with people in his mysterious past and may have even had a home, but he was one traumatized tomcat who needed a lot of patience. After months of him refusing to come out from under the bed in a spare room, my steady stream of calls to behaviorists, vets, friends, and countless hours spent coaxing him (with oven mitts protecting my hands) to come out for a taste of tuna, Mario is now a seamless part of our family. And he’s the happiest housecat I’ve ever known.