Some of you may be aware, my wife and I recently purchased a new house, and we are fortunate to be out in the country where we are blessed with a few acres and privacy. We also have two cats, outdoor-only due to our allergies (I love cats and would sleep with them every night but I would pay the penalty through the nose - literally!), and I recently discovered we also have quite a few feral cats as well. The first weekend we went through half of a large bag of cat food, and our larger male cat showed up looking as if he had been in a tussle. Those facts combined with the fact that I noted a considerably lower-than-normal-for-the-area squirrel and bird population meant that they had to go.
I didn't really expect to have trouble with it - I mean, I've shot groundhogs who were going after the garden (cheeky little boogers, they taunt us around here), and I've dealt with a couple of other small pests with 22s and air rifles.
All the knowledge about invasive non-native species, disrupted ecology, missing cat food, etc, didn't make it any easier to contemplate in the end - my brain apparently has trouble distinguishing between domestic and feral cats on an emotional level. I really, really didn't want to do this, part of me wanted to just close my eyes and hope it would go away. But I knew I had to - it was my responsibility as a pet owner, I had accepted this when I chose to bring my two cats into my family even if I didn't know it at the time. And I knew that I would much rather cry over it than prove to myself that deep down I was too much of a coward to do what had to be done - to do the right thing. Upon seeing the bravest of the feral cats outside stealing food, I fought shaking hands to put on my boots. Oddly, as soon as the gun, a CZ-452 UltraLux, hit my palms, the shakes stopped. I worked the bolt. I opened the door - she bolted down the deck steps and stopped stock still down in the yard. I took aim, steady and smooth. The first shot took her in the neck or head, I couldn't tell which, and she went down, twitching and thrashing. I knew the first 40gr. hollow point did the job, but I put two more into her before she stopped twitching.
At this point, I was upset, but I was holding together. I put on some nitrile gloves, grabbed a shovel, and picked her up... she was totally limp, and she was still warm. There was something about the warmth that just made it more real and made my chest ache, I don't know why. I took her down to the edge of the woods, laid her down carefully, and started to dig into the soil. We have great soil at the new house, I found, moist and soft, with lots of organic matter. I was OK since I had one of our own cats to talk to (yes I talk to cats) - she was playing on the tree next to me - but that only lasted until I dropped the body into the hole.
She lay crumpled unnaturally, bent double, and I bent down to shift her to a more natural and fitting curled position. When my hand touched her shoulders, I lost it. I just knelt there for a few minutes, tears dripping into her bloody fur and holding my hand on her warm body. After the tears had slowed, I fixed her posture and felt the absurd need to apologize. I told her I was sorry, and that I hoped it had been quick, then I covered her over, reassured my little grey female that she wouldn't be bothered by that one again, and put the shovel away. I threw away the gloves, and went upstairs to my wife, who I am very thankful to say is understanding of a sensitive man.
It was such a complicated and powerful mix of feelings to deal with afterwards - the continued conviction that I had done the right thing to protect my cats and the wildlife, the knowledge that trapping and shelter life (or worse, shelter death) is no option at all, the knowledge that she had died instantly, and the unshakeable sadness at the same time. I know that my tears were the most sincere apology that cat would ever receive from anything in this world, and that she could never have hoped for a more dignified passing. I didn't feel like the tears were wrong, I felt like they were right and natural - I didn't fight them. Maybe I'm wrong, but I came from suburbia, the son of a veterinarian, and I've never even had to come to terms with where my food comes from... I figure it was a normal learning experience in the process of dealing with harsh reality. A learning experience I must go through, since my wife was an Ag major and we will be raising cattle a few years down the road. How could I possibly raise livestock if I couldn't deal with this?
I did decide one thing - that I would compose a hunting prayer. I don't know if anybody else says anything before setting out, but I don't really care. I will. At the risk of coming off as a total softie, PETA nut, and pseudo-treehugger, here it is:
"Lord, please keep us safe as we go out to harvest the bounty you have provided for us. Keep us mindful of our duty as the keepers of your world, that we should respect and be thankful for the animals we are fortunate enough to take. Keep our aim true, our bullets swift, and death for our quarry merciful and painless. Please lead us to do as You would have us do, and bring us home worthy of the arms we carry. Amen."
What I don't understand is why this was so hard. I have never been torn up like this over any dead animal before unless you count the time I watched my Dad put the family dog to sleep on the floor of his office and I saw the fear in her eyes as they clouded over. Why should this cat that I don't know, don't have any experience with, that ran at the very sight of me, elicit such a response?
Do any of you have similar experiences? Should I have used a different caliber? I assumed that a CNS hit from a subsonic 22lr would be enough for a cat, but I'm willing to be corrected.
I didn't really expect to have trouble with it - I mean, I've shot groundhogs who were going after the garden (cheeky little boogers, they taunt us around here), and I've dealt with a couple of other small pests with 22s and air rifles.
All the knowledge about invasive non-native species, disrupted ecology, missing cat food, etc, didn't make it any easier to contemplate in the end - my brain apparently has trouble distinguishing between domestic and feral cats on an emotional level. I really, really didn't want to do this, part of me wanted to just close my eyes and hope it would go away. But I knew I had to - it was my responsibility as a pet owner, I had accepted this when I chose to bring my two cats into my family even if I didn't know it at the time. And I knew that I would much rather cry over it than prove to myself that deep down I was too much of a coward to do what had to be done - to do the right thing. Upon seeing the bravest of the feral cats outside stealing food, I fought shaking hands to put on my boots. Oddly, as soon as the gun, a CZ-452 UltraLux, hit my palms, the shakes stopped. I worked the bolt. I opened the door - she bolted down the deck steps and stopped stock still down in the yard. I took aim, steady and smooth. The first shot took her in the neck or head, I couldn't tell which, and she went down, twitching and thrashing. I knew the first 40gr. hollow point did the job, but I put two more into her before she stopped twitching.
At this point, I was upset, but I was holding together. I put on some nitrile gloves, grabbed a shovel, and picked her up... she was totally limp, and she was still warm. There was something about the warmth that just made it more real and made my chest ache, I don't know why. I took her down to the edge of the woods, laid her down carefully, and started to dig into the soil. We have great soil at the new house, I found, moist and soft, with lots of organic matter. I was OK since I had one of our own cats to talk to (yes I talk to cats) - she was playing on the tree next to me - but that only lasted until I dropped the body into the hole.
She lay crumpled unnaturally, bent double, and I bent down to shift her to a more natural and fitting curled position. When my hand touched her shoulders, I lost it. I just knelt there for a few minutes, tears dripping into her bloody fur and holding my hand on her warm body. After the tears had slowed, I fixed her posture and felt the absurd need to apologize. I told her I was sorry, and that I hoped it had been quick, then I covered her over, reassured my little grey female that she wouldn't be bothered by that one again, and put the shovel away. I threw away the gloves, and went upstairs to my wife, who I am very thankful to say is understanding of a sensitive man.
It was such a complicated and powerful mix of feelings to deal with afterwards - the continued conviction that I had done the right thing to protect my cats and the wildlife, the knowledge that trapping and shelter life (or worse, shelter death) is no option at all, the knowledge that she had died instantly, and the unshakeable sadness at the same time. I know that my tears were the most sincere apology that cat would ever receive from anything in this world, and that she could never have hoped for a more dignified passing. I didn't feel like the tears were wrong, I felt like they were right and natural - I didn't fight them. Maybe I'm wrong, but I came from suburbia, the son of a veterinarian, and I've never even had to come to terms with where my food comes from... I figure it was a normal learning experience in the process of dealing with harsh reality. A learning experience I must go through, since my wife was an Ag major and we will be raising cattle a few years down the road. How could I possibly raise livestock if I couldn't deal with this?
I did decide one thing - that I would compose a hunting prayer. I don't know if anybody else says anything before setting out, but I don't really care. I will. At the risk of coming off as a total softie, PETA nut, and pseudo-treehugger, here it is:
"Lord, please keep us safe as we go out to harvest the bounty you have provided for us. Keep us mindful of our duty as the keepers of your world, that we should respect and be thankful for the animals we are fortunate enough to take. Keep our aim true, our bullets swift, and death for our quarry merciful and painless. Please lead us to do as You would have us do, and bring us home worthy of the arms we carry. Amen."
What I don't understand is why this was so hard. I have never been torn up like this over any dead animal before unless you count the time I watched my Dad put the family dog to sleep on the floor of his office and I saw the fear in her eyes as they clouded over. Why should this cat that I don't know, don't have any experience with, that ran at the very sight of me, elicit such a response?
Do any of you have similar experiences? Should I have used a different caliber? I assumed that a CNS hit from a subsonic 22lr would be enough for a cat, but I'm willing to be corrected.
