A few months ago, A and I decided to get rid of our golden retriever. We were very busy, and he was couped up in a small house for several hours a day. Once we got home each night, he would stay out in our backyard until bedtime. He needed more attention and interaction than we could give him, and it was unfair of us to keep him. We contacted our local golden retriever rescue organization, and they found him a new home.
I didn't really miss him once he was gone. That is, until the feral cats started using our carport as a litter box.
I bought a B.B. gun, but it was a single-shot pistol, and the little fuckers ran too fast for me to reload.
Then A told me that she saw the crack whore who lives across the street setting out a dish of food for them. I decided to get some D-Con and fill up her dish with that the next time I saw her set it out. My bleeding-heart coworker threatened my karma if I poisoned the mangy bastards.
I had noticed three different cats hanging around at different times. This morning B came into the bathroom to tell me, "Daddy! There's FOUR CATS in the backyard!"
So tonight I stopped at Home Depot and bought one of these:
After I had it set up with the bait inside, I went back inside and asked A how soon she thought I would have to empty my new trap.
"I'm not sure." She didn't really want to play along.
"I bet one of them will be in there within the hour."
I was right.
Animal Control will empty the trap sometime tomorrow.