The vet said, "Keep them quiet for a few days and keep them indoors for two weeks." It sounded simple enough. But when I put the carriers full of those seven howling hellions in the vehicle and headed home, the ear-drum piercing concert of howling was an indicator of things to come. I had thought the wise punk, Ninja, would be the most problematic. I was wrong. He and his sister were were accustomed to hanging out on the porch and soon settled in. The other five were another story. They were accustomed to being outdoors in the daytime. With the resilience of youth, they scurried around as if they had experienced nothing more than hangnail removal. And before long, they spent a good part of their days begging to go out. I had enjoyed their constant company. But they were stir crazy from being confined indoors. When the time was up, I had to let them go.
During this time, I had not given much thought to the rest of the feral herd. But the kind people at the animal hospital had given some thought to my predicament. They told a good samaritan about my feral problem and she contacted me. Over the phone we made an arrangement of sorts. I would capture the next group, deliver them to her in the morning, and then pick the cats up at night. The fees were reasonable and the only stipulation was that I keep the cats. This wasn't a problem. I already knew nobody wanted the cats and had planned to let them live their lives out on my property. I just didn't want any more.
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