by Jana Lineweaver
Stalking through the tall grass,
I eye my hunting place:
A matted area beneath the old oak tree.
My stride is long,
And quiet as a mouse.
No weed or leaf will quiver under my two legs.
I am a human hunter on the prowl with
A vehicle full of traps and supplies.
I go out early mornings and late nights,
Sometimes so sneaky and sometimes so obvious.
Hard work and good intentions flood through me.
I hunger to make the area safer for community cats.
Finally the bait is placed and the trap is set.
Oh, how my anxiety builds
As I wait, wait, wait.
Sometimes so quick, sometimes hours,
Sometimes days, and sometimes never.
How long will my hunt be today?
Always, the adrenaline soars with the closing clang:
Will the bait have done it?
Will there be a furry feline in my cage?
Or will the trap be empty?
A few strands of fur tangled along the edge?
There it is!
The cymbal-like clash that ends the piece.
But we aren’t quite done.
Is this just the intermission before the transport,
Or will we have to have a revival?
My heartbeat thunders as I step across the way.
There! A shadow!
And movement!
And an outraged miniature lion,
Yowling their ire at being the prey.
Today, my cage is full.
Today, lives are changed!
Cats of all kinds trip my TRN trap.
I am a humane hunter on the prowl!
Trapping can seem cruel at times. This poem points to the “humane” aspects of TNR. Thank you.