My First Cat Trapping Adventure

The Old Blanco Monastery 2007-2008.

Some of the lower colony cats

Way back in 1984 I was young and foolish, traveling around the country on my Yamaha 650 Maxim. I had left NY the end of October and had made my way down to Texas via Maryland and West Virginia. I had just finished working at the Texas Renaissance Festival, where I had worked for Elizabeth a red haired gypsy, portrait artist and Bill Potter a metal smith. I was working tracing leaves on copper with a fellow named Omar. One night he asked me if I was going to Fr. Sam's for dinner, I hadn't met Fr. Sam as yet, but Omar explained that this priest cooked spaghetti one night a week and anybody was welcome to come. Free food, you bet! That is how and when I met the monks of Christ of the Hills Monastery. Fr. William told me about the monastery and invited me out to visit. At that point in my travels all I needed was a map and I would be there. So after a brief time in Austin I made my way out to the Monastery, January of 1985 and that was the year it snowed, a lot! Traveling by motorcycle down to Texas to spend the winter sounded like a pretty good idea, back in the summer in NY. My first visit to central Texas and the Texas Hill Country was surreal, to say the least. You see, I'm a northern girl by birth, and though I had few pre-conceived ideas of this part of the country, I did expect an ever-present sun. And what was I greeted with when I turned my motorcycle west and headed out of Austin? Snow, lots of snow, I seem to remember more than a foot of snow, and of course it has to be cold to snow. Now just because I am from NY, and conditioned to cold weather, doesn't mean that I am a fan of flurries and accumulation. In fact, I am allergic to the cold, not allergic in that I don't like the cold, but actually allergic to it. Back in Buffalo, when I would go out into the cold my face would swell up, and every 4th of July I would jump into to pool at my Uncles, break out in hives and proceed to go into shock. Doctors seemed to enjoy putting an ice cube on my arm, to show medical students the effects of swelling and iching. This was a very good reason not to spend another winter in NY. I thought I would be safe in Texas. Boy, was I wrong. So my first sensation when arriving in Blanco was shock, literately. I soon learned, that, snow storm not with standing, Blanco is very much a typical small Texas town. Blanco pronounced Blank-O by the locals, was at that time a one traffic light town. (It was not long ago that we lost that status, now have two lights.) There is, of course, a Dairy Queen, a town square with a beautiful old courthouse. The Monastery was located about five miles outside of town on a hill from which you could see for miles.
I had planned a visit to the Monastery then was going to head down to South Padre Island. Thankfully the monks talked me out of it and allowed me to stay at the Monastery. The main complex was at the top of a hill where they had a trailer that was a kitchen with an addition of a dining area, they also had a trailer that served as a chapel, office and restroom. They where in the process of building a church. At first they let to stay in one of the guest rooms that were just down the hill. As time went on they allowed me to move into a hermitage that was located around the back side of the hill. This is where the cats come into the story. They had cats, lots of cats. They also had dogs, a few Chows and one Great Pyrenees (Anastasia). Every night Anastasia would walk me home, we would always be joined by a few cats. I remember one I called Gato Blanco. White of course, with pink ears that always looked sore and scaly. I am guessing a condition that came from inbreeding. Interestedly enough different cats would adopt certain people to walk home. Some of the cats were tame and some where feral. The story I was told is that they all started from one cat that had hitched a ride to the Monastery under the seat of a car, her name was Mouser. She was a pretty little orange tabby who had many litters of kittens before the monks finally got her fixed. That was the first time I had come across what I would now call a colony of cats.
Fast forward twenty-one years, I had gotten married (at the Monastery), moved to Western NY, had two kids, moved back to Texas, divorced. The monks had gotten themselves into trouble, and the Monastery was closed down. The cats were still there, except now there was two colonies of cats. A friend from the Blanco County Cat Coalition had taken on the feeding of the cats. But very few of them had been fixed. With the death of Fr. Sam I felt I was able to go back out to the Monastery (we had had a falling out years before) I had always wanted to get all the cats fixed but there never had been a way to do that. Now with the financial help of the Cat Coalition, using the few traps that they had and borrowing traps from the group in Fredricksburg. I was able to start trapping. I found a vet in Fredricksberg that was willing to give the Coalition a discount. I would trap four or five cats and haul them to Fredricksburg for surgery. Then go out trapping again sometimes catching cats that had all ready been done. The lower colony was fed between on porches between two trailer homes. One of which Fr. Sam had just died in several months before. The upper colony was being fed in an unfinished rock church in the cemetery at the top of the hill. I spent many a spooky evening hour trapping cats and contemplating death. I found it ironic that after the Monastery was closed down, only the cats remained. The matriarch of the group was a female we called the Abbess. Ironic in that Fr. Sam really didn't much like the cats nor did he like females much, preferring men, which eventuality led him into trouble. Now the Monastery was being run by a fuzzy little girl that ruled with an iron paw. One of the funniest things I saw there was when Big Daddy, the biggest cat I had ever seen, tried to sneak up to share the food bowl with the little Abbess. She bopped him a good one! Nobody eats with the Queen unless she has invited them! She had her “court” a few of the other females that were probably had been her kittens or litter mates. Then there was the littlest cat, he was the last one to be trapped, because he was the smallest and so was always the last to eat. I named him Tippy because the tip of his tail always seemed to be twitching. He lives with me now, I just couldn't bear to release him back out with all the big kitties. He is the oldest of my kitties, the first one of my “souvenir” kitties. He is a souvenir of my first cat trapping adventure.
He is semi-feral who allows me to pet him once in awhile. He has learned to enjoy the comforts of the wood stove, sneaking in through the kitty door after I go to bed at night.
After months of trapping I was finally able to “fix” all the cats. Yeah, no more suffering kittens. Finally after more than twenty years the cat situation at the old Blanco Monastery was under control. The End

Big Daddy and Friends