Saving Cats and Finding Compassion

When the warden left the prison and his trailer on top of the hill, he abandoned his unlicensed, unvaccinated pregnant female cat to fend for herself – surrounded by coyotes, hawks, owls, ravens, and snakes. But this single, soon-to-be mother of six, dumped by her man, went down the hill to the prison yards, filled with dirt (litter box), grass (furballs), wildflowers, irises, mint, and red-hot pokers. Flowers that attract birds and mint that hides the smaller lizard became Ruffle’s primary hunting grounds.

Prisoners are not usually known for their “soft and fuzzy” side or for their generosity. Prison is a dog-eats-dog environment. But, in this case, a small pink jungle or women’s prison banded together to save throwaway cats tossed from the highway towards a no-man’s land of enchantment – a prison with a sniper tower. Confused critters find their way towards redemption, creeping across the parking lot, trying not to disturb the correctional officer snoozing in the front seat of his truck with the boom box blaring and the door ajar. They arrive, cautiously crawling under the gates, into fields of morning glories with their petals turned towards the sun. Injured or not, the felines find refuge with the population of women offenders. The strays meet and greet the long-tailed, tiger-striped matriarch, discarded like trash by her callous former owner and warden. Always gentle and confident, she doesn’t bite or scratch the newcomers.

Charming as a con, she swaggered into Housing Unit Three one day, a boisterous den of drug addicts, rabble-rousers, and prison misfits. Everything stopped. No one had seen a friendly cat. Ruffles played them all, strolling and sniffing for the perfect birthing cell for her first litter. She jumped onto Kit’s clean bunk. The labor business began, plopping out one after another, six colorful kittens without daddies. The officer cited Kit for “wildlife” violations, even though Ruffles was simply an exploited house cat. After tossing the mother and newborns into a cold shed with owls overhead, the officer wrote the report.

Like many women left with children, deserted by their men, and with little skills to earn a living, Ruffles rose to the occasion by becoming our “Walmart” greeter. After a difficult day, pulling weeds, shoveling snow, or hauling trash, we’d come back to the units greeted by Ruffles with her only surviving kitten. To help her regain her health after the next little (Number 2), the gruff head of Fire and Safety took the surviving five kittens, keeping one (the old softie) and found homes for the rest with family and friends. We fed Ruffles pouches of commissary tuna and fish steaks, with occasional milk, cheese, and a peanut or two. Despite a letter to the former warden (kitten daddy) stating the prisoners raised $500 for the cats’ care, he did nothing, but nature did something. Sandy moved Ruffles secretly into her cell, away from the soda machine, where Ruffles intended to give birth (Number 3) again. Hours later, five new kittens emerged from the dark corner of the cell. A co-operative, cat-loving staff member pulled out her “Coach” travel bag, stuffing the mother and her progeny into the luggage, and walked out, passed by the x-ray scanner, winked at the security officer and with the blessings of one Unit Manager, loaded the cats into her new Jaguar and hauled out of the prison parking lot. Prisoners with courage, cunning and compassion saved a total of 14 feral cats that season. Maybe they saved themselves.