My Cat Colony: An Emotional History

Yesterday, I managed to keep myself distracted with preparations for our annual watch night singing service at church.  We had our contribution to the meal to prepare, then getting ready, and finally the actual service.  God really was with me.  After the last few days, I shouldn't have been able to go, much less stand up and sing, but I managed.  It was a difficult start, but God helped me push my thoughts to the background, so I could enjoy, and contribute to the service.  Today is strange.  I seem to be going about my daily tasks with the automation of a robot.  No feeling at all, just existing.  I look outside and see only four cats eating, and I grieve as I remember and reflect on when this all began. 
I married Dave in October of 2002, then moved into his house. Several feral cats, fed by the neighbors lived in his yard.  At first, I didn't feed them.  I had seen in the past how out of hand feeding strays can get, and I wasn't sure if I was capeable of weathering the emotional turmoil of getting involved. Despite this resolve, being who I am, it wasn't long until I was very much involved.  It all began with a thin tortie I simply called Mama Cat.  I can't explain exactly why, but I just had a special place in my heart for her.  She reminded me of Freckles, one of the family cats, who remained with Mom after I married and moved away.  I loved her, and I wanted this cat that reminded me so much of her.  I began feeding her, and trying to win her trust.  I used to sit on the back porch and sing Sunday School songs hoping she'd get used to the sound of my voice.  As expected, other cats came for the food and stayed, among them were Fuzzy Wuz, Sophie, a gray tabby I called Ms Grey, just to name a few.  By the time Mama Cat's babies were old enough to eat solid food, I was convinced that I had won her trust.  My plan was to have her spayed, and make her my indoor pet (by this time I'd missed having a cat in the house).  I opened the back door, and left a bowl of food on the floor (this had become my habit, as I was trying to get her used to the house).  When she came in to eat it, I closed the door.  This was the first time she'd been indoors with the the door closed, and she didn't like it at all.  I held her in my lap and pet her as I called all the vets in town to see who could get her in to be spayed.  Poor thing had finally calmed down, only to be put into a pet taxi.  After she was spayed, and we were on our way home, I was excited.  I just knew she'd love being in a home with loving people to fawn over her. I was to be disappointed.
When we got home, I put the pet taxi on the floor and let her out.  She immediately hid.  Well, that's normal, right?  She had just been through a tramatic experience and needed time to her self.  When she had time to calm down, and realize she was safe, she'd come out and be happy.  That's what I told myself, but it didn't happen that way.  She stayed hidden during the day, then spent her nights searching for a way to escape.  After a few days of this, I felt so guilty that I had decided if she wanted outside that bad, then fine.  I'd let her out. I spent another few days trying to let her out.  It was so wierd.  I'd open the back door, but she was  so freaked out by  me that she wouldn't coming out of hiding as long as I was around.  Fine, I don't have to be around.  I started leaving the back door open each day as I went about my household tasks, but she still refused to come out as long as I was awake and moving about.  So much for winning her trust.  She obviously was miserable in the house, and had no desire to be a pet.  She desparately wanted out, but couldn't get passed her fears enough to find the door.  I felt so sorry for her that I finally asked my aunt (who had more experience working with strays than I had) for help.
Paula came over the next day, and after a thorough search, we found Mama Cat hiding under the dresser.  I removed the bottom drawer, and Paula sent me to open the back door, while she gathered Mama Cat in her arms.  We weren't trying to MAKE her go out, just showing her that if she wanted to, she was free to go out.  After placing her on kitchen floor where the open door was in view, Mama Cat chose to...Surprise...go out. She was much happier, but sadly, I had lost her trust.  Oh, she still hung around.  She still ate while I was out there, while most of the other cats waited until I was back in the house before they'd approch the food bowls. She even let me pet her some, but the special bond I'd built with her never fully recovered. (Wow, this makes me sad all over again at the memory).  As the colony grew, she moved on to a less crowded territory. I know this is true, because weeks later, on my way to Kroger, I saw her lounging across the top of a car in front of a house the next street over. As much as I missed having her, I have to admit some good came from all of this. Not only did I have the comfort of knowing Mama cat was no longer contributing to the vast number of homeless kittens, but this is when Abby and Annie joined our household.  I was so upset at my failed attempt to add pets to my life, that Paula offered, and Dave agreed, to let me choose a couple of pets from among her friendly barn kittens. 
By this time, the colony had grown.  Several cats (Fuzzy Wuz and Sophie included) found my yard to be a safe place, and plentiful source of food.  As kittens were born, the colony grew even more. By 2004, I had well over 25 cats and kittens (probably close to 30).  That was the year we decided to begin our TNR (trap, neuter, return) process.  If I remember correctly, we had over to 13 kittens born that year, and only a few of them survived.  I'm not the kind of person who can just toss out a few cups of food and forget it.  I actually worked with these cats.  I sat on the porch with them, talked to them, sang to them...they were a huge part of my life.  I desparately tried to nurse each sick kitten (the ones who wouldn't run away from me) back to health, and I mourned each death deeply.  Dave, after watching me desolve into a month-long period of depression, agreed to the decision to have the colony spayed/neutered.
It was a slow process.  Using a website called Ally Cat Allies, I found the Hopkins County Animal Protection League, a low-cost spay/neuter clinic located in Sulpher Springs.  God really blessed us, because this is where we found and adopted Merlin, and later Morty (my third and fourth indoor pets).  With the help of donations from online cat lovers who had learned of our plight, and a borrowed trap from my aunt Paula, we began our long, hard, but very rewarding task.  Starting in the spring of 2004, we trapped and took in two cats a week as we could afford it, until 2007, when Sophie, the last of the unspayed cats, walked into our trap.  Goal complete!
Over the years, I've witnessed subtle changes in the colony.  As the kittens and youths grew, some of them moved on to new territories, while the more dominate ones stayed.  Once in a while strangers wondered in, some just to eat, others to stay. Sadly, some have died. By the middle of 2007, the colony had stablized to a total of around 10-15 coming to eat at meal times, with about 7 staying, and living in our yard.  Many of the kittens, who were born out here, grew to trust Dave and me enough to be indoor/outdoor cats.  They'll never be happy as indoor only pets, but they love coming in the house short visits, and when it's cold outside. The adult cats, who didn't grow up trusting humans, began to relax around us as well.  Where they used to wait to approach the food trays until we went back in the house, they were now following us (which ever one of us happened to be feeding on each given day) to the food trays.  It was wonderful to watch these cats go from being hungry and scared to safe and content.  I always enjoyed Spring, because I spent it planting, and repotting as nosy ferals look on, and friendly ferals "help" me. This was my life, and I loved it!
The last couple of years I've watch my colony decrease.  I guess I should have expected this.  When cats are no longer producing offspring, their numbers are no longer growing.  They tend to stablize then eventually decrease.  I'm intelligent enough to know the facts, but I guess I was too emotional to accept them.  I had read a Cat Fancy article about ferals back when I first began all this. I don't remember the exact wording, but the article stated that the average life span of a feral cat is 3-5 years.  I have been doing this nine, and going on my tenth year.  Most of my cats had already outlived their expected lifetime, so had I convinced myself they'd be here forever?  Actually, I'd never thought about it. They were here, they were happy, and they were mine, and that's all that mattered.
Losing Fuzzy Wuz, Scary Cat, Sophie and Socks all in the same year, and Tigra just two months before that year began has forced me to face something I'd never before allowed myself to even think about.  The mortality of the colony.  The deaths of Fuzzy and Sophie marked the end of the original cats that began the colony.  I am now left with seven cats, among the offspring of those originals.  Two of those cats are Monroe (the son of Ms Grey, and litter mate of Scary Cat and Tigra) and Tabby (the sole survivor of the last litter Sophie gave birth to). Tabby and Monroe have become friendly enough that it's safe to call them pets. Jake (another of Ms Grey's kittens) comes around each evening for a short indoor visit, a bit of food, and sometimes a little nap, before going back down the street.  That leaves me with Sassy, Scruffy, Shadow, and Booger Bear, who still eat at the food bowls.  Four!  I'm thankful for all seven of these remaining cats, but I have to admit it was painful to take food outside, only to have four cats run up to me.  I have a big Tabby cat, who comes up in the evenings to glean what's left of the food, but he doesn't stay.
So today, I go about my normal routine, feeling numb.  I feel like a part of my life, and part of my very identity, is gone.  Not only do I mourn the loss of each cat, I also mourn the end of my normal.  What is my normal now?