MacK - I get what you're saying about ferals versus strays. At the moment my mom has two cats rescued from a stall in the barn. They are what you would classify as "strays," cats that have been wild for several generations, certainly, but not long enough to differ genetically from domestic cats.

However, I have once owned a truly feral cat, and he was the best cat ever. His name was Rhadamanthus. He needed a big name, because he was a big cat. He was cream-colored (for some reason, in Tennessee, a large number of feral cats revert to this cream-with-lynx-points type) and half again the size of a normal cat. He weighed 23 points, and it was solid muscle. He had an interesting, flat-nosed, hideous face. The first time I spotted him, it was night and he was sitting in the spill of light outside my window and I thought a demon had come down to visit me. He was that ugly.

I was thirteen years old at the time, and I spent an entire summer trying to get my hands on that cat, crouching in the grass, meowing, making kitten noises, anything to hold his attention and interest while I crept closer. Finally one day it happened: he let me touch him. The transformation was instantaneous and amazing. He purred like thunder and rubbed against my legs. I petted that cat for half an hour. Then I stood up to leave; my legs were numb from crouching for so long. And he growled in fury, demanding that I pet him more. I petted him, he purred; stood up, he growled. Two hours later he had followed me back to the house. I ran inside, slammed the door, and put some food out for him.

Although he never became a housecat, after that first encounter, he was a charming and affectionate, outgoing cat. He never bit or attacked anyone, although he would growl and yowl if he was displeased. Apparently he had been waiting his whole life to meet a person, because once he got started, he never looked back. Once, just once, he marched into the house behind me, looked around, decided he disapproved, and marched right back out. We did trap him and take him to the vet to be neutered and get rabies shots, and although he made hair-raising noises, he didn't injure anyone, and he forgave us quickly.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about him was that he was the only cat I've ever known who would just lie down and sleep in the middle of an open field. He feared nothing.

He was a mature cat when we first discovered him, but he lived quite a few years, sometimes disappearing for weeks and months at a time. Eventually, like all outdoor cats, he disappeared forever.

23 pounds. My husband says it was actually 27, but I remember it differently.

Here it is: get a dog.

Ten years ago I found a newborn kitten in the gutter and nursed it back to health with formula and hot water bottles and endless attention. You've never seen such a spoiled cat.

So naturally, it turned on me.

Wellington the One-Eyed Wonder Kitty would stalk me throughout the apartment, growling and biting my ankles, before leaping at my face and drawing blood. He was a joy. He did the same to visitors. This went on for months. I went on a business trip and boarded him at the vet, where I had discussed the growing possibility of putting him down. They didn't disagree. A feral cat is a feral cat.

When I got home and went to the vet, a little brown yowling thing ran by, followed by a little white barking thing. Then they zoomed back through, only this time the barking thing was in the lead. Someone had found an abandoned Shih-tzu and brought it to the same vet. It was hairless and incontinent and for Wellington, it was true love. Best thing, he hadn't bitten a single vet tech since the dog's arrival. He bit the crap out of the dog, though, who seemed to enjoy the attention.

Ten years later, Wellington and Widdle are still chasing each other, though they prefer to spoon. Visitors comment about how affectionate the cat is, and could I please come get him off their lap? Thanks. He occasionally chews on the dog. The dog occasionally pees where she shouldn't, and everybody's living peacefully, if rather moistly.

So if you're serious about not putting your cat down, you've got to get him a sparring partner. Good luck!

There was a whole colony of Feral cats in my neighborhood. For the most part, they kept to themselves and to the old Cat Lady who left food out for them. I have to say, Mack, that I know what you're talking about with those wild animals. I still can't get over the first time I saw a Tom Cat have his way with a female cat. Chilling. Nothing like a lion and his lioness. And don't get me started at their screeching at night. It was just like one of those old Looney Tunes cartoons where the cat is on the fence baying at the moon.

I do think it's funny how many people worry about letting cats outside because of the danger from cars and other wild animals. I can understand in a big city, but I grew up in residential section of a large city, and we always let our cat out at night. Okay, he did have to fight with the above-mentioned pack of ferals (and he brought home a stray tom "Sonny Crockett" who used poor Buster like a Eunuch until my dad kicked him out. Not because of the buggery, but because Sonny would eat anything left on the kitchen counter) but he lived a long life. The living situation in my house changed and one day he didn't return from his nittime partying. We don't know if he ran away, or got hit by a car. I do know, my friend's mom down the street was hit by a car and died.

It's dangerous for human beings to be outside. People (young and old) get run over, in car accidents, mugged, raped, murdered, etc. Cats, for better or for worse, are part of our society and a fair amount of them are smarter than we give them credit for. I currently live in an area where the amount of road kill is ridiculous. But the vast majority of roadkill are dogs. I never see cats.