Kitten Season : It’s the time of year females are in heat, with males on the prowl. Getting your cat fixed may be the humane thing to do.

It begins with Lulu.

A scrawny homeless cat who appeared at our back door about a year ago, her sad-sack face pressed against the glass in an overwrought but convincing plea for food.

My wife, a hopeless sucker for cats, immediately grabs a can of tuna. I urge her to reconsider. One whiff will be enough to persuade Lulu to become a permanent fixture at the back door, I argue, and we already have a cat, an obstinate 16-year-old female named Amanda who has one eye and an incurable habit of picking at the carpet for attention. I like cats and appreciate their independence and cleanliness, but I don’t need another one.

My wife, however, can’t resist those mopey saucer eyes. The young tabby gets her tuna and, of course, makes herself a regular dinner guest. Becoming our de facto outdoor cat, she hangs out in the back yard for part of the day, then dines al fresco before fading into the night.

Then Lulu brings Peewee.

An undernourished runt, Peewee is probably 6 months old, with short legs and an expression even more pathetic than Lulu’s. Is she Lulu’s daughter? A pal from the wrong side of the tracks? When my wife begins using words like adorable , cute and cuddly to describe the feral kitten, I try getting used to the idea of three cats.

But not for long.

Peewee is so tiny . . . so fragile . . . so pregnant.

No wonder Peewee rides so low to the ground and acts shell-shocked most of the time. She was only 4 or 5 months old, a kitten going into heat for the first time, when a brutish male chased her down and sent her on the road to motherhood. One day she’s slinking down my driveway, the next she’s prancing toward our house, leading four gerbil-size fur balls.

Overnight, the roll call at dinner changes drastically: Amanda, an only cat all her life, learns to share, but not very graciously, with Lulu, Peewee and the fearful foursome of G. I. Joe, Teddy, Chili and Wussy.

Every time we forget to close the back door, terror ensues. Cats pop out of closets without warning. Cats mistake the bathtub for the litter box. Cats get trapped under the dishwasher. Cats chase cats in a feline version of demolition derby.

Catastrophe.

Cats reach critical mass in our lives. As the kittens progress through various stages of cuteness, my wife and I take turns assigning blame for our predicament. Had she let me shoo Lulu the first time the animal appeared, the wolf pack would be someone else’s problem by now. Had I booted the little beggar, I would have been a Neanderthal. However, had some fool thought to fix his tomcat a few years ago, none of this would have happened in the first place.

The cats purr sweetly and work their charm on us. Growing increasingly attached to them, we keep postponing the trip to the pound or the hard-sell, basket-o’-kittens approach at Vons. We spend a few hundred dollars getting three of them fixed, along with Peewee and Lulu (Wussy is too spooked to catch).

Finally, when their obnoxious antics--such as foraging in neighbors’ kitchens--begin drawing complaints, we can’t wait any longer. Some of the seven will have to go, but which ones? Do we make lists? Draw names from a hat? Lulu and Peewee make it easy by accepting offers from empathetic neighbors; we manage to place G. I. Joe with an adoring young family in another county; Teddy displaces Amanda on our couch, and Amanda goes to live in a carton behind the garage (I’m not making this up).

This cautionary tale, however, doesn’t have an entirely happy ending. Chili and Wussy are missing. Chili bolted and hasn’t been seen since; Wussy is gone, rumored to have been remanded to an orchard by the anti-cat squad across the street.

I can’t say I really miss Chili and Wussy, but every day about dinner time, I glance out the back door expecting to see those wayward scamps with their pink noses pressed against the glass, begging for a handout.

Population Explosion

It happens every spring. Female cats go into heat and males go on the prowl, the ensuing courtship sparking a feline population explosion 63 days later. Lulu is no doubt a survivor of the class of ’91. Peewee is a ’92 graduate. But most strays don’t find happy homes; usually, they die a cruel and premature death as road kill or coyote lunch. Or they just starve to death. The best these unwanted cats can usually hope for--outside of a miraculous adoption--is a merciful one-way trip on sodium pentobarbital.

Every year in Ventura County, a few thousand cats are humanely destroyed by lethal injection; last year, a total of 4,629 were euthanized by county Animal Regulation in Camarillo and the Humane Society in Ojai.

The mass destruction of these beautiful animals is agonizing to cat lovers and animal activists, but it also angers them because the slaughter could be drastically reduced if owners simply spayed or neutered their pets. That’s a message the Humane Society and Animal Regulation have been trying to get out for years--the Humane Society made 545 presentations at schools last year. But the public apparently hasn’t been listening: The annual number of euthanized cats remains about the same.

“People just don’t get it,” fumes Kathy Jenks, Animal Regulation director. “Every year, we get these people who let their cats get pregnant so their kids can experience birth, then they come in here with a box of kittens, grinning like they’re doing us a favor. Talk about morons!”

Did we mention that cat people are angry?

“It’s hard not to be angry,” says Jolene Hoffman, shelter director of the Humane Society. “Especially when we’ve got low-cost clinics making it so inexpensive to get the animals fixed.”

For every cat euthanized at the pound, countless abandoned cats try to survive on their own, most living short lives under homes and in river areas, orchards, dumps and alleys. Although a healthy female can have three litters a year, strays have enough trouble keeping themselves, let alone a family, alive. If predators and starvation don’t kill these unwanted animals, cars and abscesses--from internecine warfare--usually do.

And “kittens born in the wild don’t stand a chance,” says Joyce George, president of the Humane Society.

Cat lovers break into a cold sweat thinking of all the terrible fates befalling felines who don’t find loving homes. It’s a jungle out there.

“There are a lot of low-life, dirt-bag people who want to hurt cats,” says Simon Oswitch, founder of Ventura-based Animal Emancipation, a small nonprofit organization dedicated to saving doomed cats and dogs.

During the height of kitten season in mid-summer, newspaper classified sections contain columns of ads offering “free cats to a good home.” But according to experts, these kittens can wind up in the hands of dealers who sell them for medical experimentation, or weirdos who use them for satanic rituals, or sadists who torture and kill them.

“I heard of a guy (in the county) who used 14 kittens a day to teach his pit bull how to fight,” Hoffman says. “I know of people feeding kittens to snakes. You should beware before you give your kittens away. If you were irresponsible to let your cat have kittens, then at least be responsible and check out the people you’re giving them to.”

House cats are as vulnerable as strays if allowed outside. “Indoor cats live longer, but try telling that to people,” Jenks says.

Kitten season has just begun. How can you tell? Those yowls outside your bedroom window at 4 a.m. should be the first clue. You’ve also probably noticed your normally aloof house cat acting affectionately, purring uncontrollably and vibrating her tail. She’s in heat, and you should get her fixed before letting her out or you will surely become a godfather.

Cats in heat almost always get pregnant, sometimes by more than one male. Females release a chemical when in heat, attracting every eligible male on the block, and can be in heat for months, or until they get pregnant. Tomcats fight to see which one mates with a female.

At the peak of kitten season, the Humane Society receives several litters a week. The arrival of kittens at the shelter makes the older cats undesirable for adoption, sealing their fate.

“This not a good time for the staff,” Hoffman says. “You feed these cats, you pet them and then you have to put them down. The staff has the hardest time. You see signs of depression and extra stress. If anybody has vacation, now is the time to take it.”

Animal activists are also busy during kitten season. Animal Emancipation is one of several organizations in the county (see sidebar) that places unwanted pets. Last year, it found homes for about 30 cats. New owners must sign contracts promising to take care of their new pet “and, if they balk, no animal,” Oswitch says.

Oswitch’s group also supports several cat colonies in secret locations in the county, including three in the city of Ventura. Each colony is made up of 10 to 12 wild cats, all neutered or spayed. The cats are fed regularly, but otherwise fend for themselves. It’s not an easy life, but it beats the alternative. Oswitch says: “A cat can have a bit of a quality of life instead of euthanasia.”

For cat overpopulation to be solved, some experts say, government will have to get involved. A 1992 ordinance requiring all outdoor cats over 6 months to be spayed or neutered has been successful in San Mateo County, which destroyed 1,200 fewer cats the year the law took effect.

“It’s been a struggle in (Ventura) county to get people to fix their animals,” Oswitch says. “We need an ordinance with criminal penalties to wake people up.”

But Ventura County has never considered an ordinance like San Mateo’s. “It would be absolutely unenforceable,” Jenks says. “There are no officers enforcing (existing) animal ordinances, so why add another one?”

Jenks believes that public awareness is the key.

“People seem to think having a pet is an inalienable right,” she says. “It’s not. It’s a privilege.”

A Low-Cost Way to Stop Overpopulation

The numbers are mind-boggling: According to the Humane Society, one female cat and her offspring can produce 420,000 cats in only seven years.

Spaying and neutering will end cat overpopulation. To encourage cat owners, Ventura County Animal Regulation in Camarillo offers $20 vouchers, good at any veterinary hospital; the Humane Society in Ojai provides low-cost clinics Mondays through Thursdays, charging $20 for males and $25 for females.

Most vets charge about $50 to spay a female and $35 to neuter a male.

Organizations in the county that can help you adopt or place a cat: SPAN (646-1919), Animal Emancipation (652-1910), Adopt A Pet (527-8238), the Humane Society (646-6505), Ventura County Animal Regulation (388-4341), Humane Animal Rescue Team (524-4542), Pet Assistance Foundation (583-6143).