the agony

So, I have the luck/misfortune/fortitude to live in a neighbourhood where there are lots of stray cats. I also have the luck/misfortune/fortitude to live in a city that is seriously freaking cold. It's supposed to be -30 tomorrow *without* the windchill. Eew. Now would be a good time to take that trip to Peru.

Anyhow, I digress. Now that it is SO cold, it tears my heart out to come home, every night, and hear a poor kitty, mewing, somewhere, out in the cold. I feel *awful*. And I want to help them, I really do. Except:

(a) I can't find them. Or, when I do, they run away, despite my sweet "come hither" noises and out-in-the-cold patience. Silly kitties. Don't you know how nice I am? (b) They don't seem to want to be caught. They'll come and mew at people's doors, and in my laneway (late at night, when I'm totally prone to missing the house-kitty) but pointedly turn their noses at you as if they wouldn't be caught dead in that warm house. How low class.

I don't want to take in strays (unh unh, no way am I becoming the cat lady), but I'd be happy to catch them and ferry them off to the humane society where they can find foster homes that can take adult cats (I can't right now. Boo allergies) or permanent homes. Especially if the alternative is them lying frostbitten and cold and alone in alleys and under porches.

The poor things. I mean, what if it was Gryphon out there?