Stray Cat Blues

There are four of them. A very young, very thin mother and her three innocent kittens. 

They're living in the palm frondy Florida bushes outside my apartment building, subsisting off lizards and the dry food a few of us neighbors have been sliding under a staircase to keep it covered from the torrential summer rain. 

At night, while the rain plops onto the concrete and pings off the metal staircase, I sit on the bottom step and offer them canned food, which they devour. A few of them come closer each time they see me (I'm The Tasty Food Lady). But then they scurry off, looking over their shoulders with primal suspicion. 

Last night, two of my friends who volunteer at a cat shelter came by with animal traps (which are spring-loaded and perfectly safe and humane), and instructions. We've set a plan into motion: 

1. They'll make an appointment at a vet
2. Once we have the appointment, I'll go about trying to catch all of them in these traps where they'll stay just a few hours, inside my apartment
3. My friends will pick the cats up that night, take them to the vet first thing the next morning, and get them spayed, neutered, de-flead, and vaccinated
4. They'll bring the cats back to my place to recover from their surgeries, where they'll live in my air conditioned laundry room (to keep them safely separated from Malcolm, who might freak out) with blankets, towels, a litter box, toys, and all the wet food they can eat until we find foster homes for them (apparently, this is "Kitten Season," and all the local shelters are at full capacity for cats and kittens)
5. I will then fall madly in love with all four of them, decide we need a bigger place, and move to a beat-up old country house in Eustis with three bedrooms, a built-in gun rack and a neighbor who deep fries gator tail. 

It's gonna be great! You'll see!