There was a colony of feral cats in my sister's neighborhood on the Florida coast. She was constantly worried that the local hawks would prey on the kittens.
I, unfeelingly perhaps, replied that the hawks were endangered and the cats were not.
One unfortunate female cat in particular was always pregnant. The last time the cat gave birth my sister found the kittens and relocated them to a large cardboard box on her sheltered front porch. The mother was able to jump in and out of the box, and the kittens were confined.
The lean, under-nourished victim of biology mother cat managed to kill a squirrel and place its body in the cardboard box with the kittens. It was rather like throwing a can of milk into a crib. The mother cat was doing her best, but the kittens were at a loss. They huddled into a corner, frightened, until my sister removed the dead squirrel.
My sister fed the kittens from a bottle until they were able to be transferred to a rescue group that paid to have them neutered and either adopted or released.
Meanwhile, the unfortunate mother cat was adopted by a lovely couple--my sister's best friends. They had sworn not to take in any more cats. But.
The former feral mother cat now was safe, warm, housed, fed, and more importantly--no longer a victim of nature.
She more or less worshipped the man who had adopted her (followed him like a dog/slept by his bed) and lived the rest of her life in peace and comfort.