Why "Mad Trapper"?

Essentially, I think one has to be trifle mad....and I mean it in the kindest possible way...to go out in all kinds of weather, tramping through all kinds of terrain at all hours of the night and day, getting sunburned, bug bitten and drenched to the skin to capture cats and kittens that, far from thanking you, will sink their teeth into your unwary flesh and scar you for life with their claws if given a chance.   But then I remember this:

Faith, the night she came in, dying of upper respiratory infection, loaded with fleas, skeletal little body, tummy distended with worms and a with a large infected wound on her neck.

I remember this:

Destiny, a tiny orphan whose life was literally in Marlah's hands.

I remember this:

Foxx, who bit both Marlah and I when we first met him, but would not have lived to grow up because of a polyp inside his skull that gradually prevented him from eating and breathing.  

I know what they are today, and I know there were so many, many more who owe their lives to the trappers, the foster parents and the vets who worked on them.