In a West Auckland street where you'd probably not loiter after dark, two women sit patiently in a van watching their traps.

They know the street well. They're there twice a week. On their own time. Out of devotion, love. Compassion offsetting tedium.

They know the neighbours, sort of. Some of them at least. Some who are even minor partners in their scheme.

Fumes of half cooked meat waft across the street, so pungent a human can easily smell it 20 metres off.

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Cassandra Moran lays a cat trap in a West Auckland street. Photo / Dean Purcell
Cassandra Moran lays a cat trap in a West Auckland street. Photo / Dean Purcell

The hunted of course know it's there, but they're scared.

Dull sirens off in opposite directions wail

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