What if, Maddy being a cat, you just let her play with the bugs and she learns how to kill them?
I tried that. She never did, and since I didn't want it to get away, I killed it myself. Any sign of bugs here that the management hears about means they call a pest control company to put out traps. These guys have NO common sense as to where they put them. They got mad at me for removing the one in front of the microwave, and I said, "You realize this is my food prep area, right?"
Then they put one next to my towels, where it would be guaranteed to get knocked off next time I needed one.
The bugs weren't my fault. But if a neighbor has a problem, anyone within a 3-suite radius on the same floor, above, and below, gets checked.
Happily I was bug-free.
Unhappily that's not quite true now, due to two summers of hot temperatures in an apartment with holey screens that don't get fixed because they're not deemed "emergencies". So lots of moths come in and I've devised several ways of killing them. Maddy is no help at all, and in fact she runs when she sees me pick up the flyswatter or rolled up advertising flyers.
At least the bugs that haven't been vacuumed up are all dead.
Household cats are the most "not feral" of critters.
Depends on if they were before they became house cats. Some are easier to tame than others. I'm happy that Maggie and Gussy were success stories, as Maggie realized that if we insisted on feeding her, she might as well move in. Of course the fact that she was pregnant at the time might have helped the decision along. It's easier to care for kittens if you don't have to hunt all your food - particularly in the fall.
Gussy was a stubborn little guy. He desperately needed help but was too afraid to let us near enough to give it. I spent 3 weeks in one of the coldest Octobers I can remember, putting out food for him several times a day, hoping he'd get at least some before the magpies stole the rest. Even though I microwaved the milk for him, I'd still find it frozen in the morning, with little tongue tracks in it as he didn't get most of it.
My grandmother told me to give up, but I told her I would not give up unless I found him dead from either cold or starvation (he wasn't even 8 weeks old at the time). Thankfully my dad and I figured out how to catch him, and he gradually adjusted to being an indoor cat. Good thing too, as he never learned to hunt.