LONDON, Ohio - The man nodded toward his prison cell and pointed at the three meowing kittens playing hide and seek behind his floppy pant leg and batting at his shoelaces. "It’s their house, and they have the run of it," he said of the 8-by-10 room where he must spend his time. "We just get to sleep there." Then he leaned down and, with two meaty hands, scooped up Max, a skinny 8-week-old orange tabby he is raising, and nuzzled him.

"You get to prison because you had an issue, but you don’t come in and instantly become a good person. Change takes time," he said. "These cats bring you closer to being good."

He is one of 10 prisoners sharing five cells on the second floor of the Washington D Building at Madison Correctional Institution who are a part of what’s simply and appropriately called "the foster-cat program." Fifteen more men who want to help are on a waiting list.

Through a partnership with the Humane Society of Madison County that is at least a decade old, the men bottle-feed and otherwise care for kittens brought to them because the cats either were rejected by their mothers or because they came to the humane society without one. They have taken in at least 50 this year.

They also foster grown cats — generally older or shy ones in need of socialization, and overweight ones that might benefit from exercise they can’t get when crated for much of the day at the shelter.

The goal is to care for the animals and train them (the men swear that if you have the time, and they do, you can train a cat), and prepare them for adoption. They keep journals that eventually will aid the new pet owners. They note each kitten’s personality and track things like which ones won’t bite if you rub their bellies and which ones prefer stuffed mice over little balls with jingle bells inside.

The men log how much each kitten eats, how much milk they drink and whether they prefer play or sleep.

"The guys are like overbearing mothers," Danielle King, the humane society’s assistant shelter manager, said with a laugh. "A kitten sneezes at 2 a.m. and they think it might be sick and call for help."

Betty Peyton, director of the humane society, said she can send as many as 30 cats and kittens to the prison at any one time, allowing the shelter to about double its capacity. But the manpower is really what helps the most.

"Bottle-feeding and caring for a litter of kittens is a 24/7 operation," she said. "To have these guys love them and take them in to get them ready for adoption helps us more than they even know."

Prisoners at the Ohio Reformatory for Women in Marysville can participate in a similar program, and Madison and the reformatory are two of several prisons in the state that run some sort of dog program.

But these men transform their cells into kitty playgrounds. Tall, handmade, cardboard gates allow the inmates to keep their steel cell doors open during the day but prevent the curious kittens from escaping. Litter boxes are tucked under the small, single sink, and the food and water dishes go wherever they fit.

And prisoners walk the cats on harnesses in the recreation yard during warm-weather months, and use carriers otherwise.

For the inmates, the kittens offer a respite from an otherwise lonely existence. This is no easy-time prison. Many of the men here are lifers: murderers and burglars, drug kingpins and rapists among them.

There are five kittens at the prison now — Max among them — and the crimes committed by the two men caring for them were so monstrous that Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction victims-services unit wouldn’t allow them to be identified for this story because it could offend the families of those they killed.

Max’s handler, Frank, is 42 and has been in prison almost 15 years. He has probably that many more to go.

He said fostering the kittens keeps him out of trouble inside the institution’s walls.

"I have no interest in the bad behaviors out there," Frank said of the prison yards and common areas outside of his cell. "My dad says he realizes the cats made me a better person, and that means a lot to me to hear him say that."

Men who want into the program are carefully screened, said Nicholas Emmons, the prison’s unit manager. He said he is surprised by how many show an interest because it is round-the-clock work and the pay — $19 a month — is pretty ordinary for what men can make at prison jobs.

But it is perhaps the emotional investment they are willing to make that surprises Emmons the most.

He said he has seen the cats and kittens do a lot of good by calming the unit and shaping behavior and allowing the men to feel as if they are somehow giving back.

He’s never had to kick an inmate out of the program, though some have asked to leave, and there’s never been a kitten intentionally hurt.

"We are the Department of Rehabilitation and Correction," he said. "Everyone wants to focus on the correction part, and punishment is necessary. But this is the rehabilitation part, and that’s important, too."

The cat handlers also can eventually earn an animal-trainer apprenticeship certificate, but that takes 4,000 hours.

Benjamin, a 48-year-old convicted murderer serving a life sentence, has only about 200 hours to go. He is fostering four kittens now. Among them is Cindy, a black-and-white social butterfly, and Gizmo, a gray ball of energy who would rather just be left alone.

He wraps extra towels around the bars on his cell windows and the bunk beds to convert them to scratching posts, and he buys the kittens tuna at the commissary as a treat.

"It’s like being a dad. They come in here as bottle babies and their whole life depends on you," Benjamin said. "It’s nice to be able be able to show kindness. There’s not a lot of that in here."

hzachariah@dispatch.com

@hollyzachariah