WESTCOAST NEWS
Homeless cats find a haven
At Forgotten Felines no-kill shelter cats enjoy care and comfort at a home where they can live out their days

Barbara Yaffe
Vancouver Sun

Thursday, May 27, 2004

Penny March's Forgotten Felines has run for more than a decade as a no-kill shelter. She takes cats to shopping malls for 'adoption days' and is always trying to think of new ways to raise cash.

Felix most definitely is on the second of his nine lives. The gray and white cat was taken to a vet with horrible injuries, stemming from abuse or neglect. After having his eye removed and extensive surgery, he was lucky enough to wind up at a no-kill cat shelter.

He's blind and partially deaf and needs help to find his food bowl. He'll need care throughout his lifetime.

But Felix, barely out of kittenhood, is cute as a button and loves people. If he'd been taken to the SPCA, he might have been categorized as being in critical distress or unadoptable. But, at a no-kill shelter, if no one adopts him, he can live his life in a safe environment.

His example raises an issue society across North America currently is grappling with -- how to deal with companion animal overpopulation and the morality of killing unwanted pets. University of B.C.'s Animal Welfare Program is hosting a lecture, Understanding the No-Kill Controversy, Friday at Robson Square.

People generally love no-kill shelters. It makes them feel good. They can dispose of unwanted animals with a clear conscience, knowing they will not be killed or starve or freeze to death.

But operating a no-kill shelter presents enormous challenges, challenges the B.C. SPCA is all too aware of.

The society advertised itself as no-kill in March 2002, only to discover it wasn't possible to deal with all B.C.'s stray and homeless animals without having the option of reducing numbers when resources were exhausted. After shelters overflowed and SPCA workers panicked, the policy was modified.

SPCA shelters take in some 31,000 animals each year with a view to finding them homes. The organization avoids euthanasia to the extent possible but cannot provide exact figures because records aren't fully computerized.

Forgotten Felines has been operating for more than a decade as a no-kill shelter and financial and space pressures are often overwhelming. But operator Penny March refuses to run it any other way.

Its website (www.forgottenfelines.ca) pledges: "The shelter will take any cat; abused, stray, sick, abandoned and feral cats."

It further pledges cats will never be euthanized "for any reason other than if it is suffering incurable pain." In the past year there have been no such instances.

March's shelter is but one of an unknown number of private groups operating in the Lower Mainland, rescuing companion animals.

Often crowded and less than immaculate, these shelters tend to be criticized by some as offering an endlessly unstimulating existence and a worse fate for a cat than a quick and humane death.

Obviously, shelter operators who struggle mightily to maintain their refuges beg to differ.

Registered as a charity, the Forgotten Felines' donations are tax deductible. When not caring for her charges or cleaning the shelter, March holds garage and rummage sales, pub nights and pancake breakfasts, craft fairs and bake sales.

She occasionally acts as hot-dog vendor downtown. She takes cats in cages to shopping malls for "adoption days" and is constantly trying to dream up new ways of raising cash.

She's hoping someone will donate land so she can set up a more extensive and permanent shelter operation.

The $135 donation fee she charges for an adoption goes toward blood tests, spaying and neutering, vaccinations and a complimentary vet visit for the new owner. Last year she ran a deficit of $11,000.

She contributes to the shelter personally from revenue earned by assisting her landscape designer husband.

The shelter, located in Richmond, is home to more than 150 cats that live communally rather than in cages. Nooks and crannies around and inside pieces of old furniture allow for hiding places.

Not all the cats are debilitated.

Many fluffy, adoptable cats find their way to this safe haven, even so-called designer cats such as Maine Coons, Siamese and Persians. But these cats would have a good chance of being adopted at any SPCA shelter.

Forgotten Felines' real value is in its accommodation of the unadoptables like Felix.

For such animals, the shelter operates the same way a chronic care home or palliative ward designed for humans would operate. Some cats have been at the shelter for as long as seven years.

They may have been dumped by owners, brought in by friends of a deceased caregiver or transferred to March's care by local veterinarians who have clients requesting their healthy pets be euthanized.

Another category of cat generally deemed unadoptable is the feral. These are wild cats that have not had contact with humans.

March has taken in many ferals that have been trapped by volunteers. She has them fixed to curtail the pervasive problem of over breeding and integrates them into the shelter. Over time, many become familiar with people and get adopted.

A special room accommodates cats afflicted with feline leukemia and HIV. And believe it or not, some have found homes. Like Mushie and Melanie, two HIV cats adopted by a man who felt great sympathy for them.

Terminally ill cats that don't get adopted will remain in their compact quarters filled with cat beds, toys and soft blankets.

In another part of the shelter, cats with behaviour problems or felines not meticulous about using the litter box are housed.

Finnigan, a lovable black prankster, is a hellion, splashing in the communal water bowl as though it were a wading pool and jumping on the shoulders of unsuspecting humans.

Finnigan has thrived at the shelter as has Combat, a huge, black, formerly feral Maine Coon who acts as a sort of godfather to all the other cats, and more often than not is curled up in an oversized basket, purring.

Each cat has a story to tell. One was left in an elevator, another in an apartment cupboard by a tenant who'd moved out. At this time of year, birthing season, kittens are regularly left in dumpsters.

March remembers taking in a cat after getting a call from someone living next to a crack house. She went over and the people, blissfully stoned, handed over the pet.

Another cat, Katrina, was surrendered by her drug-using owners. Katrina had severe seizures for the first four months she was at the shelter. March suspects she was exposed in some way to drugs.

Then there's Oscar, who receives as much special care as March and volunteers can offer.

Oscar is a portly ginger who arrived at the shelter after his caregiver gave birth and decided cats and babies don't mix. Oscar was extremely close to his caregiver and when dropped off was mad as hell, growling and pawing aggressively at anyone who approached.

But then he did what so many other dumped cats before him have done at the shelter. He became horribly depressed, stopped interacting and, most problematic, stopped eating. He spends his days immobile, under a piano bench and is fed forcibly by March.

Force feeding and esteem building are attempted in such cases with volunteers spending special time with and giving lots of cuddles to the morose cat.

But quite often a depressed cat won't get over its misery and will starve itself to death. The outlook for Oscar is uncertain. But if he dies, it will be the result of his owner's lack of caring.

March gets as little detail as possible from cat owners who dump their cats -- usually because of a new boyfriend, landlord trouble, moving to another city.

She doesn't care any more why they abandon their animals; it only makes her angry that they do. "It's heartbreaking. They're so confused. They don't understand why they've gone from a loving home to a shelter."

Maya, coloured by a series of big black-and-white patches, is a case in point.

March doesn't know why Maya was dumped in an open field in an industrial area where she had virtually no chance of getting food. Maya was a friendly cat; there was no doubt she once was someone's pet.

She was trapped last week, brought to the shelter and, down to 2 1/2 pounds, was cuddled, force fed and watched over by March. She died within three days.