January 18, 2026

𝟑𝟔𝟓 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟖

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

When will it end?

That's the question that's been circling through my mind all day. Why do these seniors keep giving up? What are we missing? What could we be doing better?

We lost another one today.

She came to us just eight days ago. Because she was a senior, we did what we always do—baseline bloodwork and x-rays to see what we're working with. In just eight days, she went into kidney failure and couldn't recover. Eight days to go from hopeful intake to saying goodbye.

But here's what I keep coming back to: eight days was enough to love her. It was enough to want to take care of her in her golden years. It was enough to know she deserved her second chance, even if that second chance was heartbreakingly brief.

She had one of the most peaceful passings I've ever witnessed. Sweet girl was ready.

My heart was not.

I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out what we can do better, what we're missing with these seniors who surrender so quickly. The protocols are there. The diagnostics are thorough. The care is excellent. But sometimes cats arrive already too far gone, already giving up, and eight days in a safe place with gentle hands isn't enough to convince their bodies to keep fighting.

Maybe that's the answer I don't want to accept—that sometimes we're not meant to save them for years. Sometimes we're meant to give them eight days of kindness. Eight days of knowing they mattered. Eight days of peace before they let go.

Today we did the official intake of an almost 19-year-old cat who came in five days ago. He has a microchip, so we were so hopeful that his owner would come reclaim him. Unfortunately, she did not. We can't reach her. We also can't reach the rescue he came from to get his records.

It seems like all of our attempts have fallen on deaf ears.

So now we have another new senior that we will try to get comfortable. He's been pretty simple thus far—poor guy was exhausted and hungry when he arrived. He's only six pounds. Most of my kittens are currently near that weight, so we've got some work to do with him.

Nineteen years old and six pounds and nobody answering our calls. I try not to think too hard about how he ended up with us. I try to focus on what we can do now—get some weight on him, make him comfortable, give him the care he clearly hasn't been getting. But it's hard not to wonder what his almost-nineteen years looked like before these last five days.

Today was diagnostic marathon day. Our wonderful veterinarian is getting some much-needed time off to go on her honeymoon, so we spent the day running through all the cats we've been medically managing. Rechecks, updates, medication adjustments—anything she needed to evaluate and change before she leaves us in the capable hands of another DVM while she's away.

It always makes us nervous when she goes away.

Not because we don't trust the relief veterinarian—we do. But because cats somehow seem to get the memo and start doing all kinds of weird things the moment our regular doctor is out of pocket. It's like they have a sixth sense. Normally we're able to contact her if something truly urgent comes up. This time, we will not. This time, we're going to let her actually enjoy her honeymoon without shelter emergencies interrupting her celebration.

Which means we need to be extra prepared. Which means today was long and thorough and exhausting.

But we did have some good things happen today.

Two cats got to come out of ringworm isolation. There's something deeply satisfying about opening that door and letting them rejoin the world—watching them realize they're not confined anymore, that they've made it through treatment, that freedom and adoption possibilities are ahead of them again.

We also got to release two new cats into the shelter to start their lives. Fresh intakes who've completed their quarantine period, had their health checks, and are now ready to discover what life at Hermitage looks like. There's always that moment of hesitation when the carrier door opens, then curiosity takes over. New spaces to explore, new friends to meet, new routines to learn.

These are the wins we hold onto on days like today.

I do not get much time off, as I'm sure you can imagine. But with my doctor out of pocket, I'm taking a much-needed extra day off since I don't have to run a doctor day. I'm going to enjoy an extra day to try and heal my heart and destress.

Though my heart is always at the shelter, I will be taking some time for me tomorrow.

Let's hope the cats behave.

Let's hope they don't get the memo.

Let's hope when I come back on Monday, everyone is exactly where I left them—stable, improving, and still fighting.

Let's hope our nearly-19-year-old boy starts gaining weight and finding comfort here.

Rest easy, sweet senior girl. Eight days was enough for you to know you were loved.