February 10, 2026

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟒𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤

Sunday was a day of preparation. After weeks of being consumed by procedures and intake exams, we were finally going to tackle the backlog of annual exams. More paperwork than usual, but satisfying to know we'd make real progress on something that had slipped behind.

Monday arrived with its typical mixture of routine and crisis. We completed a sedated oral biopsy on one of our clinic cats, neutered a newcomer, and worked through exam after exam. But the day ended in sadness - we had to let go of a recent return whose chronic diarrhea turned out to be lymphoma. Sometimes we can manage lymphoma and keep cats comfortable for months or even years. This wasn't one of those times. We got her too late to intervene, and the kindest thing we could do was say goodbye.

There was a bright spot though. Jack, our former property cat, passed his exam and was released into the shelter population. The initial transition was rough. He scaled every inch of catio fencing looking for an escape route. But once he realized there wasn't one, something shifted. This morning I found him curled up with another cat, a feral from a school who still won't let us touch him. Two souls who understand each other, finding comfort together. Jack's friend has made steady progress, and I'm hopeful both of them can build safe lives here with us. They were joined by another cat that I fostered previously who was found way out in the desert.

Not everyone understands the decisions I make for these cats. I get pushback sometimes. But at the end of the day, it's not about how anybody feels about my decisions - it's about whether those decisions positively impact the cats' lives. I will do what's in their best interest 100% of the time. They're what matters.

Sometimes I think people forget we have "sanctuary" attached to our name. Yes, adoptions are wonderful. But we're also a place where cats are safe to live out their entire lives if that's what they need. Who am I to tell them differently? It's hard for potential adopters when they fall in love with a long-term resident, only to learn why that cat is sanctuary-bound. Many of them are inappropriate urinators. And despite what people tell us in the moment, most aren't truly okay with that in their home.

Tuesday was cleanup day after surgery - new treatments, releasing cats to start their new lives, running quality control on Monday's documentation. Then my kennel tech came back with a video of one of our FeLV kitties in respiratory distress.

We've danced this dance before. I had someone grab her immediately while two others suited up for x-rays. Euthanasia drugs were pulled up, assuming the worst, and our veterinarian. was notified. When FeLV cats present like this, it usually means their chest is full of fluid and we're out of time. My medical instincts were right. We had to let go of a sweet 10-month-old FeLV girl.

My new second-in-command hasn't witnessed many emergencies yet. The more she watches me run them, the better equipped she'll be to handle one if I'm not there. It's a sad but valuable education.
That emergency drained whatever energy I had left. I just tried to get through the rest of the day. We have more pending angels coming up, and going to work knowing what's ahead is incredibly hard. Making these time-sensitive decisions with our veterinarian never gets easier. I wish they could all live forever, but that's not how this works.

When we have time, I make sure staff and volunteers know so they can say their goodbyes. It's the final gift I can give - to both the cats and the humans who love them.

My job is tough.