March 13, 2026

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟕𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐈 𝐖𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭

It's been almost a month since I last wrote.

This blog started to feel like a chore and when something starts feeling like a chore, I know it's time to pay attention to what that's telling me. A lot of things have felt that way lately. I've been moving through my days like a robot, doing what must be done and not much else.

We've had so many intakes over the past few weeks. So many people standing at our door with their stories; the hard, heartbreaking reasons they can no longer care for their cats. I try not to carry each one with me, but the truth is I do. Each one stays somewhere in me whether I want it to or not.

My mental health has not been at its best.

I've gotten really good at shutting down, at recognizing when I have nothing left to give and making a choice about where what little I have actually goes. Over this past month, I chose to give it to the cats. To the ones who might not have gotten it otherwise. After caring for them and for my crew at home, there wasn't much left. Not for friendships. Not for writing. Not for much of anything else.

I don't love that version of myself. But sometimes that's what survival looks like.

Since I last wrote, we've seen 47 intakes, 47 adoptions, and said goodbye to 8 angels.

Life didn't pause. It never does.

We have construction underway at the shelter. The catio fencing is being fully replaced and reinforced, and the allergy suite is being walled off to give cats like Nyla true environmental separation. It's been more manageable for the cats than I feared, and I'm genuinely grateful for that. These upgrades have been in the works since I started here. Watching them finally happen feels like something.

We're also navigating a shift in our veterinary coverage. Our incredible vet has been offered the full-time position at her main job, her dream role, and we are doing everything we can to support that. The relief vet we've brought on does beautiful work with nonprofits and underserved communities, but her schedule is demanding, and we're all adjusting. It's a learning curve and we're climbing it.

There are things I can't write about here. Some of the hardest things that happen in rescue have to stay with me alone. What I will say is that we've had some deeply painful returns recently; situations that make it hard to trust the process of adoption, hard to trust people. I know that feeling isn't fair to everyone, but it lives in me right now and I'm being honest about that.

I am trying to find myself again. To find faith in this work again. Not because I've lost my love for it, but because love alone doesn't protect you from the weight of it.

There are so many souls here who are constantly overlooked. Senior cats, shy cats, the ones who've been here the longest. I want nothing more than for every one of them to be seen, to be chosen, to know what it feels like to be loved by someone who stays.

Some days I feel like one of them.

Life goes on. And so will I.