The room is quiet and sunny. Everyone's relaxing, lost in thought, some strolling for some fresh air just outside the door, others snoozing the afternoon away. "This is no way to treat a senior citizen," she'd say, if she could. Teila is a 17-year-old, mostly orange-and-cream cat. She's living out her golden years here on the grounds of the National Cat Protection Society in Spring Valley. She and her neighbours in this big airy room are residents of the facility's retirement center, believed to be the only one of its kind in the area. The felines come from various situations: owners too old themselves to care for their pets, a new living situation for a couple or family, sometimes a death that leaves them orphaned and alone. And they've been coming quietly for years. Teila was 8 when she arrived with her older brother, who has died. Their owners had passed away, and the couple's daughter brought the cats in. It happens like that a lot, says Gerri Calore, vice president of public relations for the society, during an informal tour of the property one recent afternoon. The National Cat Protection Society is the legacy of her late husband, C. Richard Calore. She explains that, while serving in France in World War II, a cat kept the Army officer warm and emotionally buoyed in a foxhole in the dead of winter. The experience inspired him to dedicate the rest of his life to protecting cats and raising awareness of animal cruelty.
"He talked about one day, when he was walking to school, about finding a cat," she remembers. When he finally got to school – late and with the cat – it was taken away from him and kicked into a corner. It was something he never forgot. He built his first shelter 40 years ago in Long Beach, then moved it to Newport Beach in 1993. As word spread, San Diego-area animal lovers clamored for a shelter here, and the Spring Valley shelter opened in 1975. In 2000, the retirement center was created. It's an airy, sunny complex – a playroom, a "bedroom" and a shaded patio across the breezeway from the adoption center. It's home to 30 older cats – and Calore says there is enough room for 20 more – and it's cleaner and sweeter smelling than many houses that are home to pets. "We spend four hours a day cleaning," says Sheila Saks, who lives here as the facility's caretaker. She strokes Teila's back, and talks about some of the other residents. There's Pandora, who arrived after her owner remarried and the new blended family wasn't in the cat's best interest. And while that may sound like every other story of a pet given up, that's not the case with these cats. They moved here much like an older family member might move into an assisted-living facility. They can't be adopted; they are never put down. The society offers these aging animals what it calls a "Lifetime Care" program, which is exactly what owners are looking for. "One woman came in," Calore says. "She has eight cats. She wanted to see the center before she went to her attorney to set up her trust." The document would include instructions on what to do with her cats after she was gone.
"If a cat is hyperthyroid, that's very easily managed," Calore says. "Diabetes is a bit more complicated." All residents receive individual diets, dental and medical care, and there's an on-site, fully equipped clinic. A veterinarian makes regular rounds. The cost of all this: a one-time fee of $5,000. But anyone who's had a pet knows how expensive care can be as the animal ages. "We just paid $600 for dentistry on one cat," Calore says.
That's a growing trend in animal welfare, Calore explains, designed to increase physical activity, which older cats need to nurture circulation, retain muscle tone and prevent obesity, and improve their quality of life by providing lots of stimulation. The center's new environment is in the hands of Bob Walker, a well-known San Diego photographer – and cat lover – who redesigned the Newport Beach facility's retirement center a few years ago. It now incorporates a replica of the Newport pier, a lifeguard tower, colourful corrugated waves, a floor-to-ceiling scratching pole and downsized stairs for access to the pier, all created with cats in mind.
No question Walker can do it. The proof is in his own home, which he and his wife, Frances Mooney, affectionately call, "The Cats' House," which has been featured in publications, on TV and even in a 2002 documentary called "Home Movie." And it's amazing. Pull up outside the house in Bay Park and you have no idea that inside is a feline fantasy land, including 110 feet of brightly coloured aerial walkways, spiral staircases, giant scratching posts and creatively designed peepholes. Walking through the place, if you feel you are being watched, it's likely by Sam or Dave or Gus or Elliott or Charlotte or Louise, the couple's cats. A warm and inviting home it is, but cat-centric enough to leave you wondering if, maybe, Walker and Mooney are the cats' humans. Walker is building the interior structures of the tropical paradise in his backyard and will move them over section by section. The idea is not to cause the residents too much anxiety, allow them to get used to the new surroundings a little at a time. But people like Marcia Stewart, the society's shelter manager, will be there to keep the cats calm. She knows the 85 cats in the retirement center and adoption shelter programs by name. That's because she's named most of them during her nearly two decades working there. The cats come to her when they avoid everyone else. And Stewart understands the ones who don't and loves them just the same. You can see it in her touch, the soft voice she uses. Like all six on the society's staff, she's completely devoted to the animals. So is Inge Meister, sitting on a bench over on the shelter side of the facility, caressing one cat and talking to a couple of others. "I didn't want another cat, so I decided to volunteer," says the retired El Cajon resident, who spends three hours twice a week mostly holding and petting kittens and cats waiting to be adopted. The nonprofit cat society relies on people like her and private donations to survive. So far, so good. And Gerri Calore wasn't so sure right after her husband died. But she vowed to keep his promise to cats alive. The society does humane education in local schools, is a low-cost spay and neuter site and, above all, a home to animals that need one. "It's a natural thing to continue on behalf of the animals," she says of the struggle to keep this place going. "We have to care and protect them." |
