When Silence Isn’t an Option: Why We Spoke Up About a Cat Being Abandoned

At our shelter, we love to share the good stuff—adoptions, second chances, happy endings. But sometimes, we have to speak up about the hard truths too. Because silence is what allows harmful behavior to continue. And animal rescues have been expected to quietly absorb the consequences of other people’s choices for far too long.
This week, someone abandoned a cat at our door at 12pm. We were open. Staff were inside. They didn’t ring the bell, knock, or say a word. They just walked away.

And when we spoke up about it, the backlash came. Some told us we didn’t know the person’s situation—it could have been dire. Some said we needed to “watch our tone.” One person even said they wouldn’t donate anymore because “we’re not the shelter they thought we were.” Another criticized us for posting a fun video wearing cat suits (which, by the way, were donated), and told us we didn’t have our priorities straight. Yet another person suggested we solve overflow by just building an outdoor catio—an idea that might sound simple unless you’ve ever actually run a shelter.

Let’s talk about all of it.

Leaving a cat at a shelter’s doorstep is not a kind gesture. It’s not a neutral action. It’s abandonment.
And while yes—people are struggling, we know that. We hear it every day. In fact, almost every single person who asks us to take a cat is in a dire situation. They’re facing eviction. They’re in unsafe homes. They’re grieving or overwhelmed or barely making it. And still--they reach out. They ask. They wait. They follow the process.
Dumping a cat skips all of that. It disrespects everyone else who’s doing their best in hard times.
It also spreads harmful misinformation. Multiple people commented that “we don’t take cats from the public anymore” or “you’re always full anyway.” The truth? We take in over 1,000 cats from the public each year. We also perform thousands of spay and neuter surgeries annually for the community, helping to prevent more unwanted litters and reduce suffering long-term. We’ve never stopped helping the public. But helping responsibly doesn’t mean taking in every single cat on demand—it means managing intake so that we don’t compromise the care of the animals already here.

One comment suggested we adopt “nonjudgmental intake policies” like the Humane Colorado. We already do—we meet people where they are and offer help without shame. But even that shelter, like us, uses a surrender appointment system and only accepts walk-ins as space allows. What that commenter was really suggesting is that we take every cat, no questions asked. And the only types of places that can operate that way are either kill shelters or hoarding situations—neither of which are models anyone wants us to follow.

And no, the solution is not as simple as “just build a catio.” We’re not talking about a weekend DIY project for a pet cat. We’re talking about housing for overflow in a way that’s safe, secure, legally compliant, climate-controlled, and staffed. Cats need more than a roof—they need proper medical care, protection from illness and stress, and a safe environment. Throwing up an outdoor structure with no staff, funding, or long-term plan is not a solution--it’s a liability, and it’s not fair to the cats.

And we haven’t forgotten the cost of doing things the wrong way. A few years ago, someone left a group of sick kittens outside. They had panleukopenia, a deadly and contagious virus. We didn’t know in time and it spread. Eleven cats died in our quarantine and isolation area—cats we’d poured our hearts into. Our team worked grueling hours, tried everything, and still had to grieve those losses. Many more became sick, and it took every resource and ounce of energy we had to save them. That one act of thoughtless dumping cost us thousands of dollars, immense emotional trauma, and the lives of cats who should have had a chance.

So when someone says “you chose this work, so just deal with it”—we want to be clear: choosing to help doesn’t mean accepting abuse. It doesn’t mean we don’t get to set boundaries. It doesn’t mean we’re required to be miserable to prove our dedication.

And when someone says we “don’t have our priorities straight” because we posted a fun video—here’s the truth: we are allowed to celebrate. We are allowed to laugh. To be creative. To enjoy moments of joy in a job that breaks hearts on a regular basis. The cat suits in that video were donated. They didn’t take time or money from the animals in our care. But they did remind our team, and our followers, that joy still exists here.

We’re still the same shelter. The one that bottle-feeds the neonates. That stays late to care for the injured ones. That says yes to cats other places turn away. But we’re not going to pretend that we can help everyone, all the time, without help, boundaries, or grace.
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This isn’t about tone.

This is about truth.

And if that makes us “not the shelter you thought we were”—then maybe it’s time to reconsider what you think a shelter should be.

Maybe it’s also time to rethink the entire mindset society places on shelters and rescuers.

There’s a dangerous and deeply flawed narrative that’s taken hold—one where we’re expected to be endlessly available, endlessly forgiving, endlessly self-sacrificing. Where any boundary we set is seen as cruelty, and any request for understanding is labeled as whining. Where people can abandon an animal in the middle of the day and still be viewed as the sympathetic one--while we, the ones who stay late, bottle-feed the sick, and fundraise constantly just to stay open—are accused of lacking compassion.
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Think about it this way: if you’re sick and your primary doctor doesn’t have any appointments, you don’t storm in demanding to be seen. You don’t call them heartless or say their priorities aren’t straight (hopefully). You go to urgent care. You find an emergency room. You seek an alternative—because you understand that even compassionate professionals have limits, systems, and structure.

But in animal welfare, we’re expected to take every single case, no matter what. We’re expected to drop everything, bend every rule, and absorb the consequences--without ever asking for grace in return. And if we don’t? We’re told we’re cruel, not doing enough, or failing our mission.

The truth is--we are compassionate. We do care. Not just about the animals, but about people too. Ironically, we spent weeks fundraising to install the very cameras that caught this abandonment—because we were trying to protect the animals and the people who work here. We didn’t do that to shame anyone. We did it because our supporters wanted us to speak up—and they funded it, because they believe the people doing the work deserve care, too.

We are not an open intake shelter. We’ve said that before, and we’ll say it again. We take emergencies as we’re able, and we do everything we can within the resources we have. But people continue to expect us to operate as if we have unlimited space, funding, and time.

The narrative doesn’t change unless we speak up. And that’s exactly what we will continue to do.

To those who stood with us in the comments--thank you. Your voices, your compassion, and your understanding mean more than you know. And to our supporters and donors--whether you've been with us for years or just discovered us recently — we’re grateful for every bit of kindness and trust you’ve shown. You are the reason we can keep fighting for these cats, even when it’s hard.

​Especially when it’s hard.

Samantha Person
Founder/Director

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