Savannah’s Fosters

08/23/2026

08/18/2026

07/18/2026

🐱At a special adoption event, ARPO teamed up with IndyVet at Smitten Kitten Cat Cafe to introduce some incredible felines looking for forever homes. Every adoption helps save lives, proving that sometimes the biggest heroes come with whiskers, purrs and four paws. 🐾

🔗Click on the link to learn more: https://tinyurl.com/y5n54zyk

07/13/2026

Everyone wants a kitten. Nobody wants the cat who already knows what it means to be left behind.

Every morning, he presses his pink nose to the cold shelter glass and waits. Not for a treat. Not for a toy. But for a pair of eyes to meet his and decide he matters.

His name is M&M. He is seven years old, with a coat like fresh snowfall long, silken, the kind you'd stop and stare at on the street. Once, he had a home. Once, he had a family who buried their faces in his fur after hard days. Once, he slept at the foot of a bed, purring someone to sleep, believing he was safe forever.

Then the world went quiet. And the people he loved were simply gone and displaced.

For days, M&M was left behind, alone in an empty apartment, the silence pressing in where laughter and love used to live. A kind building super fed him, and for a few moments, M&M must have thought, Oh, they came back. Someone came back for me. But they didn't. Instead, he was placed in a carrier and brought to the shelter a place full of noise and strange smells and the eyes of humans who keep walking past.

What must it be like to have everything you've ever known vanish, and still, still believe in love enough to search for it in every stranger's face?

When you stop at his kennel, he doesn't shrink back. He doesn't hide. He leans. With his whole body, he leans into your hand as if to whisper, Please. Please don't let go. Please be the one who stays. He pushes his head into your palm, his purr a broken little motor, rusty from disuse but so, so full of hope. He is begging not for food, not for freedom but for the simple, aching comfort of being wanted.

M&M has some medical needs, the shelter will be upfront about all of it. But here's the truth that matters most: nothing about his condition dims his capacity to love. Nothing makes him less deserving of a gentle hand, a warm lap, a voice that says you're home. He doesn't need a perfect human. He just needs someone who will see past a diagnosis to the soul beneath a soul that has already lost so much and still chooses to lean in, still chooses to trust, still chooses to hope.

This is a cat who has only ever known how to love. He's not demanding. He's not difficult. He is patient and gentle and so inexplicably beautiful that he should have been scooped up in an instant. But summer is here. The city is out living its life, traveling, soaking in the sun, and cats like M&M become invisible. In a sea of animals waiting for homes, this gentle soul, with his movie-star looks and a heart made of pure devotion, is being overlooked.

And the window is closing.

He sits there, day after day, watching. The light shifts across the floor. People pass. Families laugh. And he waits, with a quiet dignity that shatters you. Because you know what he's thinking. You can see it in the way his ears search for a familiar voice, in the way he startles just a little when someone passes, then settles back down when they don't stop.

Will love ever find me again?

I can't stop picturing him in that apartment, all alone for days, thinking maybe it was a mistake. Maybe they'd come back. And now, here, in a place meant to save him, he's still alone surrounded by people, but belonging to no one. His heart is full of love he has nowhere to give.

It breaks me. It absolutely breaks me open, because M&M didn't just lose his home. He lost his purpose. He lost the person he'd nuzzle in the morning, the lap he'd curl up in, the quiet conversations spoken only in slow blinks and soft meows. And yet, he still offers all of himself to anyone who'll pause. He's not bitter. He's not broken. He's just waiting.

So this is my plea. Let's be his miracle.

Let's find the person who will stop at the glass and see not just a beautiful white cat, but a soul that has weathered loss, carries its own hidden struggles, and still chooses love. Someone who will cup his face and whisper, You're safe now. You'll never be alone again. Someone who will sit through vet visits and hold him through the hard days and prove to him that some love, the real kind, doesn't leave when things get difficult.

You know what to do. Share his face. Share his story. Be the voice he doesn't have. Because M&M can't write this post, can't beg, can't understand why his family disappeared. All he can do is sit by the window, lean his head into an outstretched hand, and hope that this time, this time, the hand doesn't pull away.

Please. Don't let him wait forever. He is at Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC)

07/11/2026

Breeding animals for profit is inhumane and cruel

06/26/2026

“Can somebody help these kittens?”
YOU are that somebody. Those of us who have been that somebody for years and years are worn so thin that we lose ourselves. Most people in animal rescue are volunteers who do it on top of a job, family, friends, life. Want to help cats? Be their somebody!

06/14/2026

06/03/2026

The United States has killed roughly half a million coyotes per year for over a century. The coyote's range has expanded by forty percent in the same period.

That sentence contains the entire species in two lines. Every other predator in North America that faced sustained, federally funded lethal control was reduced or eliminated. The wolf was erased from the lower 48 by the 1930s. The grizzly was pushed into a handful of mountain strongholds. The mountain lion was driven out of the eastern two-thirds of the continent. The coyote absorbed the same pressure, the same traps, the same poison, the same aerial gunning, the same bounty systems, and responded by walking into every state the wolf had vacated, every city the mountain lion had abandoned, and every landscape that lethal control was supposed to clear.

Nobody planned this. The coyote was not reintroduced. It was not protected. It was not managed into recovery. It simply refused to be managed out of existence, and the biological machinery that made that possible is stranger than most people realize.
Start with the breeding. A coyote pair that mates in January or February will produce a litter of roughly six pups by April. If the local population is under heavy hunting or trapping pressure, litter sizes increase. Females in heavily persecuted populations produce more pups per litter than females in stable populations. The mechanism is not fully understood, but the effect is measurable and consistent. You kill more coyotes, and the survivors produce more coyotes. The population compensates for removal in real time.

Then there is the pair bond.

Stan Gehrt, a wildlife ecologist at Ohio State University, has been running the largest urban coyote study in history out of Chicago since the year 2000. Over six years, his team genetically sampled 236 coyotes across Cook, Kane, DuPage, and McHenry counties. They tested eighteen litters totaling ninety-six offspring. They were looking for evidence of infidelity, because every other supposedly monogamous canid species that had been genetically tested, including arctic foxes and mountain bluebirds, turned out to be cheating when the DNA was checked.

The coyotes were not cheating. Zero instances of polygamy. Zero instances of extra-pair paternity. Zero instances of a mate leaving while the other was still alive. One hundred percent genetic monogamy across the entire study population.
Gehrt said he was shocked. The Chicago metro area holds an estimated one to two thousand coyotes. Territories abut each other. Males make long-distance forays through other pairs' ranges. The opportunities to stray are constant. They do not take them. Pairs have been tracked staying together for up to ten years, separating only when one of them dies.

During estrus, a mated pair spends every hour together. Running, hunting, marking territory. Cecilia Hennessy, the study's senior author, described it simply. They will always be right at each other's side. The male practices what biologists call diligent mate guarding, staying close to the female and keeping rival males away. But the genetic data suggests the guarding is not even necessary. The females are not interested in other males either.

The payoff of that fidelity is paternal investment. A male coyote that knows every pup in the den is genetically his has a direct evolutionary stake in keeping them alive. He brings food. He defends the den. He teaches the pups to hunt. He spends as much time raising the litter as the female does. In a polygamous species, the male's genetic investment is spread across multiple litters by multiple females, and his per-litter commitment drops accordingly. In a monogamous species with verified genetic fidelity, every calorie the male brings to the den is going to his own offspring. The pair bond is not sentimental. It is the most efficient allocation of parental energy the species has found.

When a mate dies, the surviving coyote grieves. Gehrt documented the behavior across multiple observed deaths in the Chicago study. The surviving animal produces persistent, long howls that researchers describe as mournful. It shows lethargy. Its appetite drops. It returns to the spot where the partner was last seen. During one capture operation, Gehrt briefly sedated a female and took her into the lab for examination. Her mate, standing outside, howled nonstop until Gehrt brought her back. There was clearly a lot of emotional stuff going on with that animal, he said.

Only three to five percent of mammal species are monogamous by any definition. Genetically verified monogamy, where DNA testing confirms that neither partner ever breeds outside the pair, is rarer still. The coyote, the animal that most of North America treats as a pest to be shot on sight, practices a form of pair fidelity that is more absolute than wolves, more consistent than foxes, and more genetically verified than almost any wild carnivore ever studied.
The animal that we have spent a century trying to exterminate mates for life, raises its young cooperatively, grieves its dead, compensates for persecution by producing larger litters, and has responded to the most sustained predator-control campaign in the history of wildlife management by quietly colonizing every state in the continental United States.

We have posted about coyotes on this page before. The Florida Keys coyote. The Chicago parking garage coyote. Carl in Golden Gate Park. Hal in Central Park. Every one of those stories is a footnote in a larger pattern. The coyote is not surviving despite what humans do to it. It is surviving because nothing humans have done to it has been sufficient to outpace an animal that breeds fast, bonds absolutely, and replaces its losses before the next trapping season starts.

Source: Hennessy, C., Gehrt, S.D., et al. (2012). Journal of Mammalogy / Ohio State University / National Geographic, January 2026 / Cook County Coyote Project.