From No House to the Big House
Chesterfield, Virginny (Times-Dispatch) -- Katrina lies on the ground next
to her brother Phillippe, staring off into the distance. The storm for which
she was named has robbed her of everything - including her owner, who
committed suicide in the devastating aftermath of the hurricane. She has
traveled a long way from the Gulf Coast to her new home at Pocahontas
Correctional Unit, where she and two dozen other cats displaced by the storm
are being cared for by four female inmates who have vowed that these
hurricane victims won't be cast aside.
"They've had a long journey," said inmate Wendy Brickey, her eyes brimming
with tears. "I get the chance to make it OK."
Before Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast, there were just five felines at
the prison's "Pen Pals" program, where a group of well-behaved, trusted
inmates help socialize abandoned cats until they're ready for adoption.
The Humane Society of the United States claims 50,000 animals may have been
left behind in New Orleans. Shelters along the Gulf became deluged with
displaced pets, including the Jackson County Animal Shelter in Gautier,
Miss. So when Pen Pals' cat coordinator Peggy Lynch offered to house some of
the overflowing shelter's cats at the prison, the shelter staff eagerly
agreed. The cats were loaded into plastic carriers and spent the next 20
hours on a truck as they traveled to the prison. They were later joined by
other displaced cats from the Humane Society's main triage center in
Hattiesburg, Miss. The animals arrived agitated and scared, many suffering
from respiratory illnesses due to the cramped quarters and stress, Lynch
said. The inmates immediately began rehabilitating the cats, giving them
food, medicine and love.
Each animal was given a new name - among them, "Gumbo," "Voodoo," and the
"Ragin' Cajuns" - a sextet of frisky black kittens that bounce around in
their cage as if they've just discovered a stash of catnip.
"It's probably the nicest shelter that they could ever land in, so far as
the amount of love and attention," Lynch said. "I walked in and it was just
amazing - just this total sense of calm. They seem to blossom out here."
That feeling of serenity is pervasive inside the shelter, a squat, maroon
building located just outside the prison's barbed wire fence. Pictures of
cats plaster the cinderblock walls and cat-print curtains and pillows
brighten the otherwise drab room.
At least one other prison - Dixon Correctional Institute in Jackson, LA -
has taken in pets displaced by Katrina. More than 200 animals rescued from
the New Orleans area have taken shelter in a converted dairy barn on the
facility's property.
Since arriving at Pocahontas, the cats have adapted to their new
surroundings. And the inmates have formed a strong bond with the animals.
Brickey came from a good home, but a cocaine addiction led her to rob a
convenience store, which led her to prison. She worried what the future
held - or if she even had one. She began working for Pen Pals in March, and
immediately connected with a kitten named Scarlett, who'd been found in the
woods. The animal was so traumatized, she wouldn't let anyone touch her. But
after months of love and patience, Scarlett began trusting Brickey, and now
the two often cuddle up together. "When I look at her, I see that after all
this time, I'm not so wild anymore - and she's not so wild anymore," said
Brickey, 45.
The inmates' bond with the Gulf Coast cats is especially strong, who they
see as survivors, like themselves. "When you think there's no hope, there
is," Brickey said. "That's my connection with them."
When word of the hurricane reached the prison, some inmates donated what
little money they had to the victims. But from behind bars, there wasn't
much else they could do until the cats arrived. "It makes us feel like we
can be a part of something - to be a part of the storm - to help out,"
Brickey said. "We are so secluded from the world and there's somebody
waiting on their pets. And while I might never meet them, I took care of
them while they're getting their life together."
So far, nine of the Mississippi cats have been adopted, and Lynch hopes
someday they'll all go to good homes.
Inmate Tuesday Kilgore married at 14 and had six children by the time she
was 23. After her divorce, she had a nervous breakdown and turned to crack.
Her habit eventually landed her in prison. Caring for the Gulf Coast cats
has tapped into her maternal instinct and fulfilled her urge to reach out to
the hurricane victims, she said. "Had I been at home, I probably would have
gone down and helped," the 35-year-old said as she reclined in a chair next
to her favorite cat, Skye. "This gives me responsibility and gives me
motivation to go out and live a so-called normal life."