
There’s a particular heaviness that settles over the city during a heatwave, not just in the air, but in the kind of calls that flood our phones, that knocks at our front door, and in the cardboard boxes that are left outside our center. This past week in Chicago has been brutal. And while most people are seeking shade, cold drinks, and relief, our team has been scrambling to keep up with an overwhelming wave of animals in crisis.
It started with a mom cat and her tiny litter. She looked exhausted, her babies limp and weak from dehydration and heat exposure. We’ve been keeping them cool, comfortable, and given them extra nutrition.
Then came Judy. A terrier puppy, only 13 weeks old and heartbreakingly underweight, found running loose on the south side. Her body tells a story of hunger, fear, and neglect. Yet despite her bony frame and trembling legs, she licked our hands when we picked her up, choosing trust over fear. We are so desperate to show her the world can be kind.
And then Simba. An elderly shihtzu surrendered with mats so thick and heavy they pulled at his skin. He had been left behind when someone moved out, passed off to someone who didn’t want him, and finally ended up here. You can’t help but wonder…did anyone notice he was suffering? Did anyone care?
We do. We always will.
And the small ones – the forgotten ones. A rabbit left outside in a cardboard box, sick and dangerously underweight. Ten guinea pigs surrendered by a family fleeing the country under threat of deportation, who begged us to give them a chance.
Thanks to our friends at Norm’s Piggy Pen, we were able to get them all to safety.
This is rescue. It’s messy, and relentless, and beautiful in its own way. But it’s also breaking us.
We are constantly being asked to do more – with less. There are days we don’t have enough litter, enough formula, enough room, enough money to cover the next emergency vet bill. There are moments we sit in the office, sweaty and overwhelmed, asking each other, how do we keep going?
And then someone purrs. Or licks your hand. Or falls asleep in your arms. And you remember why.
But we can’t do this alone. If you’ve ever wondered what rescue looks like – this is it. It’s late nights, early mornings, animals in pain, and a team that won’t quit. But we are begging for your help. Donate. Adopt. Volunteer. Share. We are a small group trying to hold up the weight of so many animals in need – and we need you.
The heat is here. The surrenders are rising. But love, compassion, and community can rise too. Please help us keep going. For the mom and her litter of kittens. For Judy. For Simba. For all of them.