The organization has successfully put itself out of business. In a recent letter to friends and supporters, the Board of Directors announced that it had completed its mission, announced an end to its fundraising, and bid a fond farewell.
Every non-profit organization claims its goal is to put itself out of business. It is a cliché as old as time, but it isn’t true. To paraphrase the American philosopher Eric Hoffer, every cause begins as a movement, becomes a business, and eventually degenerates into a racket. The animal protection movement is certainly no exception.
Please join Jennifer and me as we raise a glass to the organization that
made a life-and-death difference for so many animals, helped usher in a
kinder, gentler world for community cats, and, on a personal level, put me
on my particular path in animal welfare. Cheers, Stanford Cat Network, and
well done.
Every non-profit organization claims its goal is to put itself out of
business. It is a cliché as old as time, but it isn’t true. To paraphrase
the American philosopher Eric Hoffer, every cause begins as a movement,
becomes a business, and eventually degenerates into a racket. The animal
protection movement is certainly no exception.
The ASPCA, Austin Pets Alive, Best Friends, and the Humane Society of the
United States do not exist to save animals. They exist to fundraise. Meeting
the mission and thus solving the “problem” is no longer a ghost of thought
in organizational operations. Instead, they offer fantasies of some mythic
time in the future, even while they fight proven solutions today.
But every so often, an organization proves to be the exception. The Stanford
Cat Network (Feline Friends Network) — formed when Stanford University
officials announced plans to eradicate the campus cats — is one of them.
After 33 years helping thousands of cats through TNR, adoption, advocacy,
and education, the Network has concluded its labor of love — the last of the
remaining Stanford cats are gone: having passed from old age or been
adopted. The organization has successfully put itself out of business. In a
recent letter to friends and supporters, the Board of Directors announced
that it had completed its mission, announced an end to its fundraising, and
bid a fond farewell.
Here is the remarkable story of the Network, reprinted from an article my
son, a student, wrote for The Stanford Daily:
He awoke to the voice of a woman outside his window. It was my dad’s
first morning in Crothers Hall as an incoming law student. In the bushes
near the back courtyard, she was setting down paper plates heaped with food
for some eager felines. He stepped outside and approached her. At first
startled and concerned about the stranger, she relaxed after he explained
that he, too, loved cats and was simply wondering what she was doing. She
explained that she worked with an organization known as the Stanford Cat
Network, a group that fed the cats who called Stanford University home.
At the time of the Cat Network’s founding in 1989, roughly 1,000 cats lived
on campus. That might be surprising to current students. After more than a
year at Stanford, I’ve only seen one: a handsome, black tomcat who appears
and reappears every so often, always slinking off into the night. Most of
the cats were the abandoned pets (or their offspring) of summer-bound
students. In those days, the University viewed the cats as a problem.
Administrators were concerned about potential health risks to students,
faculty, and staff and the optics of having homeless cats on campus. And the
students, faculty, and staff were concerned about the welfare of the animals
— the sight of a mother cat and her kittens strolling through Tresidder
would, of course, inspire worry.
But instead of taking this compassion to heart, University administrators
decided to contract with a pest control company to trap the cats and take
them to the Santa Clara County pound. Out of sight; out of mind. The pound
was, like most at the time, killing the vast majority of cats and dogs that
had the misfortune of passing through its doors. It didn’t matter if they
were healthy or sick, young or old, friendly or traumatized. Only a lucky
few would be adopted out and the rest would be killed. Such was the fate
that seemingly awaited Stanford’s cats.
Fearing for the felines they not only devoted their time and energy to, but
also had come to know, name, and love, a network of dedicated caretakers —
primarily Stanford students, staff, and faculty, including at least one
Nobel laureate — got together to urge the administration to abandon its
deadly plan. Hoping for support, they turned to a local humane society in
Santa Clara County and the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS), one
of the nation’s largest, most influential, and wealthiest nonprofits
“dedicated” to the humane treatment of animals. But to the surprise of the
caretakers, these organizations sided with the University. They agreed with
the death sentence. Cat extermination was perfectly in line with HSUS policy
and the policy of other “humane” organizations like the American Society for
the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA) and the American Humane
Association (AHA), which then held the position that “ownerless animals must
be destroyed. It is as simple as that.”
They justified the rounding up and killing of community cats with the claim
that the lives of homeless cats were “nasty, brutish and short.” Since many
of the cats were “feral,” meaning they were not social with people, they
could not be adopted into homes. Thus, HSUS, ASPCA, AHA, and other animal
“protection” organizations promoted the killing of cats as an act of mercy.
At the time, the idea that animal sheltering required killing animals, pets
or strays, was largely unquestioned.
But the cat lovers at Stanford could not accept this. They saw cats that
enjoyed healthy, happy and well-cared for lives on the Farm, a relatively
safe place with a temperate climate and friendly people. And so, in a small
meeting room at the Palo Alto Humane Society, they devised a plan to save
the cats. They established the Stanford Cat Network to coordinate
volunteers, publish reports of new, tame cats on campus in The Daily (in
case any were lost pets) and trap all the cats for spay/neuter. After
sterilization surgery paid for by the Palo Alto Humane Society, those who
were social would be adopted into homes and the rest returned to campus
under the watchful eye and care of the volunteers at feeding stations. At
the same time, the Cat Network would educate students not to adopt pets they
could not care for, distributing materials discouraging the act. This would
keep the cat population from reproducing or growing, allowing it to slowly
decrease over time. It was a humane solution that would not cost a single
life.
They made their pitch to the University. By that time Stanford Environmental
Health & Safety had already conducted a study proving that the cats posed no
health risk, addressing one of the major concerns administrators had. But it
would take more than science to turn the fate of Stanford’s cats. One day,
the cat of Donald Kennedy, the President of Stanford, wandered away from
home. Shortly thereafter, Kennedy’s cat turned up at one of the Cat
Network’s unofficial feeding stations. Recognizing the wayward feline from a
missing cat poster on campus, a member of the Cat Network returned him to
Kennedy. When asked how they had found his cat, the Cat Network volunteer
told Kennedy about the Stanford Cat Network, the feeding stations and the
concern for the fate of the cat population. The next day, Kennedy donated
$50 to the group, and it was officially accepted by the University. Thus,
the nation’s first university-sanctioned trap-neuter-release (TNR) program
was born.
Today, universities from coast to coast, including Auburn, Central Florida
University, Arizona State, Texas A&M, North Carolina State, and many more
have community cat programs modeled after the Stanford Cat Network. The
story of the Stanford Cat Network is not only part of the University’s
legacy of innovation, but one of the greatest leaps forward in the history
of the animal protection movement. It not only humanely reduced the Stanford
campus cat population from upwards of 1,000 to no more than a dozen, it
helped ignite a revolution in lifesaving that has fundamentally changed
homeless cat care in the United States. TNR programs, rather than round up
and kill, are embraced across the country from universities, to towns to
cities, to entire states, protections for feeders of community animals have
been enshrined into law and many shelters have embraced a philosophy of No
Kill for all healthy and treatable animals that pass through their doors.
Even HSUS, once one of TNR’s most vociferous critics, now accepts that,
“Programs that attempt to use lethal control to eliminate cat populations
are inhumane, ineffective, and wasteful of scarce resources.”
And it all began 30 years ago at Stanford, when a determined group of cat
lovers refused to succumb to defeatism, refused to accept the Orwellian
notion that killing is kindness and, instead, found a new and better way.
Recently rechristened the Feline Friends Network, the Stanford Cat Network
remains ever dedicated to caring for the furry felines who call our campus
home.
A few years after my son’s article was published, the mission has been achieved. To ensure no cats were left behind, the group set up cameras at all the feeding stations on campus. In the end, no one came to eat.
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