April 02, 2014 NEWS+OPINION » FEATURES Diane Straney and the Feline Freedom Coalition are on a quest to save feral cats The Cat Lady By Will Moredock Jonathan Boncek Diane Straney first began caring for feral cats after she retired There are many ways to classify people in this world. There are Democrats and Republicans. There are Clemson people and Carolina people. And there are cat people and dog people. The hero, the champion, the saint of the cat world is a petite, compulsively driven, dark-haired woman named Diane Straney. From her 20-acre compound in the woods of Ravenel, 20 miles south of Charleston, Straney heads a loose network of cat lovers, humanitarians, and gently eccentric volunteers whose mission is to save as many of the area's stray and dispossessed felines as possible. And she has saved thousands. On a warm day in early December, Straney gave me a tour of her facilities, home of the Feline Freedom Coalition. It's called the Sanctuary, and it's composed of a hodge-podge of 14 structures: ramshackle RVs and trailers, converted shipping containers, plywood sheds, and heavy-duty steel cages on concrete pads. A neat double-wide serves as the home to her sole employee and shelter manager, a young woman named Jennifer Bouronich. A storage trailer is piled up with sacks of cat food. Another small trailer contains two washing machines and two dryers. On the day I was there, two volunteers were washing, drying, and folding blankets, towels and other bedding for the approximately 150 feline residents. The Sanctuary is the place for cats that were trapped and spayed/neutered, but were too old or infirm to be returned to their colonies. They will live out the rest of their lives here, under Straney's protective gaze. Others are in quarantine and being treated for nonfatal diseases, such as ringworm. Kittens have their own building, where they are acclimated to humans and prepared for adoption. And a lucky few — maybe a dozen — wander the wooded grounds like trustees in a jail, free to come and go as they please. It pleased two of them to hop up on the hood of my car and warm themselves. Straney works 12 to 14 hours a day, seven days a week, "cleaning, scooping, and medicating," she says. Refugees come to her shelter from several sources, but she does not take them from the public. That does not stop people from calling her every day, wanting to dump their unwanted cats on her. "My voicemail is full every day," she says. "I can't possibly answer them all." Her voice and her face show the strain she lives under. This is not a typical day for Diane Straney. She will leave most of her cleaning, scooping, and medicating to others. For the next few minutes, she pits her 105-pound frame against 40-pound bags of cat food, dragging and hoisting them into the back of a big, white Chevy cargo van. This is part of the 400 to 500 pounds of cat food she goes through every week. She also loads three heavy-duty,
6
Embed
Diane Straney and the Feline Freedom Coalition Feral Cat Rescue
The Feline Freedom Coalition is a non-profit organization that provides services and support to individuals and community groups interested in using Trap-Neuter-Return to humanely control the overpopulation of feral and homeless cats. We are also the only no-cage, adoption center, medical treatment and sanctuary facility dedicated to feral cats in South Carolina.
This document is posted to help you gain knowledge. Please leave a comment to let me know what you think about it! Share it to your friends and learn new things together.
Transcript
A pril 02 , 2014N E WS +O P I N I O N » F E A T U R E S
Diane Straney and the Feline Freedom Coalition are on a quest tosave feral cats The Cat Lady
By Will Moredock
Jonathan Boncek
Diane Straney first began caring for feral cats after she retired
There are many ways to classify people in this world. There are Democrats and Republicans. There are Clemson people and Carolina
people. And there are cat people and dog people.
The hero, the champion, the saint of the cat world is a petite, compulsively driven, dark-haired woman named Diane Straney. From her
20-acre compound in the woods of Ravenel, 20 miles south of Charleston, Straney heads a loose network of cat lovers,
humanitarians, and gently eccentric volunteers whose mission is to save as many of the area's stray and dispossessed felines as
possible. And she has saved thousands.
On a warm day in early December, Straney gave me a tour of her facilities, home of the Feline Freedom Coalition. It's called the
Sanctuary, and it's composed of a hodge-podge of 14 structures: ramshackle RVs and trailers, converted shipping containers,
plywood sheds, and heavy-duty steel cages on concrete pads. A neat double-wide serves as the home to her sole employee and
shelter manager, a young woman named Jennifer Bouronich. A storage trailer is piled up with sacks of cat food. Another small trailer
contains two washing machines and two dryers. On the day I was there, two volunteers were washing, drying, and folding blankets,
towels and other bedding for the approximately 150 feline residents.
The Sanctuary is the place for cats that were trapped and spayed/neutered, but were too old or infirm to be returned to their colonies.
They will live out the rest of their lives here, under Straney's protective gaze. Others are in quarantine and being treated for nonfatal
diseases, such as ringworm. Kittens have their own building, where they are acclimated to humans and prepared for adoption. And a
lucky few — maybe a dozen — wander the wooded grounds like trustees in a jail, free to come and go as they please. It pleased two of
them to hop up on the hood of my car and warm themselves.
Straney works 12 to 14 hours a day, seven days a week, "cleaning, scooping, and medicating," she says. Refugees come to her shelter
from several sources, but she does not take them from the public. That does not stop people from calling her every day, wanting to
dump their unwanted cats on her. "My voicemail is full every day," she says. "I can't possibly answer them all." Her voice and her face
show the strain she lives under.
This is not a typical day for Diane Straney. She will leave most of her cleaning, scooping, and medicating to others. For the next few
minutes, she pits her 105-pound frame against 40-pound bags of cat food, dragging and hoisting them into the back of a big, white
Chevy cargo van. This is part of the 400 to 500 pounds of cat food she goes through every week. She also loads three heavy-duty,