One Stray Led Woman to Become Champion of L.A.’s Cat Underclass

It all started with one cat.

When a lonely stray materialized on the front door of Doris Romeo’s home in West Hollywood five years ago, she took it in. She named him Morris. Somehow word spread that Romeo would take in others too.

Now, inside a weather-beaten, two-bedroom house in a business park near Van Nuys Airport, an unusual cat rescue operation has grown into what officials say is the city’s largest shelter--public or private--for abandoned, ailing and feral felines.

For two years, Romeo has operated her nonprofit Pets for Life, with help from live-in assistant Charyne Anderson, a former hair model--but without a mandatory city kennel license. Officials say the license is now being processed.

The pair now tend well over 200 cats--it’s hard to tell just how many there really are.

Despite their unsanctioned status, Romeo and Anderson view themselves as the dynamic duo of Los Angeles’ cat underclass. They are well known in animal rescue circles--and by city animal regulatory officials--for trapping, doctoring and rescuing hundreds of malnourished, mistreated, homeless cats--all of them “emergency” cases.

Although some are placed in caring foster homes, there isn’t much of an adoption market for these animals. Born in gutters and trash bins from Watts to San Fernando, many of Romeo’s cats are wary of humans and would not make good pets. So most of Romeo’s guests live out their days in quiet convalescence on Valjean Avenue with regular medical care, plenty of food and no lack of companionship.

There is Three-Legged Willy, a red tabby Romeo saw limping along railroad tracks in East Los Angeles, dragging his injured leg behind him. She rushed him to the animal hospital. It’s unclear just how his leg got that way.

These days, Willy, slightly arthritic, prowls awkwardly on three limbs amid a sea of Siamese, calicoes, tortoise shells and Abyssinian grays, each with its own sorry history. They nap in baskets draped with blankets or rest inside drawers of battered bureaus. Others perch on kitchen shelves, in bathroom cupboards, or lounge outside on picnic tables shaded by beach umbrellas.

“I do it because nobody else cares enough to do it,” said Romeo, a 50-ish West Hollywood resident who runs a vegetarian catering business and employment agency on the side. “And because I love them, they’re living things, and they didn’t ask to be born into suffering.”

After adopting Morris five years ago, her cat collection soon ballooned to 25. “People started saying, ‘Oh, she’ll keep the cat if no one else will,’ ” Romeo said. She rented another place in Sun Valley, just for the cats, but the neighbors kicked her out. Finally, two years ago, she settled her menagerie in Van Nuys.

But the expense of maintaining the shelter has strained her resources. The costs continue to accrue for everything from rent and utilities on the house (nearly $2,500 a month) to cat food (about $150 per day) to litter (six, 50-pound bags per day) to nontoxic flea spray ($11 per bottle).

At the Sherman Oaks Veterinary Group, a veterinarian said Romeo has run up a bill of $3,928.70 over the past few months.

“She’s doing a great thing,” said Cindy Habib, a vet at the clinic. “We give her a good discount and help her as much as we can. But we’ve had to tell her she has to start paying off the bill. It’s tough for her though, a lot of people just dump these animals on her and never donate anything.”

In addition to the financial stress, the daily work takes a physical toll, said Anderson, 35, who met Romeo in 1992, when she began trapping feral cats in her West Hollywood neighborhood. Most of Anderson’s day is consumed with cleaning. The smell of droppings and urine is pervasive, but Anderson and Romeo go to great lengths to contain odors. It takes Anderson an hour to scoop the poop in the front and back yards. She mops the floors, empties 12 large litter bins twice daily, puts out food, administers medicine.

“Cats are my life,” Anderson said. “For me, they are the be-all and end-all. I don’t have any friends. I never talk to anyone but Doris. And I like it that way.”

Gary Olsen, general manager of the city Department of Animal Regulation, said his agency has inspected Romeo’s place. “Our officer said it was in good shape,” he said. “She was real concerned, because we visited her during one of those downpours, and things can get pretty messy with that many cats. But she was doing a very good job.”

Olsen was not surprised when told of Romeo’s financial difficulties. “People who run these rescues have big, loving hearts. Sometimes, though, they get in over their heads.”

Romeo is the first to admit it. “We’re overloaded. I could expand if I had the money. The property next door is available. The problem is, nobody wants to help a cat. Everybody wants kittens, ‘A cat they can bond with,’ they say. Well, many of our cats are just as good.”

She pointed to a calico she found in the Crenshaw district. The pregnant cat was dying of a gunshot wound when she found it, but still nursing its kittens.

“She’s beautiful,” Romeo said. “A little skittish, but perfectly healthy now. She just needed some care.”