By KRISTEN GELINEAU
Associated Press Writer
Saturday, October 15, 2005

CHESTERFIELD, Va. - Katrina lies on the ground and stares off into the distance. The storm for which she was named has robbed her of everything _ including her caretaker, 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 displaced cats 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 in the prison's "Pen Pals" program, which allows trusted inmates to help socialize abandoned cats until they're ready for adoption.

The Humane Society of the United States estimates as many as 50,000 animals may have been left behind in the New Orleans area alone. Shelters along the battered region 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, 20 miles south of Richmond. 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. 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." The sextet of frisky black kittens bounced around in the cage as if just discovering 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 prison's shelter, a squat, maroon building located just outside the 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, according to the Humane Society. 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, who have had their own rocky journeys, 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 is especially strong with the Gulf Coast cats, 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.

Caring for the cats has tapped into her maternal instinct and fulfilled her urge to reach out to the hurricane victims.

"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."