I was an assistant vet tech at the Hermitage when Cyrano came in. There was often not room for new animals at the shelter, so we had to prioritize admissions. This was a gut-wrenching, but necessary task. The top priority for admissions was cats needing emergency medical care; while this may seem contrary to those unfamiliar with the sanctuary ethic, there were two good reasons for this choice. First, we knew if the Hermitage did not take an injured cat, the rescuer would take the cat to PACC or the Humane Society, and it most likely would be euthanized due to cost or time-intensive medical needs. Second, if it seemed likely that due to the severity of its injuries that the cat might need to be euthanized, then the kind thing to do would be to have it evaluated as quickly as possible, so that its pain would not be extended by being carried all around town while the good Samaritan went from shelter to shelter looking for help. The general philosophy was that while there were a number of organizations in town that could help cute, young, healthy, adoptable animals, we were the only one that specifically focused on helping those that had already used up a fair number of their nine lives. So we sometimes turned away healthy animals, because if they went to PACC or the Humane Society, they at least had some chance at being adopted and getting a new life. Our unique place was to help the ones no one else could or would take.

Cyrano was a male, longhaired, applehead flamepoint kitten, apparently a purebred, brought to the shelter in a box by a good Samaritan, who found him crippled by the side of the road. When the shelter vet examined Cyrano, he found two BBs lodged in his back, one very close to his spine, and a variety of other injuries. The supposition was that someone shot Cyrano, who then ran out into the street to escape his tormentor, and the unfortunate kitten was then hit by a car.

Now, if you have ever seen a flamepoint, you know that they are very attractive cats. They are born almost white in color, and then as they age, darken to orange on the tips of their ears, nose and tails, with soft striping on areas of their body that are cooler. Appleheads in particular are known for their outgoing personalities, and being a branch of the Siamese family, very talkative. And even for an applehead, I think Cyrano was exceptional. By the time he was well enough to leave the medical isolation area and join the rest of the shelter cats, everyone was pretty captivated. But Cyrano had a problem: the trauma of the accident had caused damage to his nervous system, and he could not control his bladder or bowels.

Any other place, Cyrano would have been put down, admittedly with great reluctance, to make room for other, more adoptable cats. But Cyrano's run of bad luck ended when he came in the Hermitage door. Because there he had time. And over the course of several months, living uncaged, in a home-like atmosphere, with the stimulation of other cats to play with, and doting volunteers to cuddle and socialize him, it was possible to gradually wean him off the medications that helped him control excretion. When the day finally came that he was pronounced completely cured, and no longer requiring medical assistance, I applied to adopt him. As I write this a year and half later, he is snoozing behind my monitor, occasionally opening a blue eye halfway to see if any new crunchies have suddenly appeared in the dish. The effects of his injuries will always be there; he never jumps, he'll tap on my thigh to ask to be lifted up, and he lacks some of the feline grace of my other companions. But those are not his defining characteristics to me. Cyrano is my furry alarm clock that starts popping my cheeks at 5:30 if I don't get up, my greeter cat that follows me all over the house with tales about everything that happened in my absence, my belly-kneader when I'm watching TV, my slayer of paper bags, and the only creature who truly understands my discourses on the proper application of marinade when grilling salmon. It all came so close to never happening at all, and I find myself wondering if he had arrived at the Hermitage door this past month, if the story would have had the same ending.

I've gotten questions from folks who know that people are unhappy with the shift in the Hermitage's mission, asking what the original intent was. Sister Seraphim established the Hermitage as a sanctuary. You can see this on the frontispiece of her book, All God's Creatures, published in 1966 by Dodd Mead & Company, which says in bold letters "HERMITAGE ANIMAL REFUGE". And the copyright page contains the same notation, followed by the current street address of the shelter. While people interested in adopting an animal would go to sister when they wanted to find a companion, and she was happy to assist them, the Hermitage was not founded as an adoption center. It was a permanent home for a variety of animals that were old, difficult, unwanted, or had other problems. Sister's most famous quote is "A hermitage has been my animals' and my refuge."

There is a nice Tucson Weekly article on the Hermitage, written in 2004, which lauds it as a local hero. Note the number of cats cited (500), the yearly adoption rate (350) and the number of volunteers (70). The overall tone of the article is one of peace and happiness, and the reporter certainly seems to have enjoyed her experience; the sanctuary side is what made the shelter unique and celebrated, and from the numbers given, it clearly existed in harmony with the adoption side.
http://www.tucsonweekly.com/tw/bot/pets3.htm
You'll need to scroll about a third of the way down the page.

I want to emphasize again, that neither I, nor any member of the Save the Hermitage Coalition has any problem with the shelter adopting out cats. Almost everyone associated with the shelter has adopted a cat from there themselves. There was a group of volunteers who specialized in giving adoption tours, and many people came to the shelter to adopt because the staff and volunteers knew the cats so well, and could readily identify which cats would be a good match for a particular person's lifestyle and preferences. The concern is that this shift to becoming an adoption center is a violation of the original intent of the shelter, breaks the commitment already made to the existing sanctuary cats, and pushes them aside in order to create an adoption center for cats from other organizations.