Cat 'hoarders' are usually victims of mysterious obsession
Some see themselves as Mother Teresas
Nearly 90 cats had taken over Terry's home in the Bronx.

Food bills for the animals, most of them descended from a single stray calico she rescued years ago, drove Terry into debt. The hours of cleaning, before and after her hospital job, ground her down.


But the thought of giving up any of her cats -- so much like children to her -- hurt.

"I got so close to the baby cats that I couldn't give any of them away," said Terry, 53, who preferred not to give her last name. "I figured no one else could take care of them like I could."

Researchers call them "hoarders," people who for mysterious reasons collect more animals than they can possibly handle. And they have become a recurring nightmare for neighbors, animal rights advocates and shelter operators.

They often operate unnoticed for years, their collections slowly growing, before catching the attention of animal control officers. The results can be horrific. When officers last week entered a Petaluma home filled with about 200 cats, they found floorboards soaked and warped by urine and feral animals burrowed inside walls. Some of the cats were malnourished or sick. A few had already died.

The home's owner, Marilyn Barletta of San Francisco, was arrested and charged with animal cruelty. But researchers say criminal charges rarely stop hoarding.

"The old adage is, they'll get another cat by the time they're home from court," said Gary Patronek, director of the Center for Animals and Public Policy at Tufts University.

Although cases pop up regularly throughout the country, hoarding remains little understood. Researchers have identified some psychiatric disorders that may play a part, but they do not apply to every case. Nor is it easy to tell someone who merely loves animals -- a lot of animals -- from a hoarder.

Barletta, for example, told The Chronicle last week that she was trying to find homes for her cats, whereas the typical hoarder cannot let go. Their numbers, Barletta said, simply spiraled out of control.

"I know this sounds bizarre," she said. "But I'm a rational person."

No one knows for certain the scope of the problem overall, in part because it received little serious attention until recently. And its episodic nature --

with just a few cases popping up each year in most areas -- means that local governments don't make it a priority.

A research group spearheaded by Patronek has started to identify patterns among hoarders. Some are the stereotypical "cat ladies" of modern lore -- older, single women who surround themselves with felines.

Some hoarders, however, are men. And not everyone collects cats; many also hoard dogs. One woman kept pigs in her Los Angeles home. A Connecticut woman hoarded beavers she had shipped in from Montana.

Small, quiet and independent, cats may fit the needs of hoarders better than other animals. Most people identified as hoarders go to great lengths to keep their menageries hidden from the outside world. Some are merely embarrassed. Others are convinced that police or animal control officers are out to kill their animals.

That fear often becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Many animals found in hoarders' homes are so sick or wild that they must be destroyed.

"There's a sense of, 'Why me? I'm just trying to save the animals,' " said Arnie Arluke, a sociologist at Boston's Northeastern University and a member of Patronek's study group. "They often see themselves as the Mother Teresas of the animal world."

Some hoarders show signs of dementia. In others, hoarding seems linked to obsessive compulsive disorder, in which people find themselves endlessly repeating patterns such as collecting the same inanimate objects, over and over.

Most of those who are considered hoarders, however, share two key traits: extreme difficulty letting go of their animals and an inability to recognize the creatures' declining health. Those traits even apply to hoarders who are extremely bright, articulate people, researchers say.

For Terry, it started with one kitten, perhaps four weeks old, that her daughter found near their home.

Terry didn't much like cats before that. But the kitten, and its offspring, were so cute that she found herself smitten.

Several years and generations of cats later, Terry realized she needed help.

She was exhausted caring for the growing, in-bred brood, and embarrassed that she could no longer invite most people to her home.

She took what counselors and researchers call a remarkable and rare step -- she called the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals for counseling. After they promised to find homes for the animals, she agreed to let most of them go.

She still has two -- both male, both neutered. She can't quite believe what happened to her, how the cats took over her life.

And yet, when Terry sees strays, the sympathy and sadness for them tugs at her again.

"I still feel this thing," she said. "It's like it's never going to go away. "

Chronicle staff writer Mark Martin contributed to this report. / E-mail David R. Baker at dbaker@sfchronicle.com.


For more information on cat hoarders, or collectors, please see this article:
http://www.messybeast.com/collector.htm