by Cathy M. Rosenthal

After writing grants for nearly four decades, I’ve learned something that surprises people.

The strongest grants are designed long before the application is ever opened.

That may sound strange, but the proposal is rarely where a successful grant begins. Long before the first sentence is written, the real work should already be underway.

The strongest grant proposals grow out of thoughtful planning. Someone has identified a community need, talked with the people who will be affected, explored potential partnerships, determined how success will be measured, and built a realistic budget and timeline. By the time the application opens, much of the difficult work has already been done.

Writing the proposal then becomes something very different. Instead of trying to invent a compelling project on paper, you’re simply telling the story of a program that already makes sense.

One of the first questions I ask clients isn’t, “When is the grant due?” It’s, “Tell me about the program.”

• Who asked for it?
• What problem are you trying to solve?
• How do you know it’s really a problem?
• Have you talked with the people you’re hoping to serve?
• Who else is already working on this issue?
• How will you know if the program is successful?

Those aren’t grant writing questions. They’re leadership questions.

Over the years, I’ve watched organizations struggle because they believed the grant application was the starting point. In reality, it’s much closer to the finish line. The application simply gives you the opportunity to explain why your organization is prepared to solve a problem and why your solution deserves investment.

One of the hardest conversations I have with clients happens when they call a week before a grant deadline and ask if I can write a proposal.

“Can you write a grant for us that is due next week?”

“Maybe,” I say.

Not because I can’t write quickly. Because I can’t help them design a strong program in a week if they haven’t put in the work to create — or at least imagine all its components.

Good programs take time. They require conversations with staff, community partners, clients, volunteers, and sometimes even the people who may never receive the grant. Those conversations shape the program. The proposal simply tells its story.

I often think about the humane education programs I’ve helped develop over the years. The grants didn’t begin with a funding request. They began with a question.

How can we help children safely interact with dogs while also building empathy and respect for animals?

From there came conversations with school districts, teachers, and community partners. Together, we designed age-appropriate lessons, bilingual educational materials, measurable outcomes, and a plan for evaluating success. By the time I sat down to write the grant, the program already had a solid foundation. My job was simply to help the funder understand its value.

The same is true of nearly every successful proposal I’ve written. The strongest grants rarely describe an organization working alone. They describe partnerships. They demonstrate that people have taken the time to listen before proposing solutions. They explain not only what will be done, but why it matters and how success will be measured.

One of my favorite questions to ask is, “If the funder approved this grant tomorrow, could you launch the program within 30 days?”

If the answer is no, it’s probably too early to start writing.

That doesn’t mean every detail must be finalized. Programs evolve, and good ideas become better through discussion. But the foundation should already exist. You should know who you’re serving, why the program matters, who will help you deliver it, and how you’ll know you’ve made a difference.

Some of the easiest grants I’ve ever written have also been the strongest. Not because they were easy to write, but because the thinking had already been done. Everyone understood the need. The partnerships were in place. The goals were clear. The evaluation plan made sense. All I had to do was tell the story.

People often ask me what makes a great grant proposal.

Of course, writing matters. Clear, compelling writing helps reviewers understand your vision. But writing alone won’t rescue a poorly designed program.

A great grant proposal is simply the written expression of an organization’s good planning.

Every successful grant I’ve written began with thoughtful questions, relationship-building, and the design of a program that truly addressed a community need.

The proposal was simply the last step.

For more info, check out:  Camp Writing Boot Camp for Animal Advocates.

By Cathy M. Rosenthal

One of the easiest mistakes we make is assuming successful leaders are born confident.

We see someone standing on a conference stage, leading an organization, or speaking with authority, and we imagine they have always been that way. We see the executive director who seems to have all the answers or the leader everyone looks to for guidance, and we forget about everything that came before.

Somewhere along the way, many of us begin telling ourselves a story: I could never do that. I’m just not a leader.

But that story isn’t true. In fact, the leaders you admire have probably asked themselves that very same question.

Most leaders don’t arrive fully formed. They often grow into leadership, one opportunity, one challenge, and one uncomfortable step at a time.

That’s one of the reasons Jordan Craig’s essay, “Discovering My Voice: How Courage and Confidence Shaped My Leadership,” in Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare, resonated with me, and will likely resonate with many emerging leaders. She writes candidly about persistence, taking risks, and wrestling with imposter syndrome*. Her story reminds us that confidence isn’t something you’re born with. More often than not, it’s something you build by saying “yes” before you feel completely ready.

Leadership Begins Long Before the Title

I first met Jordan when she accepted the executive director position at Spay Neuter Network several years ago. I remember hearing then-Executive Director Bonnie Hill talk about the search process and this incredibly talented candidate they hoped would say “yes.” Bonnie knew they had found someone special. The only question was whether Jordan would leave Dallas Animal Services and take the leap.

Fortunately for the organization, she did.

Having the opportunity to work alongside Jordan over the next several years, I quickly came to understand why people gravitated toward her. Yes, she is one of the smartest people I have ever met. She has an extraordinary ability to hold multiple ideas, priorities, challenges, and opportunities in her head all at once. She can untangle complex problems, identify practical solutions, and see connections others miss.

But intelligence alone doesn’t explain why people follow someone.

What impressed me most was that no idea was ever too small to discuss, and no person was beneath her attention. Whether she was talking with a board member, a veterinarian, a shelter employee, or a consultant sitting across the table, Jordan listened. Really listened.

Listening is one of those leadership qualities that’s easy to overlook because it doesn’t draw attention to itself. Yet over time, people remember the leaders who made them feel heard.

Looking at Jordan today, it’s easy to assume leadership came naturally to her. She projects confidence, makes difficult decisions look manageable, and carries herself with the quiet assurance people often associate with experienced leaders.

In her essay, Jordan pulls back the curtain on the doubts, risks, and experiences that shaped her along the way. She reminds us that the leaders we admire most often appear confident today because of everything they worked through yesterday.

I’m grateful she chose to share that journey because I suspect many emerging leaders need to hear that confidence is often learned one difficult decision at a time.

The Work Behind the Confidence

If you want to know what people really think about an animal welfare leader, don’t look at their title. Watch what happens when they walk into an animal welfare conference.

Whenever I attend conferences with Jordan, people are constantly stopping her. Someone waves from across the room. Someone else calls out, “Hey Jordan!” A colleague pulls her into a hug or stops to ask for advice.

It is impossible not to notice how deeply respected she is throughout the animal welfare community.

What people don’t see are the years that came before those conference hall conversations. They don’t see the leadership cohorts she signs up for, the mentors who challenged her, the professional certifications she pursued, the difficult jobs she accepted, or the countless times she stepped outside her comfort zone because she believed growth was waiting on the other side.

Leadership didn’t simply happen to Jordan. She intentionally invested in becoming the leader she hoped one day to be.

It’s a little like watching an Olympic athlete stand on a podium with a gold medal and forgetting the thousands of hours spent training when nobody was watching. Or seeing an actor become an “overnight success” at age fifty after decades of auditions, rejections, and small roles.

Leadership works much the same way.

We see the confidence. We don’t always see the years spent developing it. We see the success. We don’t always see the risks, setbacks, self-doubt, persistence, and quiet courage behind it. We admire the accomplishments without realizing they were built one conversation, one difficult decision, and one act of courage at a time.

Jordan’s essay reminded me that growth often happens long before anyone else notices. It happens when we say “yes” before we feel completely ready, when we raise our hand for opportunities that stretch us, and when we keep moving forward despite the quiet voice asking, Are you sure you can do this?

Leadership Is a Lifetime of Growth

Today, Jordan serves as Chief Operating Officer at Operation Kindness Humane Society. For those who know her, that rapid rise in the ranks isn’t surprising. It reflects years of preparation, humility, perseverance, and a commitment to keep learning long after many people would have settled comfortably into what they already knew.

Over time, those moments shape who you become. That’s the lesson I carried away from Jordan’s essay.

Her story shares the setbacks, risks, and moments of self-doubt that shaped her path to leadership—details I won’t give away here because they’re best experienced in her own words. But if you’ve ever questioned whether you’re ready to lead, whether you belong at the table, or whether you have what it takes to make a difference, I think you’ll find something of yourself in Jordan’s story.

* Imposter syndrome: The persistent feeling that you don’t deserve your success or accomplishments, even when your skills and achievements show otherwise.

About Jordan Craig
Jordan Craig, CAWA, is Chief Operating Officer at Operation Kindness Humane Society. Previously, she served as Executive Director of Spay Neuter Network, where she led the organization’s expansion across North Texas and San Antonio, increasing access to affordable veterinary care for thousands of pets. Throughout her career, she has demonstrated how innovation, perseverance, and collaborative leadership can strengthen communities and save more animal lives.

By Cathy M. Rosenthal

There was a week recently when a busy, five-day-a-week nonprofit spay/neuter clinic was open for only one day of surgery.

Not because demand disappeared. The appointment book was full.

Not because funding had run out. The operating room was ready.

Not because the technicians stayed home. They were there, waiting.

The clinic simply couldn’t find enough veterinarians trained in high-quality, high-volume spay/neuter surgery (HQHVSN) to keep the operating tables running.

More Than a Funding Problem

Funding remains essential for spay/neuter. But for many nonprofit clinics, the bigger challenge today isn’t money—it’s finding enough veterinarians trained to perform high-quality, high-volume spay/neuter surgery.

This isn’t just one clinic’s experience.

In the 2024 study, The Nonprofit Veterinarian Shortage: Who Will Care for the Pets Most in Need?, researchers (Susanne Kogut, Meredith L. Montgomery, and Julie K. Levy) found that 73% of animal sheltering organizations reported they were short-staffed for veterinarians, while 74% reported shortages of veterinary support staff. The study also found that 66% of shelters had vacant veterinarian positions they were actively trying to fill.

The consequences are impossible to ignore. More than 90% of organizations reported backlogs in spay/neuter surgeries, with nearly 18,650 animals already waiting for surgery among the organizations surveyed. Meanwhile, 79% of access-to-care clinics reported clients were waiting longer than usual for care, and more than half said those delays stretched two months or longer.

Without enough veterinarians trained to perform high-quality, high-volume spay/neuter surgery, clinics reduce the number of surgery days despite overwhelming demand. Pet owners wait longer. Unplanned litters continue to be born while families remain on waiting lists.

The ripple effects extend far beyond the clinic. Animal shelters take in more puppies and kittens. Rescue groups stretch already limited resources. Municipal shelters absorb additional costs. And ultimately, more animals enter a system already struggling to keep up.

A Call to Action

Perhaps one of the clearest signs that the field is recognizing this challenge came earlier this year when the ASPCA announced a major expansion of its grantmaking for shelters and spay/neuter clinics. In announcing up to $14 million in funding, the organization acknowledged something many nonprofit leaders have been experiencing for years: affordable spay/neuter surgery has not recovered to pre-pandemic levels, and workforce shortages continue to limit access to care.

That acknowledgment from one of the nation’s largest animal welfare organizations matters.

For a time, many funders shifted their attention toward other emerging needs. Shelters were making tremendous progress, euthanasia was declining, and spay/neuter appeared to be one of the field’s greatest success stories.

Then the pandemic reminded us otherwise. It exposed just how dependent those gains were on veterinary capacity. When surgeries stopped, backlogs grew. When experienced veterinarians retired, operating schedules shrank.

The numbers tell the story. Researchers at the University of Florida found that low-cost spay/neuter clinics still haven’t recovered to pre-pandemic capacity. They estimate the national shortfall has grown to more than 3.7 million missed spay/neuter surgeries, driven in part by ongoing veterinarian and staffing shortages

The demand never disappeared. The workforce did.

A Generation of Expertise

The challenge is also becoming generational.

Many of the veterinarians who helped build the high-quality, high-volume spay/neuter movement over the past three decades are reaching retirement. These are the surgeons who developed efficient techniques, mentored countless young veterinarians, and helped transform spay/neuter from a niche service into one of animal welfare’s most effective population-control strategies.

As they leave the workforce, they’re taking decades of experience with them. Unless the next generation is intentionally trained and mentored, that expertise risks disappearing faster than it can be replaced.

The challenge isn’t simply finding veterinarians.

It’s finding veterinarians with the training, confidence, and desire to perform 30, 40, or even 50 surgeries in a day. High-quality, high-volume spay/neuter is a specialized discipline requiring skill, efficiency, and mentorship.

Add to that the reality that many new veterinarians graduate with relatively little hands-on surgical experience. Some enter practice having performed only a handful of surgeries before beginning their first job. That’s not a criticism of veterinary education;  it’s simply the reality nonprofit clinics are navigating.

Teaching the Next Generation

That’s why mentorship has become one of the most important investments our field can make. If we want affordable spay/neuter to remain accessible five or ten years from now, we must do more than fund clinics. We must invest in the veterinarians who will lead them.

Buildings can be constructed. Mobile units can be purchased. Operating rooms can be equipped. But none of them matter without skilled surgeons standing at the table.

Because every day an operating room sits quiet despite a full appointment book, another litter is born somewhere that might have been prevented.

The future of affordable spay/neuter won’t be determined solely by how many clinics we build. It will depend on whether we build the next generation of high-quality, high-volume, spay/neuter veterinarians to keep them running.

References

• Guerios, S.D., Clemmer, G., & Levy, J.K. (2025). The Pandemic’s Cruel Aftermath: Progressive Decline in Spay/Neuter Capacity. Frontiers in Veterinary Science, 12.
• The Nonprofit Veterinarian Shortage: Who Will Care for the Pets Most in Need? (2024). Journal of Shelter Medicine and Community Animal Health. Kogut, S., Montgomery, M., & Levy, J.K.
• ASPCA. (2025). Expansion of Nationwide Efforts to Increase Access to Spay/Neuter and Support Animal Shelters. (News release.)

by Cathy M. Rosenthal

When James Bias hired me at the San Antonio Humane Society in 2003, he trusted me with far more than I realized at the time.

At the time, I simply thought I had found a job I was excited about. Years later, I would realize how much that trust shaped what followed.

I first met James in 2003 while working for the American Humane Association. At the time, I had spent more than a decade doing national-level work—traveling, lobbying in Washington, D.C., and working on large-scale humane issues.

Somewhere along the way of working at the national level, I realized I missed seeing the animals themselves. You know, the feeling that what you did on Tuesday could immediately change the life of an animal by Wednesday.

So after moving to San Antonio, I stopped by the San Antonio Humane Society to see their old facility and asked if I could tour the new one they were building.

A month later, James offered me a job as Public Relations Director. I was thrilled. After years of working on national issues, I was finally returning to the local shelter world where I had started my career—and where I could once again see the impact of my work on animals every day.

The Freedom to Do Good Work

What I appreciated most about working for James wasn’t just his vision, though he certainly had that. He has spent much of his career building organizations, expanding programs, and creating opportunities to help more animals. But what stood out to me was the freedom he gave his staff to do what they do best.

I didn’t want to be micromanaged, but I welcomed collaboration. I didn’t want 9-to-5 hours either. In fact, I only wanted to work 24 hours a week at the time, and I remember telling him, “Trust me. You’ll get 40 hours of work out of me.” I didn’t have to create a detailed plan, justify every hour, or prove myself first.  He said, “Okay,” trusted me to do the work, and then got out of the way.

Under James’ leadership, nobody stood around waiting for permission to do good work. If you had an idea that helped animals, educated the community, raised money, or got attention for the shelter, James was ready to support it.

Back then — before social media — we were successful in getting hundreds of stories in the traditional media every year. We were handling hoarding cases, launching fundraising events, building programs, and trying to keep the community engaged in animal welfare conversations long before Facebook reminders existed to do it for us.

And thankfully, there was never any micromanaging from James. And, in any work environment, that can be rare.

One of my favorite projects during that time was developing Camp Humane. We needed humane education, and when I pitched it, James approved. From the start, he let me create it, launch it, and run with it in 2005. It was one of the most fun projects I have ever done, and I am proud to say that Camp Humane still operates at the San Antonio Humane Society to this day.

James trusted me to do that, and that’s something I’ve thought about a lot over the years because good leaders don’t always lead by controlling people.

Sometimes they lead by removing barriers.

Sometimes they lead by trusting expertise.

Sometimes they lead by saying: “Go do what you do best.”

And that is what James did with me.

When Good Leaders Move On

A few years later, James told me he was leaving to run a larger shelter in North Texas, and my first reaction wasn’t congratulations. It was frustration. Okay, if I’m being honest, I was very, very upset. Not because I didn’t want the opportunity for him, but because I knew what his departure meant. We had built a strong team, everyone understood their role, and we were making a real difference for animals. We were constantly moving forward—helping animals, educating the community, generating media attention, handling difficult cruelty cases, and creating new programs. It was one of those rare moments when everyone was rowing in the same direction, and I didn’t want it to end.

And, naturally, I worried about what might come next. I had spent years working for a leader who trusted me to do my job. I knew there was a good chance the next person would have a very different management style, and the prospect of being micromanaged didn’t sit well with me.

Oh, and there was also one other small detail: With James gone, I had to step in as Interim Executive Director for the next nine months.

From the beginning, I did not want the position. What worried me most wasn’t the responsibility. It was the fact I was being pulled away from the work I loved most.

James knew I wasn’t interested in becoming an Executive Director. But he also knew I could lead when leadership was needed. That’s another thing great mentors do: they see not only who you are, but who you’re capable of becoming.

He trusted people. He empowered people. And he handed people responsibility before they had all the answers because he understood that confidence is often built by being trusted with something important.

And in that moment, he was trusting me with something very important – although I may not have realized it at the time. He was trusting me with the organization, the team, and the mission we had worked so hard to strengthen together.

The Best Leaders Recognize Potential Before You Do

In his chapter in Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare, “Mentors, Milestones, and Mission: The Moments That Shaped Me,” James reflects on several mentors who entrusted him with responsibility long before he felt fully ready. Reading that made me smile because it perfectly explains the leadership style he carries with him today.

Ironically, I didn’t ask James to write about mentorship or empowerment. I simply asked him to share one of his best leadership lessons. He ended up writing about the very thing I appreciated most about him.

James learned from mentors who recognized his potential and trusted him to grow into it. Then he passed that lesson on to the people who worked alongside him.

Looking back now, I realize how much that leadership style shaped not only my work during those years, but also the way I support and encourage others today.

I may not lead an organization, but the same leadership style still applies when leading projects, mentoring staff, building teams, coaching others, or simply creating an environment where people feel trusted, valued, and capable.

And maybe that’s the real legacy of great leadership — not just the work that gets accomplished, but the confidence and purpose a good leader encourages in the people along the way.

This article is part of the Humane Perspectives series, featuring stories and leadership lessons from the contributors to the book, Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare.

About James Bias
James Bias, CAWA, has spent more than four decades leading animal welfare organizations across the country and currently serves as Executive Director of the Connecticut Humane Society. Throughout his career, he has helped build shelters, lead major animal welfare organizations, and expand programs that strengthen the bond between people and animals.

So, I asked her what she thought of the book.

You see, there’s a running joke in my family that no one can quite explain what “Cathy does.” When my mom introduces me, she usually says, “Cathy works with animals,” which can leave a lot open to interpretation.

Her response wasn’t, “I’m so proud of you,” or even “congratulations” (thank goodness).

Instead, she said, “Wow…this is really interesting. I’m learning so much about your work.”

Well, yay! That was exactly what I hoped for.

Humane Perspectives offers a rare look at leadership voices in the animal welfare field for current or emerging leaders. But it is also for anyone who cares about animals and wants to better understand the work being done to care for and protect them.

So, then, I asked her, “Have you read the Acknowledgments and Introduction?” Because, let’s be honest, people often skip over those, right? She came clean.

“No,” she said. “I’m skipping around and reading the essays that interest me. So far, my favorite is the one by Todd Cramer, CAWA (“Fine Wine or Skunky Beer? Leading with Value at Every Stage of a Career”). Is he a funny guy?”

“Yes, Mom, he is.”

“And what about this one by Richard Avanzino—‘What Saving One Dog Taught Me About Changing the World’?” she said. “How is that story not a made-for-TV movie?”

I wholeheartedly agreed.

I told her she could skip around (as that was what was intended), but to go back and read a few things.

First, the acknowledgments, because I gave her a little shout-out there for helping me learn about visualization and mental strength in 4th grade.

And then I asked her to read the Introduction (not just because it was written by her daughter) and the Foreword by Jim Tedford, CAWA.

Both of those essays set the tone for the book and begin to explain what I — and many others in our field — didn’t fully understand when we all first said “yes” to this work many years ago.

(I will share a little more about that tomorrow.)

But for now, I’ll take the win. My mom is finally learning what I do…or at least what Todd Cramer, CAWA does, which is close enough for me.

Some people advocate quietly. Others walk into a room and make you believe change is possible.

That’s how I remember working with Ledy VanKavage many years ago, when we traveled together speaking to animal shelters about the language we use when talking about dogs often identified as “pit bulls.” Even then, long before many organizations were openly discussing breed labeling and media bias, we both understood something important: The words we choose shape public perception, and public perception can determine whether dogs are feared, misunderstood, or given a fair chance.

For example, if a dog bite incident involved a “pit bull-type dog,” you can guarantee the word “pit bull” would appear in the story headline. If the dog was another breed, like a retriever, the breed often wasn’t mentioned at all, or sometimes the story never ran in the first place. Ledy believed the animal welfare field itself had a responsibility to stop reinforcing stereotypes that harmed dogs. And her passion for these “blocky-headed dogs,” as she lovingly refers to them, has remained evident throughout every aspect of her work.

What struck me most about working with Ledy was not only her passion, but the way she approached the work. She challenged people to think differently without making them feel attacked for what they didn’t yet understand. And she did it with energy, humor, and determination that made people want to lean in and listen.

That summer, we spent hours together in airports, hotel lobbies, and during long car rides talking about animal welfare, public perception, sheltering, advocacy, and the future of the field. At the time, I was deeply focused on helping animal welfare professionals better understand the words they used with each other and with the public, so I was ecstatic to find someone equally passionate about how language shapes outcomes for animals. It remains one of the more memorable summers of my career. (We also spent a snowy evening driving between Washington, D.C., and Baltimore, with me gripping the steering wheel convinced we were about to slide off the road. Meanwhile, Ledy — being from Illinois and far more familiar with snow — sat remarkably calm and never once commented on my painfully slow driving. In hindsight, I suspect that had less to do with politeness and more to do with wondering whether she was actually going to survive the trip to Baltimore.)

What I remember most from that summer, though, is that Ledy never approached education as something dry or heavy. Even when discussing difficult topics, she believed people learned best when they were engaged, laughing, and part of the conversation.

At the time, I was creating game shows and interactive conference activities for the opening sessions for several national animal welfare conferences, and Ledy was absolutely insistent that we incorporate games and audience participation into the workshops too. She understood that people learn better when they are engaged, laughing, and thinking at the same time. That ability to educate while still making people feel connected and energized is something I’ve never forgotten.

Reading Ledy’s essay in Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare, “Fighting for Change to Save Lives,” brought that summer of memories rushing back for me. In her essay, she shares stories of grassroots advocacy, legislative change, persistence, and the importance of collaboration in creating more humane communities. And underneath all of those accomplishments is the same thing I remember from years ago: an unwavering belief that changing minds through the words we use in our field (and in advocacy) is the first step toward changing outcomes for animals.

Ledy has spent decades fighting for policies that save lives, helping communities rethink outdated practices, and encouraging advocates to stay engaged even when progress feels slow. And what remains with me to this day is her passion; the kind that fills a room, keeps conversations going long after workshops end, and reminds people why this work matters in the first place.

I have been, and will continue to be, a longtime fan of this amazing woman. And honestly, if there were ever an animal welfare game show category called “Blocky-Headed Dogs and the People Who Love Them,” Ledy VanKavage would probably be the answer to every question.

This article is part of the Humane Perspectives series, featuring stories and leadership lessons from the contributors to the book, Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare.

About Ledy Van Kavage
Ledy VanKavage is Senior Legislative Attorney for Best Friends Animal Society, where she works to advance humane policies and lifesaving initiatives nationwide. Throughout her career, she has helped pass dozens of animal protection laws, co-founded the Metro East Humane Society, and demonstrated the power of persistence, collaboration, and grassroots advocacy to create lasting change for animals.

Not because life slowed down; quite the opposite.

In many ways, the last few months have been some of the busiest — and most meaningful — of my career.

This spring took me across the country, speaking at conferences, leading trainings, and having conversations with people who care deeply about animals, leadership, compassion fatigue, veterinary access, humane education, and the emotional weight that often accompanies caring professions.

I spoke with shelter staff trying to do more with fewer resources. Veterinary professionals navigating exhaustion and workforce shortages. Humane educators teaching children how kindness toward animals can help shape safer, more compassionate communities. And leaders trying to hold organizations together during incredibly difficult times.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, my book, Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare, officially entered the world after years of work.

This season also included moments I still don’t quite know how to write about without sounding overwhelmed with gratitude. I was honored to receive the APHE Nathania Gartman Heroes Award, along with the APHE Educator’s Choice Award for The Happy Tale of Two Cats. Both recognitions meant more to me than I can probably put into words because they came from people working every day in humane education and animal welfare — a community I care deeply about.

And on top of all that, I recently returned to a project I originally wrote nearly two years ago — a customer service book for animal advocates. I had even asked a respected leader in the animal welfare field to write the foreword before life, deadlines, and other projects pulled me in different directions. At the time, I made the difficult decision to temporarily set that manuscript aside so I could finish Grant Writing Boot Camp for Animal Advocates after realizing, following a workshop I gave last January, just how desperately that resource was needed. At the same time, Humane Perspectives was already in the making and nearing completion.

Sometimes writing projects don’t happen in the order we originally planned.

Sometimes the work simply tells you what needs to come first.

It has been one of those seasons where the work feels important, but life also starts moving faster than your ability to sit still long enough to write about it.

Ironically, writing has still been happening constantly.

Just not always here.

There were newspaper columns, presentations, workshops, interviews, training materials, grant proposals, speeches, and countless notes typed into my phone at odd hours while waiting to board flights or sitting in airport terminals wondering whether I still remembered what day it was.

And while I’m deeply grateful for every opportunity, I’ve also been reminded that meaningful work often happens in small moments — in conversations after presentations, in stories shared over lunch, in classrooms full of children learning empathy, and in exhausted animal welfare professionals who simply need someone to say, “Yes, this work is hard.”

Those moments don’t always immediately become blog posts. But they should.

Animal welfare feels especially heavy in many places right now. Veterinary shortages continue affecting communities across the country. A spay/neuter clinic recently told me they had to close all but one day of spay-neuter surgeries last week because they couldn’t find a contract vet to perform them. Shelters remain overcrowded. Compassion fatigue is real. And yet, somehow, I continue to meet people who show up every single day, determined to keep helping anyway.

That kind of resilience stays with you.

So while I may not have been writing here lately, this season has been filled with learning, listening, teaching, traveling, editing, and thinking about where this work — and this writing — may be headed next.

And honestly, I’ve missed this space.

So if you’re still here reading after my accidental three-month disappearing act, thank you.(And feel free to use any of these blog posts as educational material for your followers.)

More writing is coming — including essays and reflections on leaders in animal welfare whose stories deserve to be preserved and shared. One of the first is about Ledy VanKavage, whose friendship and leadership have shaped not only the field, but many of the people fortunate enough to work alongside her.

I’m looking forward to getting back to this space more regularly — sharing the stories, lessons, and conversations that continue to remind me why this work matters so deeply.

]]> https://cathyrosenthal.com/blog/2026/06/09/the-stories-i-havent-had-time-to-write-yet/feed/ 0 https://cathyrosenthal.com/blog/2026/06/01/the-middle-of-the-night-idea-behind-the-happy-tale-of-two-cats/ https://cathyrosenthal.com/blog/2026/06/01/the-middle-of-the-night-idea-behind-the-happy-tale-of-two-cats/#respond Mon, 01 Jun 2026 08:08:16 +0000 https://cathyrosenthal.com/?p=17446

One night, I woke up thinking about Highlights for Children magazine.

Specifically, I was thinking about Goofus and Gallant — the longtime compare-and-contrast feature that showed children two very different ways of behaving. One illustration always made it easy to see which child was kind, respectful, thoughtful, or considerate, and which child still had lessons to learn.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, that idea connected with something I had been struggling with for quite some time: How do you help very young children recognize when an animal feels safe, loved, happy, neglected, frightened, or lonely?

How do you explain humane care to children who are still learning to understand emotions, relationships, and responsibility?

That moment quickly became the foundation for The Happy Tale of Two Cats.

Recently, I was honored to learn that the book received the 2026 Educator’s Choice Award for Best Humane Education Book for Young Children from the Association of Professional Humane Educators. I’m deeply grateful for the recognition among my peers, and even more grateful for the opportunity the book has created to encourage conversations about kindness, empathy, and compassion toward animals.

For more than 35 years, I’ve worked in animal welfare and humane education, and throughout those years I’ve often thought about how difficult it can be to explain animal welfare issues to very young children in ways that feel safe, understandable, and age-appropriate.

Children naturally recognize happiness, sadness, comfort, loneliness, and fear in other people. But animals can be harder for them to interpret. They may not yet understand why one pet seems relaxed and playful while another appears frightened, lonely, or unhealthy. I wanted to create a gentle way to help children begin to recognize those differences through storytelling and illustration, rather than through lectures or frightening images.

The compare-and-contrast structure became the perfect model.

In The Happy Tale of Two Cats, one cat experiences love, safety, companionship, veterinary care, and stability. The other experiences uncertainty, loneliness, neglect, and life without consistent care before eventually finding hope and compassion from an animal shelter — where they get everything they need, including a new home. By placing the two stories side by side, children can begin to understand, visually and emotionally, how human choices affect animals’ lives.

Much like Goofus and Gallant helped children recognize manners and behavior through comparison, I hoped The Happy Tale of Two Cats could help children recognize kindness, empathy, and responsible pet care in ways that felt natural and memorable. I wanted them to be able to look at a cat (or dog with the Lucky Tale of Two Dogs) in their home or neighborhood and intuitively know if they were care for.

Humane education has always been important to me because its lessons extend far beyond animals. When children learn empathy toward animals, they also begin learning about compassion, responsibility, safety, community, and respect for vulnerable living beings around them. In many ways, humane education can help counter bullying, cruelty, and emotional disconnection by encouraging children to think beyond themselves and develop empathy for others. Over the years, I’ve seen firsthand how early humane education can open conversations that shape the way children think about both animals and people. Sometimes those conversations begin with something as simple as recognizing whether a pet looks scared, lonely, safe, or loved.

That was the heart behind this book from the very beginning.

I’m grateful to the humane educators, parents, teachers, shelters, and organizations who continue sharing The Happy Tale of Two Cats with children. Knowing the book is helping create conversations about kindness and compassion means more to me than I can express.

Sometimes the simplest ideas — even the ones that arrive in the middle of the night — can become meaningful tools for helping children better understand the world around them.

For those interested in sharing the book with children, classrooms, shelters, or humane education programs, it’s available here:
The Happy Tale of Two Cats
El Cuento Feliz de DOS Gatitas (Spanish Edition) 

Last month, I was deeply honored to receive the 2026 Nathania Gartman Heroes Award from the Association of Professional Humane Educators (APHE) during the organization’s conference in Oakland.

Humane education has been an important part of my work for many years through animal welfare, writing, outreach, public education, and helping people better understand and live alongside animals in their communities. Over the years, I’ve seen how humane education can open conversations not only about animals, but also about empathy, safety, responsibility, and community.

But the truth is, humane education was not originally the direction I expected my career to take.

When I first started in animal welfare more than 35 years ago, much of my work focused on public relations, fundraising, development, and special events. About 14 years into my career, while working at the San Antonio Humane Society, we hosted a veterinarian from Africa who interned with us for several weeks.

Wanting to show her some of Texas’s wildlife, I took her to a local wildlife area. What I failed to consider was that she was from Africa. In hindsight, our quiet Texas wildlife — mostly glimpses of birds, deer, armadillos, and the occasional warning about rattlesnakes — was probably not going to be all that impressive to someone accustomed to seeing truly magnificent wildlife.

So there I was, enthusiastically trying to point out movement in the brush while she politely scanned the landscape, wondering where all the animals were hiding.

Then she said something that completely changed my perspective.

She explained that where she came from, children learned about wild animals from a very young age, including how to safely coexist with them. She talked about children knowing how far away to stand from a rhino so it would not charge. Then she said: “Here, you live so closely with animals… but where is the education that teaches children how to be kind and safe around them?”

That moment stopped me. Because she was right.

At the time, we had no humane education programs at our organization — and none in the schools. I went back to my executive director and said, “We need to do more.”

That conversation eventually led to the creation of Camp Humane, a summer camp that has been running for the past 21 years. And, it helped shape the direction of my work moving forward. Humane education became woven into nearly everything I did after that, from my syndicated pet column to outreach programs and my work with Spay Neuter Network, where I’ve had the opportunity to help grow humane education programs reaching thousands of children across Texas each year.

Receiving an award bearing Nathania Gartman’s name makes this recognition especially meaningful to me because it was around that same time that I had the opportunity to meet her while teaching workshops at Best Friends Animal Society in Kanab alongside Michael Kaufmann, currently the Director of Farm and Wildlife with Green Chimneys in Brewster, New York.

I didn’t know Nathania well, and I can’t say I remember every detail vividly, but I do remember her presence — calm, thoughtful, kind, and fully engaged with the people around her. She carried herself with warmth, curiosity, and grace. After the workshop, the three of us walked through the canyon together to a cave with an underground pond and ancient handprints etched into the rock.

What stayed with me was not just what she taught, but how she moved through the world.

She embodied humane education.

Because kindness does not simply happen. We teach it. We model it. We carry it into the world through our actions, our words, and the way we treat others — both human and animal.

And when we do that — especially with young people — we do more than change how they see animals. We help shape a more compassionate world.

I’m deeply grateful to the APHE, to the many educators, shelters, organizations, colleagues, and community partners I’ve had the privilege of working with throughout my career, and to everyone who continues helping create positive change through humane education.

This recognition means more to me than I can fully express, and I’m honored to be part of a community that continues carrying this important work forward.

For the past two years, I have been working on a project that became far bigger — and far more meaningful — than I ever imagined.

What started as a simple idea slowly grew into Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare, a book featuring first-person leadership stories from 45 leaders across the animal welfare field. My hope was to preserve the experiences, lessons, challenges, and defining moments that shaped not only these individuals, but in many ways, modern animal welfare itself.

At first, the project moved slowly. Like many ideas rooted in passion, it began with a lot of conversations, uncertainty, and wondering whether people would even have the time — or interest — to participate. But little by little, leaders from across the country began saying yes.

Some had spent decades leading large organizations. Others had built innovative programs, guided shelters through crises, advanced humane education, transformed veterinary access, or mentored future leaders in the field. What connected them all was not title or recognition, but a deep commitment to animals and the people who care for them.

As the essays began arriving, I realized this project was becoming something much more important than a traditional leadership book.

These were not polished success stories designed to impress people. They were honest reflections about burnout, resilience, mistakes, compassion, advocacy, difficult decisions, and the emotional realities of animal welfare work. Some contributors wrote about losing confidence. Others shared stories about rebuilding organizations, navigating disasters, changing sheltering philosophies, or simply learning how to lead while carrying the emotional weight that so often comes with this profession.

Again and again, I found myself thinking: These are the stories people rarely get to hear.

In animal welfare, we often celebrate outcomes — the adoption numbers, the successful programs, the ribbon cuttings, the campaigns. But behind every organization and every milestone are people making incredibly difficult decisions, balancing compassion with reality, and trying to move the field forward despite limited resources and constant challenges.

I wanted this book to preserve some of that history and humanity. I also wanted younger professionals, students, volunteers, and future leaders to understand that leadership in animal welfare is rarely linear or perfect. Many of the contributors started as volunteers, kennel staff, vet assistants, animal control officers, or foster caregivers. Their journeys were filled with uncertainty, setbacks, and moments that forced them to grow.

Editing and curating Humane Perspectives became one of the most rewarding projects of my career. It reminded me how many thoughtful, passionate people continue working every day to improve the lives of animals and strengthen the communities around them.

My hope is that readers will come away not only inspired, but with a deeper understanding of the people behind the mission.

Because much of what shaped today’s animal welfare movement lives not in textbooks or reports, but in the stories of the people who built it.

Whether you work in animal welfare, hope to one day join the field, or simply love animals and want a deeper understanding of the people behind the mission, I hope you’ll take a moment to explore Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare and the remarkable stories these leaders chose to share.