Nestled in a blanket, a frail kitten peers out at the founder of Winnipeg's first no-kill animal shelter.
For a moment, nothing else matters to Carla Martinelli-Irvine but soothing the abandoned, mangy-looking kitten.
"Hi, sweetie! You have food all over your mouth, yes you do," she says softly. Holding the tiny kitten -- just four weeks old, it weighs less than a pound -- tears well up in Martinelli-Irvine's eyes.
"Isn't she the sweetest thing you've ever seen?"
That sweet thing is one of 10,000 beating hearts that have kept beating because of Martinelli-Irvine's work.
Nine years ago the former prison guard turned animal rescuer founded Winnipeg's first registered no-kill animal shelter.
"Euthanasia is necessary to end suffering, but it should never be used as a means of population control," she said. "I'm so proud of what we do and the staff that work for me... I am so proud, I ooze it."
Since 1999, Martinelli-Irvine and her staff of four have welcomed thousands of animals in all kinds of conditions into their care, from squirrels to dogs to guinea pigs. They've seen it all: a cat with a nail shoved up its behind; a dog with broken legs from someone dropping a couch on it; abandoned dogs with their tails frozen; birds so neglected they've plucked themselves bald. Animals of all shapes and sizes come in needing intensive care for stomach ailments, disease, tumours, sores -- it's enough to tug at the heartstrings of even the most cynical.
But Martinelli-Irvine looks beyond today's needs and back to her childhood for the roots of her work. At eight years old, she begged her dad for a dog. After he finally conceded and Martinelli-Irvine realized how much work it was, she told him she wanted to give the dog back.
"He told me a dog wasn't like a book. You couldn't just return it to the library."
When others don't live up to that credo, Martinelli-Irvine's shelter is there. It averages 120 calls a day -- yes, that's a day -- about surrendering animals. To stem that flow of unwanted animals at a no-kill shelter takes an extensive network of foster homes, the help of local vets and a local kennel that steps up in really bad times.
The shelter doesn't receive any government funding, so along with the actual front-line work, there's the hard slog of raising enough money to keep the doors open.
"There are a lot of personal sacrifices. I'm the one who worries about paying the rent, whether we are going to get evicted. Sometimes in the winter we can't afford the gas bills. That falls on my shoulders," she said.
Recently, the struggle got even harder. Martinelli-Irvine, 47, was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, a painful disease that affects the joints. On the bad days, she walks with a cane. She's struggling to deal with how it has changed her ability to deal directly with the animals.
"I can't walk the dogs like I used to because my wrists are too weak to hold the leashes. I have no strength anymore. My energy levels are brutal when I'm having a flare-up," said Martinelli-Irvine.
Her staff isn't surprised Martinelli-Irvine has the fortitude to deal with the latest hardship. They see that underneath all that softness with which Martinelli-Irvine cuddles a tiny kitten is a toughness, a toughness that's put to good use when she's dealing with the downside of running a shelter -- including vandalism, theft and verbal attacks.
A few years ago, someone threw rocks at the shelter's windows three nights in a row. Thieves have stolen tin cans full of donated pennies. It's also a reality that not everyone loves animals, and some people aren't afraid to tell her.
"You have to be prepared to take on the people who don't believe in what you're doing. I don't believe in radical movements; I believe in kindness," she said.
That kindness is often met with the generosity of Winnipeggers who tend to show their caring in full force whenever there's a mass surrender of animals. That might be why Martinelli-Irvine's name sounds familiar. It was in the news recently when her shelter helped care for some of the 90 or so cocker spaniels and beagles, some in very bad condition, that a breeder surrendered after failing a provincial inspection.
Sometimes surrenders don't garner news attention. It's not all that rare for the shelter to get callers who beg for help: "We've had people call and say, 'I love my cat, but its gotten out of control. I have 32 cats in my home, I don't know what to do and I'm scared.' Sometimes it is good people that find themselves in bad situations."
The Portage Avenue shelter houses 150 animals under its roof at one time -- it's no wonder visitors are overwhelmed with the symphony of barking, chirping and meowing -- and more than 300 animals on its waiting list. Even with so many in a small space, the shelter is impeccable. It's a happy place for some of these animals who hadn't known kindness before.
Martinelli-Irvine's relentless commitment to animals and the community has not gone unnoticed. St. Charles Ward city councillor Grant Nordman will present the shelter with a community service award at the end of the month.
"I have utmost respect for what they do," Nordman said. "I've seen how they've grown over the years... people come from all over the province to seek their help. Whenever there is a puppy mill incident, who is front and centre? Carla and her team."
"I just know what I want for these animals," said Martinelli-Irvine. "You are given so much responsibility when you care for a life, and it doesn't matter to me what type of life it is.
"There is not a place or time I'd rather be than here right now," Martinelli-Irvine said. "I'd like this to be my legacy and to know this will continue. I don't want this to die when I die.
"It was my calling."
selena.hinds@freepress.mb.ca
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