The calls always sound the same.
A woman — usually older, usually alone — describing a cat that used to have life in its eyes. Used to greet her at the door. Used to play, purr, jump on the bed.
Now they just sleep. Barely eat. Coat feels rough. Eyes look dull.
"The vet ran bloodwork. Everything came back normal."
"They said he's just getting older."
"They put her on prescription food but nothing changed."
I've heard this hundreds of times. And every single time, I know exactly what's happening.
These cats aren't sick. They're not "just aging." They're not broken.
They're depleted.
Something they were getting every single day at the shelter — something we never talked about, never explained, never put in the adoption paperwork — stopped the moment they walked out our doors.
And nobody told the adopters it mattered.
Not us. Not the rescue. Not their new vet.
So the cats just slowly... ran out.
The owners blame themselves. They think they did something wrong. They spend hundreds on tests that show nothing. They switch foods. They buy supplements that don't work.
And the whole time, the answer was sitting in a bulk container in our intake room.