Riverdale Woman Aids Struggling Animal Rescues, One Box at a Time

As the cost of pet food, veterinary care and basic supplies soars, many volunteer-run animal rescues are fighting to survive. 

In Riverdale, there’s an effort to ease their burden.

For years, Suzanne Mauro, affectionately known as “The Animal Shelter Lady,” has been a fixture at local farmers markets. Sitting beside her fold-up table, Mauro collects donations for shelters and rescues of all sizes.

But in September, she changed course, instead directing her aid exclusively toward small nonprofit groups doing "the hardest work with the least support.”

“These little rescues are out there on their own,” Mauro explained. “They don’t have city contracts or big budgets — just people spending their own money to keep animals alive.”

The decision came after speaking with Maria DeMarco, founder of FURRR 911, a volunteer-run nonprofit based in Westchester County that specializes in saving newborn kittens — some no more than a day old. Many of them are sick or injured.

“We’re that three a.m. phone call,” DeMarco said. “When the shelters close their doors, we take the babies. Because if nobody steps in, they die.”

FURRR 911 focuses on what rescuers call “bottle babies” — orphaned kittens requiring feedings every two to three hours. 

Most municipal shelters can’t handle them, DeMarco explained, because they lack the equipment and staff for round-the-clock care. 

“When people find them, they don’t realize newborns can’t survive more than a few hours without warmth and milk,” she said. “If the mother’s gone or dead, it’s either us or no one.”

Her phone rings constantly — police officers finding litters on night shifts, people walking their dogs and other rescues without incubators. Most nights she sleeps just a few hours, setting alarms for every feeding.

DeMarco and her network of fosters keep their kitchens stocked with supplies — formula bottles, syringes, heating pads, paper towels — yet it never seems to be enough. 

“A litter can go through $300 in supplies before they even touch solid food,” she said. “Then come vaccines, antibiotics, litter — all of it out of pocket. ”

For more than a decade, the cost of veterinary care has continued to grow, with the Bureau of Labor statistics reporting a 60 percent jump between 2014 and 2024.  

Unfortunately, this year is unlikely to bring any relief. According to Rover's 2025 True Cost of Pet Parenthood Report,  pet owners can expect to shell out 11% more this year. 

"Everything has gone up [in price]," DeMarco said. "Paper towels, tissues, baby wipes.  We use bleach for cleaning floors, crates, cages, carriers. I used to be able to buy it on sale for like $1.99 or $2.49 a gallon. Now there's some places selling for almost $10 a gallon."

Despite the growing demand, DeMarco’s group receives no government funding.

 “We don’t qualify for most grants because we don’t have a facility,” she said. “To even apply, we’d need a commercial property. That’s $3,000 a month in rent, plus utilities and insurance. We’d go broke before we opened the doors.”

Instead, the rescue survives on two recurring donors — one giving $5 a month and the other $25 — occasional online fundraisers.

 “That’s where Suzanne comes in,” DeMarco said. “When you’re down to your last roll of paper towels and she shows up with a full box, it’s everything. It’s not just supplies. It’s being seen.”

Mauro’s market table changes each month depending on what her featured rescue needs most. 

“Some ask for litter or bleach,” she said. “Maria once asked for Karo syrup, because when kittens crash, a tiny drop can bring their blood sugar back up. Every rescue is different. I just ask what they’re low on and try to get it.”

Closer to home, Mauro also supports Denise’s Cat and Dog Sanctuary, run by longtime rescuer Denise Lauffer, who turned a Washington Heights basement into a small haven for animals others might have given up on.

“I spend about two thousand dollars a month on food, litter, and medicine,” Lauffer said. “Every month is different, but food and litter are constant. When donations run low, I cover the rest myself.”

Lauffer since the 1990s, when she pulled abandoned pit bulls from the condemned corners of Highbridge Park. 

“It was mostly the bait dogs — the ones used for fighting or just dumped when they lost,” she said. “Nobody wanted them.”

Over time, she turned to cats — the ones living in alleys, boiler rooms, or tossed out when they stopped catching rats. 

“We’ve pulled kittens out of garbage bags,” she said. “I’ve used bolt cutters to open locks on basements. You just do what you have to do.”

Today, she cares for nearly dozens of cats — seniors, strays, and ferals too sick or fearful to be adopted. She spends her evenings cleaning litter boxes, washing blankets, and medicating whoever needs it. 

“It’s not glamorous work,” she said. “It’s garbage, it’s vet bills, it’s heartbreak. But if I don’t do it, who will?”

The financial strain seems neverending, she added. 

“People think rescues have endless donations,” Lauffer said. “But since COVID, that dried up. Once in a while, someone does a Facebook fundraiser, but otherwise, it’s me.”

Online wish lists on Amazon and Chewy help a little, but the essentials are constant. 

“Just my monthly flea meds for the outdoor cats run $300, and I order them from Canada to save money,” she said.

When Mauro arrives, she brings more than supplies. 

“She’s always like, ‘Do you need this? Do you need that?’” Lauffer said. “She doesn’t come empty-handed. You can tell she really cares.”

Mauro’s mission has quietly built a network of mutual care — one box of cat litter, one bag of food at a time. She knows she can’t solve the financial crisis facing small rescues, but she can keep them from breaking under its weight.

“They shouldn’t have to choose between paying rent and saving lives,” she said. “So until something changes, I’ll keep showing up — one box at a time."