Formal hoarding research generally confirms what we've long suspected: Nearly three-quarters of all hoarders live alone, according to a Health and Human Services report Patronek wrote; and three-quarters are also women. Almost half are 60 or older, and cats barely edge out dogs as the animal of choice. In 80 percent of the cases studied, authorities found either dead or severely ill animals in hoarders' homes. It's not uncommon for cruelty-related arrests to be followed by court-ordered psychiatric treatment, but by many accounts, the counseling is overly general, and does little for the high levels of recidivism among those convicted.
As shut-ins go, animal hoarders enjoy spectacular branding. By rough estimates, these people are scarce: Fewer than 10 in a million people, according to several studies. Nonetheless, the average American could probably describe the life of an animal hoarder better than that of, say, a state senator. It's a matter of who captures our imaginations, and state senators do not sleep in urine, swell up with infection or trip over cannibalized cat carcasses. State senators do sometimes go to jail, but it's usually a paperwork issue -- nothing so compelling as a surfeit of mismanaged doggy love.
The animal hoarder archetype is a vivid one, somewhere on the grid between wearied saint and avid philatelic. They also keep a light foot in the serial killer camp: Like serial killers, they're pathetic but obsessively thorough. They're fascinating and they make for great stories. They're quiet loners in the messy old house down the street, motivated by a perversion of something that could maybe almost make sense.
Unlike with serial killers, however, the neighbors of animal hoarders are never shocked when the authorities eventually come around. In fact, it's often the neighbors who spent two months on the phone with the county -- about the smell, the barking, the trash and the germs.
On their way to the squad car, hoarders often explain that they simply love animals, or that these particular critters would've died without their intervention, or that in a mere two cats lies loneliness. The would-be animal rescuers often say they hear a calling. The problem is that they don't always answer properly. The great irony regarding hoarders, of course, is that their loving benevolence commonly leaves a trail of horribly sick and neglected animals.
How do we predict whether obsessive animal love will evolve into something unhealthy? There was the case of the poor, ailing blind man who loved animals so much he figured he'd teach them about Jesus. Reports say he surrounded himself with all manner of critter; he rescued bunnies from snares and removed worms from busy roads. "Beware, my little sisters, of the sin of ingratitude, and study always to give praise to God," he's said to have once told a flock of birds who clustered around him until formally dismissed. This was St. Francis of Assisi, and his boundless animal love earned him not jail time but sanctity before God.
Recalls one woman who didn't become a saint, but is instead currently facing charges for mistreating over 150 pets and barnyard animals, "Since I was a kid, I was scooping ants out of puddles."
As she tells it, her collection represented a lifetime of devotion to animals -- she ran something of a refuge, and did everything she could to give her adoptees good lives. Authorities, however, painted a picture of broken limbs, infections, dental abominations and helpless creatures who ultimately had to be put down in some cases.
"I got crucified ... I just hope every animal went to a good home. That's how I console myself," the woman says. "Afterwards, I had death threats. I've been told to come back [to town] in a disguise."
The psychological dynamics at play in a hoarder's home simply didn't make it into research journals until very recently. Related studies have proven instrumental for Patronek and his group in drawing attention to the subject: In recent years, psychologists established a clear link between the abuse of animals and domestic abuse among humans. While it might have been common sense that someone who hits the dog is a good candidate for hitting his wife, defining the relationship psychologically required years of data.
"In the last 10 years the idea gained legitimacy," Patronek says. "You can now have a serious discussion about it."
The general connection between animal and domestic abuse is helping pave the way for further research into specific hoarding pathologies.
"[Hoarding] might not even have to do with animals. It might reflect human needs," he says. "We're now looking into the idea that animal neglect could be a sentinel for human neglect. A significant minority do have a dependent family member present."
Next page: The pigeon people police their own