The Adoptable Pets of Almost Home Animal Shelter

Almost Home Animal Shelter—located at 9140-C Pennsauken Highway, in Pennsauken— serves as a temporary home for many animals in the area. The shelter and its animal control operation are both supported by the Collingswood Stray Animal Organization.

From strays to new litters to rescues, the animals housed here each have a past that will shape their future. 

Would your family be the right family for one of these pets? Read each animal's story and decide for yourself. Maybe your home will be the bridge from "Almost Home" to "Home For Good."

Call Almost Home Animal Shelter at 856-663-3058 for more information on pet adoption.

Madison's Story—

A chocolate Labrador retriever-pitbull mix, Madison is the kind of dog you'll only need to meet once to love. 

Shelter staff estimate the little girl to be anywhere from 3 to 4 years old. Madison's been at Almost Home for a year and-a-half. 

"She's so, so loving," shelter workers said of Madison. "She's always reminding you she's there, with hugs or nuzzles."

Arguably her best physical feature is her coat. Madison's short-haired, sleek, coat is a reddish-brown hue that rivals the vibrancy and shine of most purebreds.

Alone, her coloring is beautiful. But the contrast of Madison's light hazel eyes make her dark markings pop.

In a potential future home, staff say Madison would most enjoy being the only pet—and getting 100 percent of the attention.

Madison's adoption into a caring environment will be especially important in the early days of her transition.

"Madison has heartworm, so she needs someone who can follow her treatment plan," said staff. "Heartworm isn't permanent, and will eventually go away if treated correctly."

Denny's Story—

Denny is a lovable short-haired domestic cat. This little boy's black-and-white fur is actually mostly black, with splotches of white here and there.

Estimated by shelter staff to be 7 months old, Denny was a stray before he was saved by Almost Home.

The general consensus about Denny? Staff admit he's been titled, "Almost Home Animal Shelter's Most-Coddled Cat."

As she described the cat's reputation, a female shelter worker un-hinged Denny's crate and lifted him into her arms. 

Her explanation was halted. Within seconds, Denny proved he's earned the title.

"Denny! Denny, come on," said the employee, releasing high-pitched squeals of laughter. "Denny, you can't hold on forever."

Clinging for dear life, Denny's back legs are latched around the girl's lower torso. His front paws are curved around her neck. She tries shifting him off, but Denny links his claws together behind her neck, dead-bolting the embrace.

Denny hugs like a human.

Breaking into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, the girl begins desperately trying to maneuver herself out of Denny's steel-clad hug. 

"You have to go back in your cage!" she commands futilely.

It takes another employee to successfully pry Denny away. Back in his crate, Denny nuzzles the cage door, reminding everyone there's more free hugs to be had.

"We're used to it," says the girl, now free. "We're always picking him up. He really loves to snuggle. He's been here since he was a very little baby. He came in because he didn't have his mother, which may be why he needs so much affection."

She peers down at him. Purring, he nuzzles the door to his cage.

Ivy's Story—

In her crate, Ivy has a spongy pillow to lay on, a wooden bungalow to hide in, piles of blankets to lounge on, and countless toys to play with.

By choice, Ivy spends more time on the ceiling of her crate than anywhere else.

Contrary to popular belief, Ivy views the ceiling as an obtainable destination.

The 1-and-a-half-year-old domestic short haired cat does things her own way.

Maybe Ivy enjoys being a black cat, and finds it humorous keeping the stereotype alive. Ivy's is a fire-and-brimstone sort of troublemaking, carried out daily. 

"She's so bad," said a shelter worker, giving Ivy a wink. "We used to have a routine of refilling water bowls in the cat room. We'd come in, collect the bowls, and line them up on the wooden platform next to Ivy's cage. We can't do that anymore, because she knocks everything off the ledge."

On cue, Ivy swats a jet-black paw through the slat in her crate. Whoosh, down goes a notebook someone had left on the ledge. All eyes dart toward Ivy, who's on her back, batting a blue pen she'd unhooked from the notebook and deemed worthy enough to keep.

Te enforce productive behavior, a shelter worker snatches the pen and returns with a cat toy. It's a long black rod, adorned atop with a floppy feather and a big golden bell.

The girl twirls it around, teasing Ivy. She waves it floor-level with the cage, then swoops it up to the top of the crate. Two swoops, and Ivy's gone. 

Extending her claws, Ivy flings herself at the cage wall, and attaches herself to the metal bars. Hanging there, Ivy sees the yellow feather swoosh higher. The tinkling bell taunts her.

Prong by prong, Ivy claws her way up the cage wall—the tallest crate in the cat room—until she's hanging from the ceiling. 

A moment later, the toy is ridiculous and Ivy drops haughtily from the ceiling. She laps at her water, obviously done playing.

The employee chuckles, turning away to resume other duties. On her way out, something hits her back. A bell hits the floor, tinkling.

Glancing up at Ivy's cage, the girl shakes her head. Ivy lies calmly on her blanket, eyes wide, the picture of innocence.