The first thing you notice when you walk into Bridget Satkowski’s house is the cats.
Their soft mews echo from the back of the hall, where a door still reads: “Samantha Hope’s Room. Stay Out!” Peeling stickers of Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber smile from around the edges of the sign, the same way they did when Bridget’s daughter lived there.
Now the room belongs to the cats, the ones Bridget, 51, rescues through Friends of Mason County & Surrounding Counties’ Animals, a small group she runs with her friend Karen Hopkins. Cat trees line the walls where posters used to hang. Litter boxes have replaced the toys that once covered the floor. Bridget hasn’t changed much else.
“Part of me hates to take down Sam’s decor because it seems so final,” she said. “I like having little pieces of her at home from the past.”
Bridget has taken in and helped find forever homes for more than 250 cats over the years. “I have the cats to fill the void,” she said.
That void began years ago, with another Hope.
Her first daughter, Taylor Hope, lived for just one hour. One pound, two ounces. Bridget reached for a tissue as she talked about Taylor, one from the box on her desk she had just bought that morning. Usually, she doesn’t use the business credit card for herself, but that day, she used the card because she needed the tissues.
When her second daughter was born, Bridget gave her the same middle name. “God puts people where you need them,” she said. “I needed her.”
Samantha Hope Hiler is now 27, married, and raising a daughter of her own — Ruthie, almost 2. They get together every Monday for dinner. “We have such a strong bond that we call ourselves the real-life Gilmore Girls,” Samantha said. “But without the coffee addiction,” Bridget added with a smile. “More like a Mountain Dew addiction.”
Much of Bridget’s life has been about holding close what she loves, from the memories that fill her home to the faith that carries her through loss. Her father, an Army veteran, passed away earlier this year on Valentine’s Day. Since then, the ache has settled deep into her family. Bridget once suggested her mother get a dog, something small to care for, to keep her company. But her mother wasn’t ready; Bridget understood.
At Ruggles Campground, where she leads a Bible study called Walk to Emmaus, she talks about second chances, timing and signs. Anytime she thinks about stopping the cat rescue, she said, “a donation shows up out of nowhere. I think it’s a God thing.”
Hope, for Bridget, isn’t just a name passed down through generations. It’s a way of living, a quiet faith that even in loss, there is purpose, and in caring for others, there is healing.
