CATS exists to close one specific gap: for a disabled person who needs a caregiver to travel, the extra cost can be the difference between going and staying home. No brief could have told me that — it shaped which stories made the cut and which lines got rewritten, because that’s the difference between copy that reads like paperwork and copy that reads like Vicki’s trip to Thailand actually mattered. What existed of CATS’ own history was scattered across old WordPress.com pages nobody could log into, several Wayback Machine snapshots taken over the years, and a stack of old documents that had never made it onto any website at all.

Some of what I found was worth keeping outright — real testimonials from grant recipients, board biographies with genuine detail, photos from a decade-old fundraiser. Everything else on the site, though, I wrote from scratch — polishing old pages couldn’t fix content that was never really finished. With client input thin on the ground, most of these calls were mine to make. I kept what proved the mission was real and working — the trip stories that showed a grant actually changed someone’s year, board bios that carried decades of lived experience rather than filler — wrote the rest new, and collapsed a dozen wandering, half-finished pages into five that each know exactly what they’re for.