On a rainy Friday in November, Feinberg drives me in his beaten-up Toyota to Island Park, about 50 miles outside Manhattan, to see what will become the organisation’s new headquarters. Until now the men have worked out of their homes, and they often get together in car-parks and drive-through restaurants. A friend of Rescue Ink has just donated a small, derelict house that sits on three quarters of an acre overlooking a creek. There is a disused boat warehouse that Feinberg wants to renovate so that animals can be temporarily housed there if the local laws will allow it (they are waiting to hear). During the men’s downtime they have been clearing the house of debris and repairing what they can. The wooden steps up to the door have rotted away. Inside, on an old fridge, someone has written the group’s motto in big black letters: you abuse, you lose. There will be an office here, one of the bedrooms will, they hope, be used to house kittens and puppies, and there will be a sitting-room where the men can hang out between jobs. 'When we get together, no one is talking about sports or motorbikes any more – all the guys talk about is animals and the cases they have covered,’ Feinberg says.