Taking Kitty for a Walk
/Originally published August 15, 2000 in The Washington Post
I walk the cat
Or does the cat walk me?
It's not hard to tell
Since I'm up the tree.
Five years ago, you would not hear of making your cat one of those indoor cats. Like some of the estimated 40 million cat owners in America, you believed it was against a cat's nature to be kept indoors.
You thought cats needed to roam freely, that it was natural and good for their little souls, that it helped preserve some universal order. That, however, was before Blanche, your 18-month-old kitty, was stolen, before you knew of Montgomery County's "cat leash law," "requiring" cats to remain on your property or be "arrested" and fined, and before you had practiced the art of cat walking.
While the animal organizations breathed a sigh of relief at your choice (they had warned you of the dangers inherent to the outdoors such as disease, fights, unkind people, etc.), it still was hard keeping your next kitten indoors 24 hours a day.
You endured it for several months, exploring alternatives like fencing, since you were unwilling to risk the agony of losing another beloved pet to any of the fates. You even took the kitten to work with you, but no solution came easy. You felt guilty restricting it and were unable to sustain the effort required of indoor games to entertain your newest energetic household member.
You asked, why not walk him on a leash, kind of a Safe Prowling? You remembered lions and tigers being walked on leashes at the circus, so why not your miniature version?
Begun as a kitten, he walked naturally on a leash and it has led to untold pleasures. Adult cats may take up leash walking when invited, but that is rare. Mostly, if you try to force an adult cat to perform in this way it will plant itself, firm as a mule, gritting its teeth and hurling silent invectives.
Sometimes your catwalks are a circus, for they rarely take place in a purposeful, straight line. Rather, they are erratic, zigzag affairs that include repeatedly running back and forth across the street. The cat is unconcerned that you are at the other end of the leash and may race to the nearest tree, where it scampers halfway up, delighted to have found such a huge scratching post. It may expect you to join it, which you may do if so inclined.
After all, what else are summer's long days and balmy nights for if not exploring nature with your pet? You walk avidly with your cat year-round, in every kind of weather, but summer walks are especially timeless. Sultry mornings find you pajama-clad and groggy before coffee, stepping out under the wide canopy of summer trees into air laced with the scent of pine and wild roses. The is sun tiptoeing over the redbud tree, you are shaking off the sandman or remembering dreams, and your cat is sprawling on the apron of the neighbor's cool concrete driveway, repeatedly and ecstatically rolling its thick white fur over the rough surface.
Suddenly, with little meows, he leaps up and makes a beeline for a patch of tender grass, which he ravenously consumes. All the grazing makes you think sometimes you're walking a cow, but you're also wondering what the indoor cat's eating. A flock of sparrows soars out from behind a house, squirrels scamper in a yard.
After he finishes his salad, you fall to the cat's side and lavish it with kisses. The cat rubs against you.
You both look up as a cardinal lands on the fence. The cat drools. You're thinking, pretty bird. Your cat is thinking, breakfast. "Cat" is just the first half of "catch" and you in pajamas run with your cat to "catch" the bird. You know but the cat does not that a cat on a leash is no match for an airborne cardinal and the bird escapes.
To hide embarrassment, the cat falls into the gutter and pretends to clean its coat, producing a white cat with a mantle of crushed leaves and the fallen blossoms of trees.
The cat signals an invader under the neighbor's van! Quickly, you cross the street to confront the offender, which turns out to be the exotic odor of tires. The cat is captivated. You, too, are crouching down, examining the underbelly of the van to smell what it smells. But of course, you can't, and a good cat will never reveal its methods.
You flick a long strand of crabgrass, the cat pounces. It finds outdoor toys intriguing and you can't beat the price. You walk together as clouds drift by and morning light plays on rooftops and trees.
Summer evening catwalks are particularly delicious, languorous affairs. Evening walks are yin--wide open, relaxing--and seduce you into a pleasure-filled, stress-free zone.
There are times you have cried when you didn't know you needed to. Workday tension dissolves like dust in the rain under wide-open skies painted with pastel sunsets, fiery sunsets, or no sunsets at all. Well-tempered office air is exchanged for the real thing, which you inhale regardless of the air quality index. Stars, shadows, and soft breezes, the lingering scent of fresh mulch, air steeped in ozone after rain, breathtaking walks under moonlight, restore your senses and sensibilities.
Somewhere between houses three and six, you sink into the quiet. Often the cat just sits and so do you. You gaze at the foliage of trees like lace against the blue-black sky. The nightingale's call softens any hard edges in your memory.
You hear the neighbor's gurgling pond stocked with his beloved fish and consider the unfortunate neighborhood cat not on a leash that thought the fish were his personal sushi. You note the graduation of seasons as they subtly unfold, watch the light decrease a little each day.
In near-total darkness at a distance of six feet, the cat discerns a mouse and flushes it from under a bush. It leaps out and flies high into the air, then races right back to the cat, which clearly has plans for it. You are in no mood for a mouse decapitation and divert your cat with the promise of a home-cooked meal, which does not amuse it.
One morning, your partner accompanies you on the walk. Formerly nameless neighbors say hello and you inquire of their health and praise their lawns. You recite stories about almost every house on the cul-de-sac that catch you by surprise: who's moved, who's taking care of a sick mother, who's got a newborn. After six years, you see you're part of a real neighborhood, a community of friends rather than strangers.
Occasionally during a walk, problems you've been grappling with surface and, mysteriously, some innate wisdom floats up to meet them, rendering a clearer view. Looking at life from the outside offers relief from chaos and details pressing in too hard.
Or you find the perfect title for an article you are writing. Satisfied, you scoop up the cat and bring it home to your good cooking. You wish it could reciprocate, but since mouse tartare is not your cup of tea, you forgive its culinary shortcomings.
The pain of losing your kitten years before has sensitized you to all animals. Innocent birds, rabbits and squirrels, even the sidewalk cricket, are at risk. You consider becoming vegetarian although your cat, clearly, does not.
On days when you do not wish to perform a catwalk because you're tired or it's late, the cat will persuade you otherwise. Because it has no intention of relinquishing the walk, it spares no expense, including emitting pitiful wails and sending streams of bodily fluid toward the door.
Kitty insists its neural pathways are stimulated, its synapses fire better, and it is happier altogether through walking.
You know you've become a prisoner of your compassion. The only consolation is in knowing that the cat walkers of New York City, where it is a practiced art, would commiserate.
Reluctantly, you exit with the "monster" you've created. Its senses snap to attention as it lifts its nose to catch lingering aromas and twitches its ears to cicadas, crickets, and many mysterious sounds.
Within seconds, evening's magic has cast its spell and you are lost to yet another catwalk.
Before Setting Out
If you have a happy indoor kitty and are committed to this, don't change it. Cat walking is only for those who love the walk or want to learn the walk, and want it as much for themselves as for the cat. If you choose to walk the cat, here's what you'll need, along with some other advice:
- One willing kitty. Begin under 1 year old. Some adult cats may just be waiting for an invitation to go walking but this is rare. (Kindly never force them.)
- One cat at a time or you will be pulled in 18 directions and may never try it again.
- Small dog harness or small dog collar, fitted securely but not tight. You should be able to get one finger in but the collar should not be loose enough for the cat to escape. Cat may also escape from expandable cat collars so they are not advisable. Use an expandable dog leash instead.
- Once cat is leashed, pick it up and take it outside. This avoids the habit of the cat thinking it can just run outside on its own when door opens.
- Sidewalk, grass, or safe area (i.e. no cars, well lighted) to do the walk.
- Minimum of 10 minutes to as long as you want, twice daily if possible.
- Any weather except for heavy rain. If cat gets wet from snow or light rain, please bring inside and towel dry.
- Continuity. Cats are creatures of habit. Once you begin the walk seriously, plan to continue it or you may have to put cat in therapy. This is costly.
- Flashlight for night walks.
- Avoid encounters with other animals. If you run into another cat or dog, gently and soothingly pick up the cat, turn him away from the animal and head home. Resume the walk another time when neighborhood prowling is down.
* Feed cat after the walk. It will associate coming home with eating. This is desirable.