Veterinary behaviorists are last responders. When no one else can help, they swoop in and save the day. It’s a small army, as there are fewer than one hundred veterinarians who are board-certified in animal behavior in North America. Lives saved by their expertise are incalculable.
Here’s what often transpires: The cat’s been urinating on the carpet or scratching the sofa for months or even years, and finally the desperate cat owner takes him to a behaviorist and says, “It’s up to you to fix the problem, or the cat goes.” Not only are behaviorists required to “fix” the problem, but their goal is also to maintain the human-animal bond.
The Internet can be a source of accurate information. However, going to a website can’t tell you why your cat is thinking outside the box or yowling at three a.m. Veterinary behaviorist Dr. Meghan Herron (who coedited this book) told me that when she was in private practice, about half of all her presumed feline behavior problems were, in reality, a result of a medical problem—or at least it was a contributing factor. This is why whenever your cat’s behavior changes, I want you to think, “Why now?” Don’t assume the problem is solely behavioral. Consult your veterinarian, not a website.
When it comes to cats, there are so many misconceptions. For example, many people think cats—even their own beloved cats—may be sinister or spiteful, or that they don’t really bond to humans. That’s simply untrue.
I myself was once guilty of not understanding how intensely cats can bond with people.
Ricky was a handsome, stark-white Devon Rex who loved people. From the start, he demonstrated affection even toward strangers. Ricky loved when people visited. He often smothered our unsuspecting guests with love by hopping on their shoulder and purring into their ear. In part it was because of his breed, but arguably the real secret to his affection was breeder Leslie Spiller, who did a great job of socialization. We continued that process.
One day my wife, Robin, returned from an animal-assisted therapy session with our miniature Australian Shepherd, Lucy. She suggested I teach Lucy a new trick. Lucy knew lots of tricks, even singing to children on cue at the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago. I don’t recall why, but I thought I’d teach her to play a little kid’s piano.
I closed the door of our “training room” (a second bedroom) and began the process of clicker training Lucy. I started by shaping her behavior. As her paw came closer to the keyboard, I would click the clicker and offer a treat. Gradually, she began to learn and would lift her paw toward the keyboard.
But I hadn’t closed the door to the room all the way, and in walked Ricky. He looked at me, looked at the lesser species (the dog), and proceeded to play the piano. No clicker. No treat. (Though I quickly began to reinforce his playing with cat treats.)
It wasn’t long before Ricky was literally jumping through hoops and over dogs on a down-stay, offering high fives, and coming when called. People were amazed.
How could a cat do all that?
Most people assume that cats can’t be trained. In fact, they can—or they train us to continue to work with them, which is exactly what Ricky did.
Ricky began giving recitals at local pet stores and on TV, including the Animal Planet channel and National Geographic Channel. Ricky taught me and millions of others what cats are capable of, and our bond was palpable. Video crews couldn’t help but capture it.
At Ricky’s next checkup, at my veterinarian’s request, he performed a few of his improvisational jazz tunes for the staff and the clients who happened to be there with their dogs—all crowded into a little exam room. After the applause (a standing ovation—there were no seats in the room), Dr. Donna Solomon began the exam by listening to Ricky’s heart. Her face told the story. She heard a murmur. Veterinary cardiologist Dr. Michael Luethy confirmed that Ricky had feline hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (HCM), an abnormal thickening of the heart wall. While medication may slow the disease progress, nothing can stop it. Some cats diagnosed with HCM live out a normal life span; most do not.
Happily, Ricky never read the diagnosis and probably felt well until his final months. As his celebrity grew, I even turned down an appearance on David Letterman’s Stupid Pet Tricks because I wouldn’t fly with Ricky to New York City or drive there from Chicago.
Ricky was only four and a half years old when he suddenly succumbed to HCM in 2002. He just collapsed. I still remember that moment as if it were yesterday.
I was determined to honor Ricky by making a difference. HCM might be the most common cause of death of cats from about three to ten years old. How could such a widespread disease have no effective treatment?
I partnered with the Winn Feline Foundation—a nonprofit funder of cat health and behavior studies—and created the Ricky Fund to raise money for HCM research. Today, we’ve raised well over $250,000. The good news is that with that money a genetic test was developed to detect a gene defect related to HCM in Maine Coon and Ragdoll cats. Breeders using the simple and inexpensive test in their breeding programs have saved lives. Still, my heart breaks, because in the time it has taken you to read this story, a cat somewhere has succumbed to HCM.
Like Ricky did in his short life, Decoding Your Cat busts antiquated myths. Ricky not only stole my heart, he stole the show. He also taught me all that cats can be. And this book does the same.
Cats must no longer be the Rodney Dangerfield of pets; they deserve respect for what they are. If we love cats, it’s only right that we make the effort to better understand what really makes them tick. It’s not quite as mysterious as some people might have us believe.
I was honored to be a coeditor of the companion volume to this book, Decoding Your Dog. That book, also written by members of the American College of Veterinary Behaviorists, was in part motivated by the work of a legendary veterinary behaviorist, the late Dr. R. K. Anderson. An icon in the world of positive reinforcement dog training, Dr. Anderson once told me, “Don’t just do a dog book and be done with it. I leave it to you to follow up with a cat book. People don’t know it, but I’m really more a cat guy. People may tend not to get help as readily for cat behavior problems—or assume they know the answer, which may not be quite right. Please, climb the highest mountain and then holler out that veterinary behaviorists can help cats, too.”
Veterinary behaviorists preach the gospel of science, and everything they do is based on it. Everything you read in this book is based on science as well. Often, it’s veterinary behaviorists who conduct that science to better understand cats in the first place.
It wasn’t too long ago that cats were mostly outdoor pets. Today, most cats in America are indoors only. Cats are more popular than dogs, and most homes with a cat have, on average, just over two cats. Yet we’re still learning about cat behavior. The best teachers have written this book. I know my friend Dr. Anderson would have been yowling with joy—as am I.
STEVE DALE, CABC