Zen of Cat Walking

Based on my experience and verified by the interviews I’ve conducted with others, there are three main categories that cats fall into when it comes to walking. While these groupings are distinct, they are really a continuum, so your cat may fall somewhere between groups. If your cat seems skittish one day for no apparent reason, remember that just because you can’t identify the catalyst doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Our cats move in and out of our world, experiencing and processing their surroundings from a different vantage and perspective than our own. We are not cats and they are not us, despite our affinity.

Watching a cat pivot suddenly and sniff at a bush leaves me wondering if we really can grasp what’s going on in their minds when they’re taking in odor. On the surface, they’re taking note of the passing of another animal, but the intensity and determination makes me wonder if more isn’t going on here. It seems as if all of their senses have come into play. The cat seems mesmerized, unaware of his physical surroundings for a couple seconds as he decodes the message left there. How much information does scent carry? How does the Jacobson’s organ come into play? Cats tend to use the Jacobson’s organ even in instances when the smell is so strong that even us humans pick it up. If the organ was used just to amplify the scent, it wouldn’t be necessary in many of the cases where it’s used. Is taste involved? Do traces of images flutter through their brains, showing them who passed by this way? Or is it even more tangible than that, the equivalent of a head butt or an embrace?

A cat’s sense of smell is better than our own by a factor of fourteen. When you think about it, that’s so extreme that maybe it transcends what we think of as smell. Try to imagine what it would be like to have a sense of smell fourteen times more keen than the one you currently have. It would definitely be your superpower. Keep this in mind when you’re out on a walk and your cat, for no apparent reason, stops and refuses to continue on.

We know that cats have an additional organ, the vomeronasal organ or Jacobson’s organ, in the roof of the mouth. Cats, and other animals who have the Jacobson’s organ, open their mouths when they’re taking in a scent and seem to breathe in the odor. The action looks odd; as if the cat is in a trance as it stands immobile, its mouth open. This openmouthed pose is called the Flehman Response, and it’s believed that it aids in identifying pheromones and the readiness of females to mate. Sounds logical, but invites the question, what else is going on here? How does this manifest in the cat’s brain? Does it create images? Do they taste what they smell? Does it trigger an emotional response? What’s happening when they use this additional scent organ?

We don’t know, but we do know that it far surpasses what we take for scent. Cats do respond differently on different days. As illustration, the first cat I ever leash trained, Cougar, was a brave cat. He loved his walks so much that when he missed them he would pace around the apartment. The world beyond the big door was awaiting him.

On one walk I took him out and he immediately began pulling me down a row of cars. It was our usual direction, so I totally acquiesced. As we passed car after car, he continued on, until suddenly, he took a sharp right between two cars. When we got to the back of the cars, there was a dead rat on the ground. He’d smelled it from the moment we left the apartment and pulled me directly to it. It was amazing and opened my eyes to a whole new world I wasn’t a part of. But that’s not where it ended; on windy days he was, if not downright skittish, hyperalert. He seemed to be responding as if signals were coming to him from all directions at once, and he couldn’t get a handle on what was going on. It was so pronounced that even though he wanted to go out, I usually avoided our walks on windy days. While windy days were verboten, after a rain, he was generally a little subdued. It was as if the rain had washed away many of the ghosts of the past and cleared the environment of many of the signposts and byways of this other cat world.

While most cats like to eat grass, Grazers spend more time moving from blade to blade than most. The world is one big salad and they want to make sure they get their share. A sunny patch of grass on a mild day is often enough to keep grazers entertained. In fact, for some of them, this is the walk.

Grazers often prefer to hang out in a thicket of grass rather than explore the neighborhood. These cats will often, after eating their fill, decide to sit down in the grass and relax, enjoying the sun, the sounds, and the smells. The walker spends much of the time standing or sitting beside the cat holding on to the leash in case the cat is startled or another animal enters their space. As a walker, this is the perfect time to read, knit, write, or drink a nice cup of tea or coffee. This is a time for both of you to enjoy sharing space and time with each other. Rather than seeing the fact that your cat isn’t much of a “walker,” enjoy the wonderful opportunity to just be with your cat. And while grazers don’t get a lot of exercise, they get the necessary mental stimulation and pleasure from being outside in nature. Can you turn your grazer into more of a trotter? It’s possible and a worthy goal, as long as you can show your cat that getting a little exercise is fun, too. But don’t expect your cat to give up grazing completely. You may be able to reduce its need to graze, not replace it. The first step in redirecting your grazer from its single-minded determination is to purchase a pot of wheat grass from the grocery store or pick up a pot of cat grass from the pet store. Your cat will appreciate it, and if it always has fresh grass available to it, it might not spend so much of its time grazing on your trips outdoors.

To keep your cat safe, make sure your cat doesn’t eat grass that’s been treated with harmful fertilizers, pesticides, or herbicides. When out walking your cat, look for the tell-tale signs of a recent lawn treatment: visible chemicals on the lawn or surrounding sidewalk, a wet lawn that may have just been treated, or lawns so green and weed-free that they look artificial. In addition to ingesting chemical-laden grass, your cat could get poisoned from licking the chemicals off its fur and paws. If you suspect your cat walked across a treated lawn or through a tainted area, immediately clean its paws and coat with a damp cloth upon returning home.

Observers like to investigate every crack and crevice in their environment. Some will want to cave; they’ll want to get out of sight and observe their world from a protected space. Of the three types, this may be the most fearful and the most difficult to acclimate. Observers often love window seats in the home, where they can safely observe the goings on of their world without interaction. These cats generally benefit from longer real-world acclimation periods. Your challenge will be to encourage your observer to become a more active participant. Start small, meaning short five- to ten-minute walks where you don’t let the cat cave, but encourage movement and exploration. Success with observers often results in cats that are less fearful around company and more likely to join in on the fun.

Cats are not dogs. I can’t stress this enough, but trotters, as their name implies, trot. These cats seem to have someplace to go and getting there is half the fun. They tend to be more social cats, cats who don’t mind meeting strangers or being petted by people they don’t know. This is the smallest group, but the most visible, as owners of trotters are more likely to continue the training process and their walks. Trotters generally take to walking on a leash much quicker than cats in the other two groups. But like all cats, even trotters will have days when they don’t feel nearly as social or brave. The world around them dictates their mood more than dogs and you should remember that even trotters like to stop and smell the roses from time to time.

If you’ve already begun training your cat, you’ve probably already decided which type of cat you have. But here’s the thing, just like people, cats can and do change over time. As you read through this guide, I’ll provide you with tips that will help you mold your grazer into something more akin to a trotter. But while your cat is capable of changing groups, it generally takes a lot of time and patience before this will happen.

CAT WALKER: CAROLYN OSIER

CAT BREEDER FOR 45 YEARS AS WIL-O-GLEN CATTERY, PUBLISHED CAT WRITER, CFA ALLBREED CAT JUDGE, RETIRED SPANISH TEACHER AND TRANSLATOR, AND CAT WALKER

Carolyn Osier breeds CFA award-winning Abyssinian cats and has trained more than one of her cats to walk at her side. Twenty years ago, she decided to train a very gregarious Abyssinian named Barnum. His people-loving personality made training him to walk on a leash a foregone conclusion.

At the time of the interview, Barnum is no longer with us, but his spirit lives on.

TRAINING DAY

Osier decided it was time to leash train Barnum when he was six months old. “He was a natural meeter and greeter,” Osier explains, “and he wasn’t afraid of dogs.”

Osier is one of the lucky ones; Barnum seemed born to walk on a leash. “It only took a couple of days to train him. As soon as he realized that he could go out, investigate, and meet dogs and people, he took to it right away.”

FOLLOWING THE LEADER

Osier and Barnum would take a walk out to the mailbox, take a tour of the pool area, and explore the neighborhood. A couple of their more unusual trips included a cat show at the mall and to a dinner held by a rescue group.

In all cases, Barnum led, yet Osier made suggestions. “You can’t force a cat to go where you want it to. You follow where it wants to go. I kept pace with him. When I’d suggest a new direction, a conversation ensued. He would sometimes decide, okay, that direction looks interesting. Other times, not.”

TOOLS OF THE TRADE

Osier used a cat harness with Barnum. “I prefer the ones with Velcro closures, though I’ve used harnesses with clips. It’s easier to adjust the Velcro harnesses. I had a Velcro harness that was hand sewn by a seller on the Internet. As long as you can secure it around the neck and chest, it should work. Once, in an emergency, I used a ferret harness.”

Osier stresses the importance of getting a good cat harness before embarking on the training. “Figure 8 and dog harnesses aren’t safe for cats.”

As for leashes, Osier uses standard fabric and leather leashes. She goes for the shorter, 5-foot leashes.

“When you purchase a pedigreed cat, you have some idea of what kind of a personality you’re going to get. Abbys are cats that are out and about and enjoy exploring. More inquisitive cats are better at the leash walking experience.”

—Carolyn Osier

CAT-WALKING TIPS

Osier says the tricky part is getting your cat used to the harness. She suggests you put the harness on and leave the cat alone. Initially, it will be paralyzed. After a while, it will decide it can walk with this thing on and eventually become comfortable with it. Once that happens, you want to put them in a situation in which they have things they like to see. Let them explore, and they will.

“Don’t train,” Osier explains. “Give them the opportunity to watch what’s going on. With all of the Abyssinians I’ve ever worked with, three minutes into the procedure and the cat is ready to walk.”

Osier believes that pedigree can separate the walkers from the window seat inhabitants. “When you purchase a pedigreed cat, you have some idea of what kind of personality you’re going to get. Abbys are cats that are out and about and enjoy exploring. More inquisitive cats are better at the leash walking experience.”

When asked if there was anything else she’d like to share about her walking adventures, Osier gave this piece of sage advice: Never let them take your credit card.

ZAZEN: THE MEDITATIVE CAT

“If we had the consciousness of a cat or a dog, we would have it in us to become perfect Zen masters. We could gnaw on a bone, take a nap, play with a spider until we killed it, get our litter just right, and be innocently and serenely present. Meaning would mean nothing to us, nor would we need it to mean anything. We would be free, and we would be spared. But, we are human beings, and we possess that odd duck—human consciousness.”

—Eric R. Maisel, PhD

Do cats meditate?

It sounds like a foolish question on the surface, one intended for books with less serious aspirations. The questions is not intended to raise eyebrows, but consciousness.

It raised mine.

It began with my consideration of the cat’s purr, that magical rumble that seems to come from within, that doesn’t appear to require a breath, and seems to be the physical manifestation of pleasure.

Science has dissected the mechanics of the purr in an attempt to figure out how our cats make the sound. Oddly, the jury is still out. The most popular theory, described in Wikipedia as speculative, goes something like this: Cats use the vocal folds or the muscles of the larynx to rapidly dilate and constrict the glottis. This causes vibrations when the cat inhales and exhales. Combined with the steady breathing of the cat, purr happens.

Some of the literature describes this theory as fact, but it is neither the only theory nor the first. In the end, we’re just not sure.

If the literature is to be believed, we have a better handle on why cats purr. Our understanding, based primarily on observation, is hampered by the fact that we are not cats and can only hypothesize on what’s actually going on in the cat’s mind. Still, there’s no denying the purr of a happy cat. His joy and calm are palpable and undeniable and his nonstop rumble makes people happy. There’s no doubt in most custodians’ minds that with their purr their cats are professing their love.

Maybe it is. Maybe not. It turns out that cats also purr when they’re dying or incredibly ill or anxious. These conditions, love and death, are pretty far apart. Could something more complex be going on here? Are there other situations where cats purr that aren’t as apparent?

There’s also a more cynical theory that the cat’s purr is a form of manipulation; they realize its impact on us so they use it to keep us providing food, comfort, and shelter. I’m not particularly fond of this hypothesis, partially because I’m a cat fan, but more importantly, I don’t know how anyone could test this. Unlike love, which is impossible to define but easy to feel, this one doesn’t pass the sniff test.

Some people believe that a distressed cat will purr to calm itself, not unlike a meditator chanting a mantra or listening to his breathing to refocus attention away from discursive thoughts. Why would we be the only animals to benefit from meditation? Make no mistake, much cat behavior is enigmatic. Every cat I’ve ever owned was an individual and exhibited at least one behavior that was outside the species norm. Researchers do their best to prove their hypotheses, but in the end, cats hold their most important secrets close.

One of these secrets is its purr.

As I began to seriously consider the connection between mantras and cat purrs, I thought about my own meditation and the fact that my cats are attracted to me when I meditate. That led to more corollary observations, which in the end, led me to believe that cats are the ultimate meditators.

Keep in mind that we know very little about our cats and the world they inhabit. They seem to have one foot in our world and three feet in another; a world of sight and sound and smell that we’re not privy to. And more and more I realize that the things we know about cats, the things we take for granted, are not necessarily the full story.

As a writer and someone who used to live alone, I probably have more quiet time than the average person. And over the years, every cat I’ve ever owned seemed to respond to that quiet. For instance, the first cat I owned after moving out on my own was a gray cat named Grey Gray. Grey Gray was a big love bucket, but he was not a lap cat. Except, of course, when he was. He would only sit in my lap when I was at my desk, engrossed in a creative project on my computer. At those times I was mentally gone, buried beneath the weight of my creations. I wouldn’t see him, but I’d feel him as he climbed into my lap. He would join me in that space outside of place and time and he would rest his head on the back of my left hand and partially close his eyes as I worked. It made typing difficult, but he was so relaxed and happy that there was no way I’d move him. It was shared time, and despite making it hard to type, it was wonderful. One thing you’ll hear from cat owners, over and over again, is that they get “stuck” in one uncomfortable position or another solely to accommodate a cat that has joined them in their repose. Their cat will climb on them and become so relaxed that their owner will become transfixed and literally unable to disturb their cat without feeling a strong sense of guilt. Even the most people-centric cats need their time and space away, and will ignore your cries for them to join you in your world. When they come to us, step out of their world and into ours, it’s always a special time and many of us alter our plans to accommodate them.

Zip forward about a couple decades to one of my current cats, Elinor. Elinor is a small Bengal, no more than seven pounds, and she has a gentle but skittish demeanor. She loves me, but I’m way too tall and ungainly for her, so when I go to pet her she runs. Often, though, she’ll climb her five-foot cat tree, closer now to my height, and solicit petting from there.

I began working from home and allowing Elinor her space. I installed climbing shelves for her (which she adores) and limited my petting to the bare minimum, stopping well before she got overstimulated. To say that these concessions worked is an understatement. But back to the reason for this diversion; when I’m engrossed in work on the computer, Elinor climbs up on the coffee table behind me and taps me on the back so I’ll turn and give her attention.

I think that focus, the all-in nature of writing or studying or creating is as close to meditation as most of us get. When I’m totally engrossed in a project, I go into a state similar to the calm of meditation, and my cats want to be a part of that. It’s kind of like a melding, like we’re sharing a stream of calm.

So okay, they like calm. But that’s not meditation, right?

Right. I’m getting to that. You see, just like our cats, we’re attracted to their calm, too. Watching a cat languorously stretch out a paw, yawn, and go back into that calm place makes us feel good. We often envy the completeness of their calm, their ability to let go of the day’s accumulation and just be. Something we find so hard to do, except when we’re engrossed in an activity like creating, studying, or reading.

The purr as mantra.

Think about it.

Then think about sleep. Cats sleep up to 16 hours a day, but much of that sleep is light. In an article on cats and sleep in the March 2015 issue of Tufts University’s Catnip newsletter, Dr. Beaver, former president of the American Veterinarian Medical Association, said: “Early on, they [cats] had to hunt for food to stay alive, and that desire for food can require a lot of energy. So sleeping helped cats conserve their energy. Even though the common house cat does not have to hunt for its next meal, a cat is still conditioned for sleep. House cats sleep a lot more than feral cats do because they don’t have to spend a lot of time searching for food.” However, a portion of this sleeping time—perhaps as much as 40 percent—is spent resting and not in deep sleep, according to Dr. Beaver.

Forty percent. Resting. That’s an awful lot of their sleep time where they’re not really sleeping. Is that period more akin to a meditative state? Could it be that cats slip in and out of a kind of meditative state that we can only dream of? A prolonged, restful state where the world goes by, observed, but not joined, while they fully relax?

It seems likely. Remember, much of the research on cats is inconclusive. We can only dip so deep into the cat world before we realize we’re in over our heads. So often studies are littered with words like “might,” “may,” and “can,” qualifiers that illustrate our inability to know for certain what our observations mean. The best material on cat behavior comes from those writers and researchers whose research subjects are their own cats. Cats only share glimpses into their world with the people they love and trust. A love and trust that takes months, or years, to earn.

So, when I say I think our cats may be the ultimate meditators, it’s based on the truths my cats have shared with me and the uncanny sense of well-being and calm I get from watching a cat “sleep.”

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