Last year, I was interviewed for a documentary on the rising cost of veterinary care, and the challenges this is causing for both owners and veterinarians. As many of you know, this is a topic I deal with extensively in my book. We spent more than $15 billion dollars on vet care for our animal companions in the U.S. alone in 2015, handing over our credit cards for everything from routine exams to open heart surgery. It’s great that we live in an age where we can provide almost human-like medicine to our cats and dogs, but how much is too much to spend? Should people go broke trying to save their pets? And what sort of ethical dilemmas does this create for both owners and veterinarians?
The documentary–a CBC program called Pets, Vets and Debts–delves into some of these issues, and I’m excited to be a part of it. You can see a promo for the doc above, and read more about it at the link in the previous sentence. Unfortunately, you need to reside in Canada to watch the program over the web. I hope they will make it available to the rest of the world soon!
Illustration of Javan leopard cat from Richard Lydekker’s “A hand-book to the Carnivora”, 1896. (Wikimedia Commons)
In 2013, I wrote about the idea that the rise of the housecat was inevitable. A study had just come out indicating that cats were domesticated in China 5,000 years ago. If true, this would have represented a second domestication events for cats, since we already knew they had first been domesticated in the Middle East about 10,000 years ago. And because both events purportedly involved farmers taming local felines and seemed to have occurred twice in such different places and such different conditions, I argued that the rise of farming was destined to give rise to the cat.
But there was one caveat: Back in 2013, researchers weren’t sure what type of cat they had found in the ancient Chinese villages. Did the feline bones dug up from the site (which showed signs that the animals ate human food and were well cared for, hence the idea they were tame or domesticated) belong to Near Eastern wildcats (Felis silvestris lybica), the ancestors of today’s house cat and the first cats to be domesticated about 10,000 years ago in the Middle East? Or were they a different species of feline, perhaps one of the small local wildcats such as the Central Asian wildcat (Felis silvestris ornata) or the leopard cat (Prionailurus bengalensis)? If the former, the cats likely came to Chinese farming villages via ancient trade routes and were already domesticated. If the latter, Chinese villagers may have embarked on a completely separate domestication of the cat from a local species.
For the first time, the FBI will track animal cruelty the same way it tracks other crimes like homicides. The move is the latest example of the evolving status of animals—especially cats and dogs—in our society. But what prompted the FBI’s decision, and how does it change law enforcement’s approach to animal abuse? Here’s everything you need to know:
What was the FBI’s previous approach to animal cruelty?
Animal cruelty is a felony in all 50 states. (South Dakota, the last holdout, strengthened its laws in 2014.) Penalties can be up to $125,000 in fines and 10 years in prison. Yet until now, the FBI didn’t keep specific tabs on these crimes, lumping them into a catch-all category of “other”. Because of this, the agency didn’t have good stats on how dogfighting, for example, varied from state to state, or how often animal cruelty was associated with other crimes like gun violence or domestic abuse. The FBI also couldn’t track the overall question of whether animal abuse was on the rise or decline in the U.S., according to The Washington Post.
What meets the FBI’s definition of “animal cruelty”?
The FBI, according to the Post, defines cruelty to animals as: “Intentionally, knowingly, or recklessly taking an action that mistreats or kills any animal without just cause, such as torturing, tormenting, mutilation, maiming, poisoning, or abandonment.” The agency has created four categories of animal abuse: Neglect (which could include starvation, leaving an animal chained up or in the cold, or perhaps even not providing necessary medical care), intentional abuse and torture, organized abuse (ex. dog fighting), and bestiality.
One of the biggest mysteries of biology is why some animals live longer than others. Of course, we care about our own lifespans, but increasingly scientists (and others) have begun to wonder about the lifespans of our pets. Why do cats and dogs only live a dozen or so years? Why do small dogs live longer than big ones? And is there anything we can do to help our pets live longer?
One of my favorite reporting trips for my book, Citizen Canine, was my visit to New Orleans in early September of 2012. It was the seventh anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and I had come to the city to learn about how the storm had fundamentally changed the way our society views cats and dogs. Nearly half of the people who stayed behind during the disaster stayed because they refused to leave their pets, and in the aftermath of the storm Congress passed a law that impelled rescue agencies to save pets as well as their owners during natural disasters. Katrina helped turned dogs and cats into something more like people in the eyes of the law.
One of my main reasons for coming to New Orleans was to meet a woman named Charlotte Bass Lilly. Nearly everyone I spoke to before heading out told me I had to talk to her, and after spending a few minutes with her I could see why. Charlotte had lived in the city for decades, working for various animal rescue organizations. But when Katrina hit, she took her passion for animals to a whole new level. She stayed behind, wading into toxic waters to rescue cats and dogs, breaking into abandoned homes to save starving pets, and setting up hundreds of feeding stations in the months after the storm to care for the orphans of Katrina. She saved more than 500 pets on her own, and in the aftermath of the disaster, she became the leader of Animal Rescue New Orleans, a no-kill shelter that has adopted out more than 8,000 dogs and cats to date. I chronicled her story in my book and in a recent piece I wrote for BuzzFeed for the 10th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.
Cats in Madagascar (Credit: Hery Zo Rakotondramanana / flickr)
You take a fat cat, and cut its throat, and after it is dead, behead it and throw the head away, because it is not something to be eaten because it is said that those who eat the brains will lose their minds and lack judgment.
So begins a recipe in Llibre de Coch, a 15th-century Spanish cookbook and one of the oldest in Europe. Today, most people in the western world would turn away in disgust if they saw cat on the menu, regardless of whether or not they were a fan of the world’s most popular pet. But people do eat cats—millions of felines a year, in fact, and four million in Asia alone, according to a study published this month in Anthrozoös.
Why do they do it? Cats (and dogs) have long been on the menu in China—it’s considered a delicacy by some—though the government has begun to crack down on the practice as both animals have become more popular pets there. But it many places it’s not clear why people eat cats, or even how they obtain them.
To get some answers, the authors of the Anthrozoös study turned to the island nation of Madagascar, home to a rapidly growing—and impoverished—human population. The researchers speculated that given the high rates of malnutrition and the large number of pet and feral cats found across the country, that the Malagasy would turn to felines for food.
Hurricane Katrina was a transformative moment in our relationship with cats and dogs. Here’s me on PBS NewsHour discussing how the storm and its aftermath forever changed how we treat pets during natural disasters.
Nearly half the people who stayed behind during Hurricane Katrina stayed because of their pets. Helicopters and boats would come, but the rescuers largely refused to take cats and dogs. So many owners, unwilling to abandon a family member, refused to go — and many of them died. Others did leave their pets, convinced they would be able to retrieve them in a few days. But officials kept them out for weeks, leaving the animals to fend for themselves. Dogs waited on rooftops, cats clung to debris in toxic waters, and pets starved to death in barricaded homes.
Even for a nation grappling with the human tragedy of Katrina, the plight of dogs and cats struck a nerve. The public flooded Congress with letters, and in 2006 the legislature — despite being bitterly divided over war, immigration, and seemingly every other issue — passed the Pets Evacuation and Transportation Standards (PETS) Act with near unanimous support. That law, which impels rescue agencies to save pets as well as people during natural disasters, and the public outcry that inspired it, marked a turning point in our relationship with cats and dogs. No longer would we see them as pets or even companion animals. They had become members of society.
For the full story of the largest animal rescue in U.S. history, and how the storm forever changed our relationship with cats and dogs–both in our homes and in the eyes of the law–check out my new article in BuzzFeed: How Hurricane Katrina Turned Pets into People
If you’re a cat lover, you probably see your feline friend as a love sponge with a wild streak. If you’re a cat hater, you probably see cats as feral and strange. It turns out that this debate has played out in scientific circles as well. Researchers, it seems, can’t agree on whether cats are a domesticated species or if they are instead only “semi-domesticated.” In my new article for Slate, I delve into the legal and scientific history of the world’s most popular pet. So are cats wild or domestic? You’ll have to decide for yourself.
In the meantime, here’s an excerpt to ponder:
Cats are descended from some of the world’s most fearsome predators. They can be aloof and mysterious, and when they go outside they blend into the savage world around them, stalking, growling, and leaping—their eyes wide, their ears back, their teeth bared. They are the kings of their backyard jungles. Yet they give it all up to be with us—a loud, erratic, and sometimes incomprehensible species. When they cross our thresholds, the beast fades away. They tame us, and they are tamed by us. Cats may have retained a bit of their wild ancestry, but they always come home.