Run-run-run! Part II

Will is an indoor cat, but he has always made it clear, in his polite
fashion, that he would be willing to accept any chance of an outing that
might be on offer. So I eventually got him a harness and leash, and
though initial trials were not a success, I finally persuaded him that
the harness was not truly more weight than he could carry and he
actually could move with it on. Once he figured out that having the
harness on meant he was going out, he became much more willing to bear
up, and the past two summers he's had some enjoyable "walks".

I put "walks" in quotes because most of the time he has no interest in
getting much exercise, or getting more than a few feet from the house.
Typically, he begins by finding some grass to chew; then he checks the
visitor logs at the corners of the building and the low-hanging branches
of nearby bushes; and then he'll find a spot in the shade where he can
just hang and watch the world. Every few minutes he'll get up and move
in un-hurried fashion to a new vantage point, and somewhere along the
line he'll seek out a warm and sandy spot to have a good roll. But
that's usually the most energy he expends.

I support him vocally in all these activities in the daft-sounding way
that one employs when accompanying a two-year-old on his rambles. "Did
you find some nice grass? Okay, you chomp it good." "Gonna roll the
kitty? That's it, roll the kitty. Yes, yes, I see how cute you are
when you roll the kitty." And on the rare occasion that he actually
does kick up his heels in a kittenish gambol or dart after a wind-blown
leaf, I'll cheer him on with, "Run-run-run, kitty! Run-run-run!"

He's shown so little inclination to run -- and importantly, no
inclination to run toward the road -- that this year I took to letting
him off the leash sometimes. That way he can explore underneath bushes
and pass through porch railings without causing me any grief with the
lead. I even take off his harness so he can better enjoy rolling in the
sand or grass. I have to put the harness back on when it's time to go
back in, though, because he won't go in on his own and requires to be
carried -- and he's never liked to be picked up and held. With the
harness on, I can hold him much more loosely, without fear of his
jumping out of my arms, and that makes the trip easier on both of us.

When the heat finally subsided toward the end of August this year, his
perimeter began to extend a bit. Of course, it made him a little
nervous, exploring beyond his comfort zone, and it didn't help that some
of those days were quite windy. So there were a couple times he
suddenly found it necessary, in response to some perceived evil in the
waving grass, to seek the comfort of the back steps in undignified
haste. I would laughingly call my "Run-run-run, kitty!" as I trailed
behind him.

There came a day when we were well out beyond the vegetable patch --
some 65 yards from the house -- when walk time was over. There was no
wind, and he'd worked up the courage to wander more than twice as far as
ever before. While I was sorting out his harness, I explained to him
that it was time to go in. Then, thinking of the long carry ahead of
us, I leaned down and jokingly suggested, "Why don't you run-run-run
right back to the house?" To my jaw-dropping amazement, he proceeded to
do exactly that!

And, WOW! My 17-year-old asthmatic gentlecat can't have lost a
scintilla of his youthful speed. At about the third jump, I saw it dawn
on him that if he was running it must be because there was something
mighty dangerous behind him. He took a wide-eyed look back over his
shoulder, and though I'm sure he actually saw nothing more scary than my
slightly gaping face, he cut in the afterburners and traversed the
remainder of the sixty-five yards in the guise of a periliminal golden
streak.

Now, _I_ don't run-run-run any more, so by the time I caught up with him
he was just lying relaxed in the shade beside the front steps with a
cheeky, what-took-you look on his face -- and not breathing all that
hard, either.

I'll never know, of course, whether he actually understood my
"run-run-run" and decided it suited his fancy to take the suggestion.
He's never again done so -- but as we all know, the fact that he doesn't
choose to run when I urge it doesn't mean he doesn't understand.
--

Wayne M.

On Oct 19, 8:30*pm, Wayne Mitchell wrote:
Will is an indoor cat, but he has always made it clear, in his polite
fashion, that he would be willing to accept any chance of an outing that
might be on offer. *So I eventually got him a harness and leash, and
though initial trials were not a success, I finally persuaded him that
the harness was not truly more weight than he could carry and he
actually could move with it on. *Once he figured out that having the
harness on meant he was going out, he became much more willing to bear
up, and the past two summers he's had some enjoyable "walks".

I put "walks" in quotes because most of the time he has no interest in
getting much exercise, or getting more than a few feet from the house.
Typically, he begins by finding some grass to chew; then he checks the
visitor logs at the corners of the building and the low-hanging branches
of nearby bushes; and then he'll find a spot in the shade where he can
just hang and watch the world. *Every few minutes he'll get up and move
in un-hurried fashion to a new vantage point, and somewhere along the
line he'll seek out a warm and sandy spot to have a good roll. *But
that's usually the most energy he expends.

I support him vocally in all these activities in the daft-sounding way
that one employs when accompanying a two-year-old on his rambles. *"Did
you find some nice grass? *Okay, you chomp it good." *"Gonna roll the
kitty? *That's it, roll the kitty. *Yes, yes, I see how cute you are
when you roll the kitty." *And on the rare occasion that he actually
does kick up his heels in a kittenish gambol or dart after a wind-blown
leaf, I'll cheer him on with, "Run-run-run, kitty! *Run-run-run!"

He's shown so little inclination to run -- and importantly, no
inclination to run toward the road -- that this year I took to letting
him off the leash sometimes. *That way he can explore underneath bushes
and pass through porch railings without causing me any grief with the
lead. *I even take off his harness so he can better enjoy rolling in the
sand or grass. *I have to put the harness back on when it's time to go
back in, though, because he won't go in on his own and requires to be
carried -- and he's never liked to be picked up and held. *With the
harness on, I can hold him much more loosely, without fear of his
jumping out of my arms, and that makes the trip easier on both of us.

When the heat finally subsided toward the end of August this year, his
perimeter began to extend a bit. *Of course, it made him a little
nervous, exploring beyond his comfort zone, and it didn't help that some
of those days were quite windy. *So there were a couple times he
suddenly found it necessary, in response to some perceived evil in the
waving grass, to seek the comfort of the back steps in undignified
haste. *I would laughingly call my "Run-run-run, kitty!" as I trailed
behind him.

There came a day when we were well out beyond the vegetable patch --
some 65 yards from the house -- when walk time was over. *There was no
wind, and he'd worked up the courage to wander more than twice as far as
ever before. *While I was sorting out his harness, I explained to him
that it was time to go in. *Then, thinking of the long carry ahead of
us, I leaned down and jokingly suggested, "Why don't you run-run-run
right back to the house?" *To my jaw-dropping amazement, he proceeded to
do exactly that!

And, WOW! *My 17-year-old asthmatic gentlecat can't have lost a
scintilla of his youthful speed. *At about the third jump, I saw it dawn
on him that if he was running it must be because there was something
mighty dangerous behind him. *He took a wide-eyed look back over his
shoulder, and though I'm sure he actually saw nothing more scary than my
slightly gaping face, he cut in the afterburners and traversed the
remainder of the sixty-five yards in the guise of a periliminal golden
streak.

Now, _I_ don't run-run-run any more, so by the time I caught up with him
he was just lying relaxed in the shade beside the front steps with a
cheeky, what-took-you look on his face -- and not breathing all that
hard, either.

I'll never know, of course, whether he actually understood my
"run-run-run" and decided it suited his fancy to take the suggestion.
He's never again done so -- but as we all know, the fact that he doesn't
choose to run when I urge it doesn't mean he doesn't understand.

Oh, that was good. We get some indoor zoomies from Sunrise and the
puppy Samantha but his run was unequaled.

--
Will in New Haven

Wayne Mitchell wrote:


Will is an indoor cat, but he has always made it clear, in his polite
fashion, that he would be willing to accept any chance of an outing that
might be on offer. So I eventually got him a harness and leash, and
though initial trials were not a success, I finally persuaded him that
the harness was not truly more weight than he could carry and he
actually could move with it on.

And also that it doesn't possess any taser-like properties. From
some stories I've heard here, cats turn into dead weights after having
a harness put on them, as though they're doing civil disobedience by
"going limp".

I put "walks" in quotes because most of the time he has no interest in
getting much exercise, or getting more than a few feet from the house.
Typically, he begins by finding some grass to chew; then he checks the
visitor logs at the corners of the building and the low-hanging branches
of nearby bushes; and then he'll find a spot in the shade where he can
just hang and watch the world. Every few minutes he'll get up and move
in un-hurried fashion to a new vantage point, and somewhere along the
line he'll seek out a warm and sandy spot to have a good roll. But
that's usually the most energy he expends.

Before I gave in and let Smudge go outside without restrictions, I tried
taking her out on a leash. She was excited about it and did expend some
energy, but she clearly did not get the memo about the shortest distance
between two points being a straight line. Or maybe she got it, guffawed,
and threw it aside. Her meanderings took us quite a long time to walk maybe
a block, and I realized this wasn't going to be an exercise walk for me
like it might be if I were walking a dog. What was I thinking??

I support him vocally in all these activities in the daft-sounding way
that one employs when accompanying a two-year-old on his rambles. "Did
you find some nice grass? Okay, you chomp it good." "Gonna roll the
kitty? That's it, roll the kitty. Yes, yes, I see how cute you are
when you roll the kitty."

LOL. And when you're saying it to a cat, you not only sound daft, you
look daft, too. I say this as a person who chats with Roxy from the
street, while she's looking down from the second floor window. And I can't
leave before cooing at the pretty black cat sitting in a first-floor window.
"Daft" is probably the mildest thing some of my neighbors would come up
to describe me.

He took a wide-eyed look back over his
shoulder, and though I'm sure he actually saw nothing more scary than my
slightly gaping face, he cut in the afterburners and traversed the
remainder of the sixty-five yards in the guise of a periliminal golden
streak.

You have a better vocabulary than dictionary.com, which has apparently
never heard of the word "periliminal". Neither have I. But I'm picturing
Will running so fast that his movement looks like a continuous line, a
golden, glowing line that remains on your retinas long after he's done
running.

Joyce

--
Loneliness is comforted by the closeness and touch of fur to fur,
skin to skin, or -- skin to fur. -- Paul Gallico

wrote:

has apparently
never heard of the word "periliminal". Neither have I. But I'm picturing
Will running so fast that his movement looks like a continuous line, a
golden, glowing line that remains on your retinas long after he's done
running.

That's pretty close. The intent was to suggest that the speed was so
great that, though the motion could be detected, the object in motion
could only be perceived as formless.

"Periliminal" means approaching the limits of human perception. (Compare
"subliminal", which means below the limits of human perception.)

--

Wayne M.

Wayne Mitchell wrote:

wrote:

has apparently
never heard of the word "periliminal". Neither have I. But I'm picturing
Will running so fast that his movement looks like a continuous line, a
golden, glowing line that remains on your retinas long after he's done
running.

That's pretty close. The intent was to suggest that the speed was so
great that, though the motion could be detected, the object in motion
could only be perceived as formless.

"Periliminal" means approaching the limits of human perception. (Compare
"subliminal", which means below the limits of human perception.)

Ah, thanks. I just looked up "liminal" and it is defined almost as you
are defining "periliminal" - a sensory threshold. I guess liminal means
the threshold itself, or something that is at that threshold, whereas
periliminal means *almost* at that threshold? So maybe you'd experience
a periliminal perception as a hunch, or maybe a psychic event.

Joyce

--
If an animal does something, they call it instinct. If we do exactly
the same thing for the same reason, they call it intelligence.
-- Will Cuppy