Tortie Tuesday: Is Heather an Alpha Pet?

(Status update: I received my $260 out of that $300 for that e-book! Yesss! Last week I also received $20 for four more paid, planned blog posts. The local lurker didn't choose a topic; Tweeps suggested "alpha pets."

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Because #TortieTuesday posts are supposed to be cute, I did actually ask my senior cat Heather whether she considers herself an Alpha Pet. She purred "yes"--but a lot of guessing takes place in "conversations" between humans and pets, even Listening Pets. Heather is indisputably a pet, and does she ever know it. I'd be surprised if she had any idea what "alpha" means.

According to some people tweeting about this topic, a lot of dog owners don't have the idea either. They inadvertently reward undisciplined or even aggressive behavior, then say "It's just an alpha dog" and either indulge the dog until it does something unforgivable, or write it off and put it up for adoption. Or they misread good advice about maintaining the animal's respect as meaning that they need to bully and abuse the animal until, pushed too far, it fights back.

This writer knows his malamutes...but in order to understand what he said about them, at least read his general dog book.

A good leader doesn't beat you up, but keeps you thinking and learning. 

Harrumph. The position of this web site is that, first of all, most social animals' status hierarchies aren't set in cement. Most if not all animals that recognize leader or "alpha" and follower or "beta" roles play both roles in relation to different members of a group of their own species. The animal who actually becomes the leader is likely to have valuable assets, which may include fighting prowess and aggressiveness, or may be more a matter of seniority, cleverness, food-finding skills, communication skills, and willingness to share. Since humans have superior seniority and cleverness, any self-respecting human should be able to maintain a solid leadership position among dogs.

That said, an animal whose survival assets make it a leader among its own kind is likely to make a great pet for any human who wins its respect. Humans are born with the ability to win the respect of most animals that show any capacity for respectful social relationships at all. How to build and maintain mutually respectful social relationships, with humans or with other animals, is something we can never afford to stop learning.

A third point that's not always as obvious to humans as it should be is that leadership positions in groups of animals are not usually gained or maintained by violence. Yes, most animals play-fight. Yes, superior strength and fighting moves can be among a leader's assets. However, who wants to follow a leader who harms his followers? Animals like to follow a leader who improves their chances of surviving and reproducing, not one who lowers their chances. An occasional nip, slap, or kick may be used to stop undesirable behavior, but if you watch animal groups for very long you'll see that the leaders maintain their status by actually leading the followers (to food, or to other benefits) and sharing the rewards of following. Challenging outsiders with a threat display may be part of leadership, but most of these threat displays are bluffs. Most of the time, other animals respond to a threat display by recognizing the bluffer's claim and backing off. Animal fights make dramatic TV shows but most animals rarely if ever get into a serious fight.

Some animals really like being followers. They may be big enough, strong enough, and smart enough to be quite good "accidental" leaders, but they're glad to fall into line as soon as someone else seems willing to take the lead. They can be wonderful pets, though they seldom become the subjects of great pet stories.

Grayzel was a tough, adventurous social cat who liked to be a follower. Most of the time her sisters Mogwai and Bisquit seemed dominant, and even the kittens seemed dominant over Grayzel as they grew up. Nevertheless they respected Grayzel's claims when Grayzel did assert herself; it was just that she seldom did.

There are occasional records of humans who've lived in social relationships with animals where the animals really were the leaders. Human scientists really have experimentally interacted with wolves in the way Jean Craighead George imagined a runaway teenager doing, and found it possible to convince a big strong wolf who could easily eat a human that the human is innocent and cute enough that the wolf should treat it like a foster pup instead.

For how long would Julie really have been safe in the wolf pack after Amaroq died? Who knows?

For a good long time, Farley Mowat thought.

However, when humans live in "submissive" relationships with other animals (reportedly apes and even badgers, as well as canines), it's always in environments where the other species has a clear survival advantage over a lone human. In humans' homes, humans have the clear survival advantage; an animal who shares a human's home is acting on its follower instincts toward the human, and will probably continue to do so unless the human miseducates it. (That's why some wild or feral animals who have bonded with a human won't willingly stay in or near the human's house. They feel safer in their kind of environment.)

While some animal species are much more compatible with humans than others, there's always a continuum between human-friendly and human-hostile animals. Human-hostile individuals born in "domestic" species tend to have short unpleasant lives.

The story of how Flicka became tame was fiction. The story of how her mother ("Rocket, the loco mare, daughter of the Albino") went feral was fact-based, and not terribly uncommon. The story of how Flicka was separated from her mother's bad influence was sad, gruesome, and unfortunately true to what happens--all too often, according to Monty Roberts, who thought many feral horses could be tamed by the right approach. 

However, even Monty Roberts failed to retrain one memorable horse who wasn't even feral, but had been taught to "hug people's necks" when he was a little colt. This cute trick became more dangerous every month as the colt grew up, and made him an unintentional hazard to human life as an adult. Horses can rest their forelegs on other horses without crippling or killing them, so how can you teach a horse that that's not possible with humans? Fortunately, most horses never think of doing it! Entirely because of bad training, a friendly horse had to be euthanized.

Some animals do seem to feel that they'd make a better leader than their human is currently being. Some animals do play roughly--or, rather, the same nips or claw-grabs that feel pleasant to another dog, cat, or horse's hide damage humans' thinner skin. However, an animal who seriously bites, goes for a human's eyes or throat, or even seems to experienced observers as if it might do those things, is not making a friendly challenge for leadership; it's making a panicky defensive display that needs to be subdued and extinguished, not rewarded, and not punished with physical abuse. An animal making a challenge for leadership is more likely to pull hard on the leash, ignore commands it's learned to follow, continue whining or barking or jumping up and down for attention--and that kind of behavior also needs to be subdued and extinguished, but the challenge is doing it while simultaneously showing the animal that the human is a good leader.

For young human children, a hint of submissive behavior can be effective with a basically gentle animal who just knows that the child is not fit for a leadership position. A mare's or cow's corrective behavior, if a child does something the mother animal doesn't want done around her foal or calf, is just too dangerous; small children should just be kept away from large young animals. Most domestic animals' protective parent displays are done with care not to do real harm to the child, and sometimes a dog, cat, chicken, or even goat can defend its young from a human toddler more effectively than a human adult can.

My first pet was an alpha female hen--one of the "Game" breed originally developed for commercial fighting, but prized by Green farmers for their beauty, loyal friendship if they do become tame, and willingness to protect their young. I admired the hen but was small enough, at age five, to be intimidated by her protective-mother threat display. I was offering fresh greens to her babies through a screen of chicken wire, and that hen looked as if she were going to come right through that screen and attack me. I backed down fast. The hen recognized that I'd backed down, and instantly became friendlier. I could sense that she was nonverbally saying, "Come back and be friends." So I did, and although that hen was too old to become a cuddly pet, she and I got along well for the rest of her life. She'd let me reach in under her and remove other hens' eggs from the nest box, or tell me when to wait while she added her own egg to the rest. 

I was wary of dogs up to about age ten, not because I was afraid they'd bite me, but because I didn't like to have dogs jump up in my face and bark, either. My brother, as a small child, liked dogs enough to be willing to defuse this basic territorial display by lying down and making a submissive puppy display, as Julie does in the novel. It worked for him but I wasn't willing to do it. I didn't really like dogs--although there were a few memorable exceptions--until I grew big enough that dogs greeted me as an adult human; I have vivid memories of being able to enjoy the company of more dogs, and specifically of bigger dogs, during each of my primary school years.

When adult humans let a dog dominate their relationship, something is wrong, and the dog knows it. That kind of relationship is dangerous for humans and dogs. Unfortunately, if the only way the human can think of to "show the dog who's boss" is to beat the dog, choke it, or starve it, the dynamic goes from dog-dominant-over-incompetent-human-friend to dog-planning-revolt-against-abusive-human-enemy--and even small dogs can do quite a lot of damage if they ever become convinced that they have to defeat a human enemy.

On the other hand most social animals do learn to share leadership. While Irene and Ivy were alive, though all three definitely fit the more accurate stereotype of "calico divas" who lap up all the attention they can get, Heather, Irene, and Ivy were a perpetually fascinating example of how three social cats optimized and pooled their individual assets. 

Here long, lean Heather shows her profile, while stocky Irene faces the camera. Though only half sisters, they were closer to each other than most cats are to full siblings. Despite their different body shapes, each cat's healthy weight was about ten pounds...and Irene tended to grow fat in winter.

Cute as her face was with those "eyebrows," what Ivy was doing in this picture was nonverbally telling one of Heather's kittens, "I won't let that camera hurt you." Ivy was technically Heather's aunt on their mother's side and half-sister on their father's side, but lost her mother to glyphosate poisoning early in life, and was reared as an adoptive sister. Ivy was the only one of her mother's four kittens who lived to maturity. She seemed to choose not to have kittens after having one litter that didn't survive, and she never was quite as big and strong as Heather; her healthy weight was only seven or eight pounds.

Heather was the hunter, Irene was the homemaker, and Ivy was the communicator. Each of the three really wanted to be petted first and longest, and would act miffed, but not seriously annoyed, if another one was petted first. They played, hunted, reared kittens, and showed new cats the rules, as a team. They were gentle cats (Heather still is), and seemed completely bewildered when an antisocial cat ignored tactful territorial displays and tried to claim their territory by force. It wasn't even that they were intimidated off their own turf; it was more like, "Say whaaat? We don't fight other cats, here! What kind of cat can't understand that?!" as the cat family surrounded and comforted the more vulnerable individuals the hateful cat attacked. Irene sometimes seemed to enjoy being a follower to her more active sisters, but Heather's failure (or refusal) to fight in defense of her family clearly showed that, for some social cats, being a leader has nothing to do with fighting.

Jeffrey Masson has made more of a study, both of the nuances of his own dog pack and of literature about dogs wild and tame, in a full-length book that cites many other great animal stories:

I wrote more about this book at https://priscillaking.blogspot.com/2016/10/book-review-dogs-never-lie-about-love.html .

Wild canines often show a clear division of leadership between an alpha male and an alpha female, with the female deferring to the male in some situations and the male deferring to the female in other situations, and both (usually a mated pair) taking the lead over the rest of the pack. Wild horses, too, often have an alpha male and an alpha female; which one actually does more "herding" and "dominating" seems to vary from herd to herd. Social cats, I've been bemused to see, can have similar patterns. If a male does spend time among the females, although female cats usually let males dominate at mealtimes (unless they're nursing mothers or half starved), the females set the rules about the care of kittens and the general rules of etiquette for the pride...and my rescued feral cat Mackerel, who grew up to be a big strong tomcat, definitely enforced the rules on behalf of his tiny but tough little sister Polly. 

The more closely observers watch wild animals' social behavior, the more likely they seem to be to report patterns of shared leadership. One animal may generally set the rules, but another one may lead a particular group activity. Sometimes a large aggressive animal (like Mac) seems to enforce rules set by a smaller animal; Mac often seemed to me like a knight pledged to serve his ladies (both Polly and me); some other alpha male animals seem like loyal sons of perhaps aging mothers. So it may not always be a bad thing to let an animal lead in situations where the animal is qualified to do so. 

Before my home had become a Cat Sanctuary, our Founding Queen Black Magic had taught me that it can be useful for both humans and animals to identify things an alpha animal can do more efficiently than a human can, and ask the animal nicely to do those things. Magic had adopted some kittens who had ear mites. Their prescription medication was supposed to be kept chilled and dropped into the kittens' ears twice a day. (I'm glad to report that our current vet prescribes a formula that's effective at room temperature.) The still-nursing kittens made it clear that if I got any of that stuff into their ears, it would be after a real fight, and the kittens would hate me forever. Magic observed the situation and looked at me in a way that suggested that she might be able to help. I asked her. Nicely. And she walked over and tilted her head, took the treatment, then looked at the kittens in a way that clearly told them, "Now you do that." And they lined up in their usual order (they were the ones I could only ever think of as One, Two, and Three, because they did everything in order) and took their treatment. Magic was as loyal and protective a friend as any I've ever had; her awareness that being a cat made it possible for her to do things humans can't do never affected her friendship.

If you have any potential at all for leadership in a group of animals, a recognizable alpha animal can be your best friend and ally. (I didn't consider myself qualified to be a cat owner before Magic was literally thrust into my hands. Magic trained me to be the "feral cat whisperer" I've since become.) Once the animal others of that species are willing to follow becomes willing to follow you, the whole group will follow you. This is the easy way to herd horses and cattle who aren't your pets or special friends: get the "Bossy" cow or lead horse(s) to respond to calls, and most of the time the others will follow them; get the alpha animal to walk into an unfamiliar place, and most of the time the others will go in too. It's definitely a key to herding or taming feral cats, and it helps with dogs too. 

You do have to stay in touch with an active, inquisitive alpha animal who wants to lead the others to do new things that the group will enjoy, think of ways to distract them if those things aren't what humans want, and in some cases be willing to give up an alpha animal who wants to do something that can't be allowed. Mogwai, my "Glenn Cunningcat" who survived a crippling illness and became a big strong athletic Queen Cat, rather quickly became bored with only learning words and doing cute poses. I loved Mogwai dearly, but I had to send her away, and condemn her to what she probably found a boring life once the novelty wore off, because as a farm cat her idea for adding more fun and excitement to the cats' lives was following a dog pack and raiding chicken pens.

A few years ago this web site mentioned a local Dog Sanctuary, owned by big strong alpha-type humans who felt up for a challenge, fostering a retired greyhound. Greyhounds are a very special sort of dog, bred to be so gentle, quiet, even clean (by dog standards) as to invite comparison with horses. Though racing greyhounds aren't allowed to form social bonds except by racing, once allowed to retire they become pets easily enough. The problem is satisfying their urge to run. Any self-respecting greyhound can run 99% of humans off their feet, and although they don't mind expanding their horizons to include ambling along beside a human runner or jogger, eventually they become bored. After observing the retired greyhound, I'd recommend that humans definitely consider adopting a greyhound--but first fence in a large yard where you can safely turn him loose and let him show everyone how fast he can still run. Greyhounds are proud of this ability, their main asset, and don't want to let it waste away in retirement.

But as these examples show, the potential problem with alpha pets is that they'll break rules and encourage other animals to break rules--not that they'll hurt anybody. Violent aggression is not a sign of leadership. It's a sign of panic and/or illness, typical of animals who've been bullied or abused. 

I don't know to what extent this is true for all feral cats, but among the ones I've observed, there's been a solid correlation: Big strong feral cats who can take care of themselves, like Mac and Graybelle, may back away if they don't want to get close to humans or slap if they're grabbed or cornered, but they don't bite; if they get close enough to touch at all, they're friendly. Tiny scared kittens who, even if they've learned to recognize my scent on their mother, weren't expecting any friend of their mother would be as big and ugly as thaaat, hiss and bite the first time or two they get close enough. After this initial panic reaction subsides, they're likely to be the clingiest cats...in my experience the "diluted red" gene shows up on cats who are smaller and thinner than their siblings, and these cats aaalways seem to hiss at first, then decide they want to be cuddly pets. "Diluted red" cats are a minority, but since Pounce and Bisquit shared and passed on this trait I've seen more than my fair share of this type. My experience has been that, although they can seem hostile on first contact, all pale orange (biscuit-colored, peach-colored, cream-colored) cats want to be loved. Whiny and sneaky behavior seems to go with this type, but subsides when they find someone to bond with. They're not really satisfied to be just one of a cat family; they'll take that position if it comes with food, but they really want to be somebody's very favorite cat in all the world. So they can be jealous pets, clingy pets, not the type I most enjoy living with but the type of cats some people find easiest to like because they're less aloof than others. They're definitely not alpha cats.

How to handle a large animal who's panicky enough to become dangerous? Well, I don't. Space and money were the main reasons why I've lived with more cats than dogs or horses, and lack of experience is the main reason why I can only refer readers to other sources of information about dogs and horses, but the fact is that I've never had to handle an animal whose fear reactions were at all dangerous to humans. Nevertheless, when they're sick and scared enough cats, cat-sized wild animals like raccoons and possums, and even birds can certainly make themselves unpleasant to humans.

As regular readers remember...after Ivy and Irene died, Heather became very lonely. Rather than try to reclaim Violet or Sisawat from their Purrmanent Homes, I looked for a junior social cat who could become a friend for Heather.

Someone recommended to me her "friendly" cat. What was I thinking, that I didn't ask...I remember exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking that this person was willing to part with this cat because she was very ill, and she didn't need to wear herself out talking all day. But I had seen the cat. I might have guessed, but I didn't guess in time, that Suzie-cat's pattern of "friendliness" with humans happened to be identical with Heather's. Both were big, long, lean Queen Cats whose body shape alone warned other cats, "Don't mess with me," and who reinforced their social status by bonding with the human (that's a social asset for social cats!). Both had in fact discouraged junior cats in their social cat families from becoming cuddly pets, although, when Suzie wasn't watching, the junior cats in her family obviously liked being petted. Heather and Suzie did not have complementary talents and, although they didn't fight, neither did they bond. Being kept indoors while a wren was nesting in the hedge was too much, Suzie said; she didn't stay with me long. I've been asked what became of her. I'm not sure, but I have seen a cat who looked like her, who responded to the name "Suzie," and who "was rescued" by neighbors about the time Suzie left the Cat Sanctuary. I believe Suzie has found a lap of her own to curl up on, and if she's in danger, it's from overfeeding.

So Suzie didn't work out as a companion for Heather. Neither did Schatzi, who had attached herself to a place and intended to stay there. (Far from wanting to rebuild her existing family bond with Queen Suzie and her just-weaned kittens, Schatzi wanted to become the Queen at her old home. I'm delighted to see that she was able to do that.) Schatzi's kitten Boots was a real sweetheart; Heather and I were fond of her and were very unhappy when she died after last summer's glyphosate incident. 

Then I found Samantha, not in a shelter, but in urgent danger of being put into one as summer ended and she became less tiny and cute. I talked to her humans and saw that Samantha definitely recognized several words; she knew her name, she knew things her humans had undoubtedly said to her many times, and she even seemed to sense a difference between going to live with me (by her own choice) and being sold (without her consent). As regular readers remembers, I ended up paying more than I would normally have paid for a secondhand but still good-quality backpack, and persuading Samantha to ride out to my house in the backpack.

Samantha is a calico kitten and, in my opinion, still cute. (No, I've not received funding to post her picture here; it'll be here one day.) But, social? She has been socialized to some extent--unfortunately, her first social experiences involved normal cats and middle school boys. 

"Pathetic little thing" and "poor baby" are the phrases Samantha's behavior brings to mind, and "You're getting paid to be a kitten not a possum!" Instead of promenading and purring and cuddling like the kittens who've grown up at the Cat Sanctuary, Samantha sneaks and snarls and cowers like a possum. It gets old and, since even well-intentioned cats have to learn to be careful of fragile human skin, it can get painful. Samantha has become one of those cats, often described as "unpredictable," who will snuggle up beside you but then panic and slap or nip defensively if you make any moves she find unpredictable--like reaching for a glass of water. 

Because cats do play-fight with friends and sometimes enjoy playing with prey, careless observers imagine that this "unpredictable" behavior is further evidence of a mean, cruel, evil nature that cats or at least some cats are just born with. They are so wrong. It's part of a pattern that is predictable, and can sometimes be corrected by steady consistent discipline. It's not part of the pattern of alpha cats' behavior at all--though even Queen Cats may sink to it if they think they're in danger. For Samantha the slapping, scratching, biting, then cowering, behavior is part of a pattern of learned fear. She's known people who were likely to think of "funny" things to do with a glass of water and a friendly kitten. She didn't put that gash on the side of my hand in order to hurt me; she put it there in order to warn me that she doesn't think that kind of thing is funny, especially in the kind of weather when cats are allowed to sit beside me in the warm room.

If a junior cat had done that when Mackerel was around, Mac's style of leadership would have been to knock it across the yard. (Mac was gentle to a fault, most of the time--he let one junior cat sneak up and nip him so many times it built up an infected wound--but he absolutely barred any disrespect toward Polly or me.) Heather's style is different. Hearing me say, "Samantha! That hurt! If you're going to act like that you can just go out in the cold," Heather stood up and let me pick up both cats and take them outside. 

(Samantha is probably going to be another cat of some magnitude; as a spring kitten she's already about as big as Ivy ever became, or as the grandmother cat at another local Cat Sanctuary is. She and Heather are quite an armful, although at least they've gone from leaping away from any close contact to cuddling and grooming each other.)

A few hours later, I heard a lonely-cat call. "Mew? Mew? Come out, please?" I went out. Heather was the one who'd been mewing. What she was calling me to do was not to let her come back into the warm room, but to admire a mouse she'd just killed--a fat little thing that had probably been planning to rear a family in the earth-floored cellar, warm and limp, with not a mark on its coat. 

"Thank you, Heather. As you very well know, I don't like mice. Maybe Samantha wants it."

"Oh yes I do! Let me have that mouse!" Samantha bounded out of her little den on the porch. 

"You can't touch this! I only share mice with friends!" Heather growled, and, grabbing the mouse, she bounded down into the cellar. To eat it herself? She wasn't gone long enough. She was making her point by offering that mouse, first to me, and then to the resident possum. She bounded back onto the porch to claim a treat, and luckily I had some pumpkin seeds on hand to offer both Heather and Samantha.

I suspect Heather has made the point clear.

I suspect it'll take months or years for Samantha to become the sort of pet who can be certified safe around other children...but I wouldn't "cat-egorically" rule out that possibility. 

Samantha is a scaredy-cat, not a Queen Cat. She's a frightened follower who needs a calm, steady leader. I think Heather and I may be up to the challenge of being the leaders she needs.

Gentle Readers, I hope those of you who like dogs and horses, and who may be able to foster or adopt one this winter, are willing to learn to be the leaders your friends need.