Putting a cat on a leash is not logical, as Mr. Spock would probably say. Nonetheless, when I saw warning signs about coyotes and mountain lions at the entrance station to the regional park and was subsequently informed by the ranger on duty of feral cats and poison oak in said locale as well, I deemed it as a good decision that I purchased a leash some weeks ago. The first harness and leash fitting attempt were at a park in Napa, where my son Patrick and I had stayed together for a night. Patrick made a suggestion at the time that I should practice with the harness on my stuffed manatee which I use for a pillow, as I was having trouble following and visualizing the printed instructions of putting the harness on a feline. This turned out to be a great idea. Now to try it on the cat: harness attached to cat, to leash, to picnic table leg. Calvin then managed to get tangled up a few times, but did untangle himself before settling down on top of the picnic table – a good vantage point at least – although without roaming possibilities. Disdain and annoyance were clearly visible on his face. An “encouragement” treat was reluctantly accepted after several prior bribery attempts were declined.

Several days past when it rained and then briefly stopped, I attempted to go for “a walk” on the aforementioned leash with Calvin. After first talking to him, then gently nudging him, and finally slowly having to drag him for a few feet (he was flat on the ground and lying sideways for this) I gave up. The look I got while dragging him was indescribable. Perhaps something along the lines of “a walk? On this thing? I don’t think so”. I did dry his wet stomach and feet afterwards, and he smelled wonderfully of eucalyptus bark. It was just pitiful how he became a bag of cement on the ground attached to a leash. He made his point unequivocally. Walks may have to be shelved, at least for now.