I'll Always Advocate for the Cats, Even When It's Uncomfortable

Me and my kitty friend Puss

Yesterday, I gave a presentation at a senior living facility about my pet sitting services. I went in expecting to talk about what I do, how I care for cats, and how I help people feel comfortable leaving their pets in my care.

Instead, I ended up having a conversation about a cat who bites her owner after three pets.

And it reminded me of something I've known for a long time: Being a professional pet sitter isn't just about caring for animals. It's about being willing to advocate for them, even when the person who needs to hear it doesn't want to.

The man told me his cat bites him when he pets her. I asked questions to understand what was happening, and he explained that he was simply petting her. By the third pet, she would bite.

I suggested that she might be overstimulated, uncomfortable with that much handling, or possibly experiencing pain. I recommended a veterinary visit to rule out a medical issue.

He told me he scolds her every time she bites.

I explained that I don't agree with that approach. Punishing a cat for communicating discomfort can increase fear and stress without addressing the underlying cause.

His response was, “So, you're telling me my cat is allowed to bite me?”

He repeated that question several times, and I kept explaining that I wasn't telling him he had to accept being bitten. I was telling him to figure out why it was happening instead of punishing her for communicating that something wasn't right.

He said he wasn't taking her to the vet.

Eventually, I explained that I wasn't a veterinarian or a feline behaviorist, and that he was asking me to solve a behavior problem at a presentation about my pet sitting services. I also made it clear that I wouldn't participate in the care of a cat whose owner scolded or punished her for this behavior. If he needed a pet sitter, I'd help him find someone else.

He wasn't happy with that.

But I wasn't going to change my position just to keep him happy, either.

Because the cat wasn't the one who needed to hear that her feelings didn't matter.

The cat needed someone to stand up for her.

And that's exactly what I did.

Cats Are a Core Part of My Work, Not an Afterthought

I want to be clear about something. I'm not a feline behaviorist, and I don't pretend to know everything there is to know about cats. There is always more to learn, and I have no problem acknowledging when something is outside my expertise.

But I also didn't wake up one morning and decide I understood cats.

I've spent years caring for them, volunteering with them, observing them, and learning to recognize that every cat has a different personality, different boundaries, and different ways of communicating. I have two cats of my own now, and I've shared my life with several cats over the years.

Cats are a core part of The House Kat Pet Services. They aren't a side service I happen to offer alongside dog walking. I genuinely love them, and caring for them is an important part of why I do what I do.

One of my favorite things is meeting a new feline client whose owner tells me, “You'll never see her. She hides from everyone.”

Challenge accepted. Not because I need to prove anything, but because I understand that trust takes time.

And then, sometimes, that supposedly invisible cat comes strolling out to investigate me. Sometimes she settles nearby. Sometimes she decides I'm safe enough to approach. Sometimes she surprises her own person.

I don't force those moments. I let the cat decide.

I don't need every cat to sit in my lap or demand attention to consider a visit successful. Sometimes the biggest achievement is a shy cat feeling comfortable enough to remain in the room while I take care of her needs.

That is what I love about cats. You earn their trust by respecting their choices, not demanding their affection.

And that philosophy doesn't disappear when a cat's owner disagrees with me.

Sometimes Advocacy Means Speaking Up. Sometimes It Means Simply Being There.

Soon I will have my last visit with sweet Puss, a cat I've been caring for over the past couple of weeks while her owner has been in the ICU and then a rehabilitation facility.

I don't know her owner personally, and I don't know the people who arranged my services. What I know is Puss.

I've gotten to know this sweet girl during a difficult and confusing time in her life. Her person has been gone for an extended period, and it's clear to me that she misses them. I've done my best to provide not just the practical care she needs, but also some comfort, companionship, and affection while her familiar world is turned upside down.

As I am about to wrap up my last visit, I find myself worrying about what happens next.

Will she continue to receive daily visits? Will someone spend time with her, or will they simply come in, put down food, change the water, scoop the litter box, and leave?

Of course, those essentials matter. But cats need more than a checklist of chores, particularly when they're dealing with a major disruption in their lives.

Puss deserves someone who will sit with her, talk to her, offer affection if she wants it, and give her the opportunity to feel safe and comfortable while her person is away.

I don't know what her future care arrangements look like, and I hope she'll be reunited with her person soon. But I want to make sure her needs are understood before I walk away.

That's part of advocacy, too.

Sometimes it means having an uncomfortable conversation with an owner. Sometimes it means recognizing that a cat's behavior may be telling us something important. And sometimes it means speaking up for a cat who is sweet, quiet, and easy to overlook because she isn't making a fuss.

Puss can't tell the next person that she's lonely. She can't explain how confusing it is to have her person disappear from her daily life. She can't ask someone to stay a little longer.

But I can tell people what I've observed. I can encourage them to look beyond the basics. I can remind them that she needs companionship, too.

And I can hope someone listens.

I'll miss seeing her little face. I hope she's back with her person soon, and until then, I hope she gets all the love and attention she deserves.

I Don't Have to Know Everything to Know When Something Isn't Right

There is a difference between claiming to be an expert and having enough experience to recognize when an animal's needs deserve more attention.

I know my limits. I will refer medical concerns to a veterinarian. I will recognize when a behavioral issue needs a qualified professional. I will ask questions rather than assume I know the answer.

But I will not use my lack of a particular credential as an excuse to remain silent when I see something that concerns me.

You don't have to be a veterinarian to recognize that a cat who suddenly doesn't want to be touched may be in pain.

You don't have to be a behaviorist to understand that repeatedly punishing an animal for showing discomfort isn't a productive way to build trust.

And you don't need a special certification to understand that a cat who has been separated from her person for weeks deserves more than someone rushing through the essentials and walking out the door.

Experience teaches you to notice things. Caring teaches you to pay attention. And a commitment to animal welfare means being willing to act on those observations responsibly.

That's what I strive to bring to my work.

I'm not interested in telling people how to run their households or insisting that everyone do things my way. I'm not looking for confrontations, and I don't believe every difference of opinion requires a dramatic exit.

But there are boundaries I will not cross.

If I believe a cat is being harmed, frightened, neglected, or punished for communicating a legitimate need, I'm going to speak up. I'll do so as respectfully as I can, with the knowledge I have and an understanding of what falls outside my expertise.

And if a situation conflicts with my responsibility to provide compassionate care, I am willing to walk away.

I'd rather lose a client than compromise the well-being of an animal who depends on people to make decisions for her.

What Fear Free Means to Me, and Where I Draw the Line

I'm Fear Free Certified, and that means more to me than having a credential to put next to my name. It influences how I approach the animals in my care, the decisions I make, and the services I'm willing to provide.

Fear Free is about reducing fear, anxiety, and stress while improving an animal's emotional well-being. It means looking at the world from the animal's perspective, recognizing when something is frightening or uncomfortable, and finding ways to make their experiences safer and less stressful.

It means giving a cat the choice to approach me instead of forcing interaction. It means respecting a dog's signals instead of intimidating them into compliance. It means understanding that an animal's cooperation is not the same thing as an animal feeling safe.

And it means recognizing that just because something is convenient for a human doesn't mean it's in the animal's best interest.

This is also where I have some very firm boundaries.

If an owner asks me to use a shock collar on their dog, I will not participate. If I'm asked to rely on an invisible fence that delivers an electric shock to keep a dog within boundaries, I won't be part of that approach. If I'm asked to leave a cat alone for days between visits to save money or because someone believes cats don't need daily care and companionship, I won't agree to that arrangement. And if I'm asked to use any other device, punishment, or approach that creates fear or distress when I believe there are safer, more humane alternatives, my answer is no.

That doesn't mean I expect every pet owner to know everything I know. People have different experiences, and some simply haven't been introduced to other ways of doing things. I'm happy to explain my reasoning, share what I know, and encourage approaches that prioritize an animal's physical and emotional well-being.

But educating someone and compromising my own standards are two very different things.

I will not participate in care practices that conflict with my commitment to animal welfare just because a client requests them.

My certifications, experience, and professional judgment mean something. So does my responsibility to the animals whose care I agree to provide.

If my approach doesn't align with what an owner wants, that's okay. There are other pet sitters out there, and they may be a better fit for that household.

But I won't be that pet sitter.

I'm not going to use fear because it's convenient. I'm not going to ignore an animal's needs because an owner would rather not address them. And I'm not going to pretend I'm comfortable with something I believe compromises an animal's well-being just to keep a client happy.

If that's a dealbreaker, please find another pet sitter.

I mean that respectfully, but I also mean it completely.

My responsibility is to provide compassionate, professional care while advocating for the animals who depend on me. That responsibility isn't negotiable.

The Cats Can't Always Speak for Themselves. I Can.

The longer I do this work, the more I realize that some of the most important parts of pet sitting happen outside the scheduled tasks.

It's noticing that a cat isn't acting like herself.

It's understanding that hiding doesn't always mean a cat hates you.

It's respecting the cat who wants affection and the cat who would prefer you admire her from across the room.

It's recognizing that behavior is communication, even when we don't immediately understand the message.

It's making sure a lonely cat gets companionship, not just food.

And sometimes, it's telling a person something they don't want to hear because an animal's well-being matters more than avoiding an uncomfortable moment.

I love cats. I love their individuality, their independence, their quirks, and the trust they offer when they feel safe enough to give it. I've spent years learning from them, caring for them, and volunteering with them. I still have plenty to learn, and I always will.

But I know this much: Every cat deserves to have someone in her corner. Someone who notices. Someone who listens. Someone who is willing to speak up when something isn't right.

Sometimes that person is a veterinarian. Sometimes it's a behavior professional. Sometimes it's a shelter volunteer.

And sometimes, it's the pet sitter who walks through the door, gets to know the cat everyone said would never come out of hiding, and realizes that being responsible for an animal means more than simply completing a visit.

For me, that responsibility doesn't end when an owner disagrees with me. It doesn't disappear because speaking up might cost me a client. And it certainly doesn't depend on whether the cat can thank me for doing it.

I'll advocate for the cats in my care. I'll respect their boundaries, pay attention to their needs, and speak up when I believe something isn't right.

Not because I know everything.

Because they deserve someone who cares enough to try.

And if that makes an owner unhappy with me sometimes, I'll be okay with that.

I'm here for the cats, too. And I will always stand up for them.