Actually I don’t run, not in the sense that I did when I had more functional knees. I can jog a little on soft ground, but I no longer have the cartilage buffer for pavement. As life’s casualties go, it’s a small thing. As belayed aspirations go, it’s closer to big.
When I take my distractible cat companion outside with her halter and lead, she doesn’t walk around so much as she looks at things, watches things ( mostly birds and bugs), and chomps on Bluebunch wheatgrass or millet. But sometimes, like when a dog barks, she runs and I jog along with her. She never goes very far. I decided to see whether I could get her to run a longer length of our yard with me. I figured our leg-length disparity would offset the difference between her lope and my jog, and we actually are pretty well matched.
I knew Effie wouldn’t care to walk up the hill at a steady pace in order to run down–she would want to stop frequently to watch, munch, and climb things while I stood waiting in the cold. So I carried her up the hill while she rested in my arms like a princess on a litter, and put her down. She doesn’t care much for the upper perimeter of our yard for some reason, so when I turned around, she turned with me and started running down the hill. I jogged alongside, and we stayed pretty well in step.
As for the photo–well, I’m holding Effie’s lead, watching her to make sure she doesn’t cross over in front of me, holding and aiming the camera, watching where I’m going–the usual things one does when jogging with one’s cat.