DRAFT VERSION FOR THE PARTICIPANTS OF THE ECPR …€¦ · an empirical matter, cats are able to flourish on vegan diets. It is not hard to find anecdotal evidence of vegan cats thriving,

J o s h M i l b u r n – D r a f t v e r s i o n

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Not only humans eat meat: Animal politics and carnivorous companions1

DRAFT VERSION FOR THE PARTICIPANTS OF THE ECPR GENERAL

CONFERENCE, UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW, SEPTEMBER 2014.

Josh Milburn – [email protected]

School of Politics, International Studies and Philosophy

Queen’s University Belfast

Not only humans eat meat. While this point is obvious, it is one which requires close and

careful scrutiny from animal ethicists and theorists of food policy. When we talk of animal

husbandry, or of food distribution, we generally think of food for human consumption.

However, our companion animals, especially dogs and cats, but to a lesser extent fish,

small mammals, reptiles, birds and others, are also fed large amounts of flesh.2 If we

violate the rights of animals when we slaughter them for human consumption, it intuitively

follows that we do so when we slaughter them to feed our companions. While the “pet

food” industry arose in part as an attempt to find a use for the by-products of slaughter for

human food (Donaldson and Kymlicka 2013, 149), not all of the flesh fed to companions is

unfit or undesirable for human consumption, and, in any case, these by-products would no

1 A previous version of this paper was discussed at the Queen’s University Belfast Political Theory

seminars, and I am thankful to all who offered feedback then and on other occasions. My particular thanks to David Archard, Jeremy Watkins, Cillian McBride, Matteo Bonotti, Keith Breen, Paddy McQueen, Kevin McNicholl and Anne Fremaux.

2 In addition, animal protein is fed directly to certain animals who are themselves raised for slaughter – in the western world, this includes chickens and pigs – and animals are slaughtered to feed those beings kept in zoos, amusement parks, circuses and sanctuaries. Here, I will focus on the keeping of carnivorous animals as companions, and the ethical issues raised by their eating of other animals.


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longer exist if animal slaughter for human consumption ceased or was radically diminished

through wide-spread adoption of veganism, something now called for by increasing

numbers of political theorists and applied philosophers.

In this paper, I will explore the problems posed by carnivorous companions in a political

community which has ceased or grossly diminished the exploitation of non-human animals

for food, such as the communities envisaged by Sue Donaldson and Will Kymlicka (2013,

19-49) or Alasdair Cochrane (2012). The issue can also be approached from other

directions. For instance, certain utilitarians or so-called “conscientious omnivores” may

suggest that while the benefits granted to humans by their consumption of flesh outweigh

the harms that are inflicted upon those animals slaughtered, provided certain measures

are taken to allow a worthwhile life for the non-human animals, the same is not true when

non-human animals are slaughtered to feed companions. An appeal may be made to the

more sophisticated mental faculties of (most) humans. This is one approach to slaughter

taken by Jan Narveson, who says that the utilitarian must take account of his claim that

while “what the animal loses is relatively modest, what we gain is considerable” (Narveson

1999, 140; cf. Narveson 1977, 173). By comparison, though, the faculties of our

companions may not supercede the faculties of animals killed to feed them. Little

separates dogs from pigs in terms of mental sophistication, so it is unlikely that the

pleasure a dog derives from eating pig-flesh outweighs the damage done to the pig. In

other cases, it is quite clear that we are feeding more sophisticated animals to less

sophisticated ones, as in the case of the small mammals fed to tarantulas. It seems clear

that, even if a utilitarian calculus normally favours slaughter for human consumption, which

seems highly unlikely, it cannot favour slaughter in (at least) some cases for non-human

animal consumption. Other approaches to the problem may stress the comparative cost,

economically and environmentally, of raising some non-human animals for non-human


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animal consumption, and, regardless of any stance on animal rights, we may have

legitimate concerns that this is not money well-spent, or that this contributes to

environmental problems for little benefit. These considerations, while incomplete, indicate

that ethical issues concerning the feeding of carnivorous companions should be of interest

to thinkers with a wide variety of positions and a wide variety of concerns, and not merely

of concern to the growing minority of writers calling for a vegan state. The feeding of

animal companions, therefore, is something of which food theorists must take account.

Donaldson and Kymlicka draw attention to the issue of carnivorous companions in

Zoopolis, advocating fully vegan diets for companions, whom they conceptualise as co-

citizens. The authors write that, even though these animals would likely prefer carnivorous

diets, “the liberty of citizens is always constrained by respect for the liberties of others.

Dogs and cat members of mixed human-animal society do not have a right to food that

involves the killing of other animals” (2013, 150). Unsurprisingly, this claim has been

criticised (eg, Nurse and Ryland 2013, 203). For the purposes of this article, however, I

shall cautiously take Donaldson and Kymlicka's proposal to have merit, and explore its

possible implications. Importantly, they themselves acknowledge that a fully vegan diet

may be impossible for certain companions, taking cats as their example (2013, 150). It is

to these animals that I refer when I say “carnivorous companions”, rather than omnivorous

dogs who can flourish on vegan diets. It should not be controversial to say that if

omnivorous humans have an obligation to eat only vegan foods, then we also have an

obligation to feed our companion (omnivorous) dogs an appropriate vegan diet. The issue

is more difficult for cats, who may be unable to survive on a vegan diet; as such, I will use

cats as my primary example.3 It is beyond the scope of this paper to answer whether, as

3 In limiting my consideration to cats, I may miss issues raised with other carnivorous companions. Clifford

Warwick (2014) has recently outlined some of the problems specific to the feeding of carnivorous reptiles.


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an empirical matter, cats are able to flourish on vegan diets. It is not hard to find anecdotal

evidence of vegan cats thriving, or websites selling “vegan cat food”. Conversely, in a 2006

review, vetinary scientist Kathryn E. Michel concluded that vegan, or even vegetarian,

diets for cats are problematic. The major difficulty, she explains, is that "[s]everal nutrients

that are essential in the diets of cats are only found in animal source ingredients”. Perhaps

unsurprisingly, Michel found that the nutritional adequacy of some commercially available

“vegan cat foods” were “called into question”, though she did not claim that a vegan diet

for cats is necessarily unsuitable (2006, 1275-7).4 I will not enter into these debates, as

they are questions for vetinary nutrition, not social philosophy. Instead, I am interested in

exploring society’s relationship with cats were it the case that cats could not flourish on a

vegan diet.

First, I shall consider the radical solution of ending the practice of keeping carnivorous

companions through banning certain species, breeds or individuals from being kept as

companions. This, I suggest, can be considered only when all other avenues have been

exhausted. Next, I will consider two possibilities which offer contradictory advice. There is

an elegance to Joel MacClellan’s argument that size matters (2013), but I reject the

possibility of killing a small number of large animals to feed our companions. Instead, I

argue that feeding cats may present an exception to our general obligation not to kill those

animals for whom sentience is unlikely, but possible, such as some bivalves. Both of these

possibilities are realistic, though both differ substantially from current practice. Some of

Donaldson and Kymlicka’s suggestions, by contrast, are far removed from current

We might wonder the extent to which such animals could really be described as “companions” at all, but he argues that there are ethical issues which apply concerning reptile-feeding that do not apply with cat-feeding.

4 Curiously, Michel suggests that people may be encouraged away from feeding cats a vegan diet because it is not “natural” (2006, 1277). Similar claims are made by Angus Nurse and Diane Ryland in their criticism of Donaldson and Kymlicka (Nurse and Ryland 2013, 203). Conversely, I see no reason to believe that an unnatural diet is, ceteris paribus, ethically problematic. It is not natural for cats to be fed from a can, but humans feeding cats does not seem to become problematic because of that fact.


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experience. I conclude that their proposals, though some offer promise, encounter ethical

and practical issues.

The end of carnivorous companions

Assuming cats cannot survive on a vegan diet, and assuming that the current way that

they are typically fed is not ethically sustainable, perhaps the most obvious solution to the

problem is to stop keeping cats as companions. If cats are incapable of surviving outside

of a shared society with humans, a possibility briefly considered later, then this

necessitates their extinction. There has been much recent criticism of the abolitionist

approaches to animal rights which lead to “extinctionist” conclusions. Gary Francione, the

most important proponent of such a position, suggests that “[i]f we took animals seriously

and recognized our obligation not to treat them as things, we would stop producing and

facilitating the production of domestic animals altogether” (2010, 22), which would

eventually lead to their extinction. Donaldson and Kymlicka (2013, 77-82) stress that

extinctionism, first, necessarily involves violating the rights of animals, and, second, denies

the meaningful and mutually beneficial relationships which exist between humans and

non-humans. Cochrane (2012, 71-8) implicitly challenges Francione when he argues that

most non-human animals have no particularly strong interest in, and so no corresponding

right to, freedom from use per se. As such, the keeping of companions is not necessarily

unjust. Robert Garner (2010; 2013, 118-21) views abolitionism (or “species

egalitarianism”5) as politically unachievable, even among the various strands of animal

rights philosophy. While I do not wish to endorse Garner’s general claim, it is highly

probable that advocating extinctionism would alienate many potential supporters of animal

5 The term “species egalitarianism” is actually a poor one, which should be deprecated. The term as written

should mean that all species are equal, or, more precisely, that a difference in species membership is not morally important. If understood in this way, to challenge “species egalitarianism” would be to defend speciesism, and this is not at all what Garner wishes to do. See also my review of Garner’s latest book (Milburn forthcoming).


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rights. Katherine Wayne (2013a) provides a number of thought experiments concerning

human adults with cognitive disabilities in which she illustrates that the use of dependent

beings (humans in her examples, but, by analogy, non-human animals), need not be

inconsistent with recognising their inherent value, thus refuting the central claim of

abolitionism (or “principled veganism”6). If Wayne’s arguments are correct, keeping

companions can be consistent with a recognition of their inherent value.

These arguments focus on the idea of extinctionism for the sake of the companions

themselves. That is, Francione’s argument that we should stop keeping cats because

keeping cats is inconsistent with respecting cats. It is very different to suggest that we

should stop keeping cats because keeping cats is inconsistent with respecting beings

killed for cats. It is for this reason that Wayne, in an unpublished paper (2013b), explores

the idea that an inability for cats to survive on a vegan diet may necessitate their mass

sterilisation and subsequent extinction. As already seen, Wayne is critical of abolitionist

extinctionism; instead, she is sympathetic to position of Donaldson and Kymlicka (Wayne

2013a). It is instructive to consider the extent to which “selective extinctionism” is

vulnerable to the criticisms levelled at Francione’s extinctionism. Wayne’s own criticism

does not undermine the possibility, as selective extinctionism does not rely upon the core

abolitionist principle she challenges. Selective extictionism is also consistent with

Cochrane's criticism of abolitionism; while non-human animals may have no right not to be

used, they certainly do have prima facie rights not to be made to suffer and not to be killed

(Cochrane 2012, 54-7, 64-71). Cochrane does not consider there to be a rights-violation

inherent in controlling populations with contraception (2012, 177), so it is perhaps the case

that, from Cochrane’s perspective, mass (chemical) sterilisation could be completed

6 Again, this is an unfortunate term; Wayne, along with the author and the other cited critics of Francione’s

approach, are all vegans in the everyday sense. Wayne’s point is that there are at least some ways of life in which non-veganism would be consistent with full respect for non-human animals.


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without violating the rights of any individuals. Unlike Cochrane, Donaldson and Kymlicka

express concerns about abolitionist extinctionism which apply, too, to selective

extinctionism. While the pair suggest that reproductive autonomy should be returned to

domesticated animals (2013, 144-9), they are keen, as already discussed, to see

companions converted to vegan diets. No full account of how to adjudicate between the

injustices inherent in bringing about extinction and the injustices inherent in killing for flesh

is provided, but the authors (2013, 152) do write that

...there may be no way for humans to have cat companions without dealing with a

certain level of moral complexity regarding their diet and other restrictions

necessary for them to be part of human-animal society. … Does this level of

restriction undermine the possibility of cats being flourishing members of a [mixed

human/non-human animal] society? Does it mean that we would be justified in

bringing about their extinction?

Donaldson and Kymlicka, then, do not rule out the possibility of demanding extinction for

cats. Their second criticism of abolitionist extinctionism, that it denies the genuine bonds

which exist between people and their companions, also applies in the case of selective

extinctionism. When making political recommendations about companions, one cannot

forget the very real and significant bonds which exist between particular cats and particular

humans, or even particular humans and cats generally. This ties to Garner's objections

about the unrealisability of abolitionism (or, in this case, extinctionism in either form). In

reality, a human can share their lives with a companion; the link between them is deeply

meaningful, and companions are part of the family in a real, not simply metaphorical, way

(Gruen 2011, 71-2; Milligan 2010, 109-10). Banning cats is thus similar to banning

children; any suggestion that cats could be replaced by something cat-like could plausibly


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be rejected on the same grounds we might reject the suggestion that children could be

replaced. The deep and real love that cat-keepers have for their companions is displayed

best not in the money that they spend, but in the way they grieve upon the cats’ deaths

(Milligan 2010, 122). These relationships of companionship, along with relationships such

as friendship, community and familial love, form real, valuable and defining parts of the

lives of many people, and their lives would be significantly poorer without them. It may

even be the case that, in the interests of pluralism and variety, society as a whole would be

poorer without these relationships, or without the companions. It is certainly true that the

diversity of the mixed human/non-human society would be limited with the removal of

some companions, which we may suggest, ceteris paribus, is to be avoided. It is for these

reasons that we cannot demand the extinction of animal companions lightly, even if we do

so from the perspective of protecting other non-human members of our community.

These anthropocentric-sounding arguments about the value of relationships with cats to

humans and society are not the only reasons that selective extinctionism is undesirable,

though they are, perhaps, the strongest. We might ask whether cats have an interest in a

programme of selective extinctionism not being carried out. I will make no appeal to the

value of human/cat relationships from the perspective of the cats; while many cats likely do

value the relationships they have with humans, selective extinctionism (if performed

through sterilisation) would not result in any actually-existing cat being denied such a

relationship. I shall also make no appeal to the rights of species as a whole, which, with

Cochrane (2012, 158-9) and others, I consider to be a flawed notion. Instead, I shall

appeal to the possibility that the rights of individual cats would be violated by such a

programme. I have suggested, following other thinkers, that the interests individual cats

have in reproductive autonomy can potentially be outweighed by the greater interests of

other beings, but this is not to deny that they may have such an interest. Here, we might


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adopt Cochrane’s (2012, 45-6) useful terminology of prima facie rights and concrete rights,

the former being rights which we assume may exist once we have considered the interests

of the (putative) rights-holder, and the latter being the rights that exist once all things have

been considered. It would not be unreasonable to suggest (contra Cochrane) that cats

have a prima facie right to reproductive and sexual autonomy (Donaldson and Kymlicka

2013, 146). They may also have a strong interest in, and therefore a prima facie right to,

interaction with conspecifics and bodily integrity.

All of these prima facie rights would be violated on a large scale if a programme of mass

sterilisation was initiated. Cats would lose the chance to produce young, and their sexual

drives would be destroyed, effectively removing their reproductive and sexual autonomy.

Unless checmical sterilisation was possible, invasive medical procedures which are

potentially painful and temporarily debilitating would be forced upon them, infringing upon

their bodily integrity. As the last generation of cats died off, more and more cats would be

denied the chance to interact with conspecifics, as there would be fewer and fewer

conspecifics around. The violation of prima facie rights, however, does not preclude an

action being permissible; it is the violation of concrete rights which is unjust. Importantly,

whether these (potential) prima facie rights translate into concrete rights depends, in part,

on whether they are compatible with the stronger interests that are possessed by many

animals in not being slaughtered for cat consumption – precisely the issue at hand. If the

extinction of cats is to be demanded, it can only be as a last resort. This also seems to be

the position of Donaldson and Kymlicka.

It is worth quickly considering and discounting the possibility of releasing cats back into

their natural habitat. This might be possible with some carnivorous animals kept as

companions – non-selectively bred reptiles and tarantulas, for instance – but is not a


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plausible approach in the case of cats, who have evolved (and, indeed, been selectively

bred) in order to coexist with, and be desirable to, humans. As such, cats have a wide

array of physical and social adaptations which make them desirable for human purposes,

but which make them unsuited to free-living, meaning that they have no natural home

away from a mixed human/non-human society. This is similar to the more familiar

observation made about domestic dogs; though they are of the same species as free-living

wolves, there is no environment free of humans in which a pug or a Chihuahua would be

able to flourish, and, indeed, one may legitimately worry about the effect such a release

could have on the ecosystems that such animals may be forced to inhabit. It seems likely

that, in addition to the obligations we owe to the cats, we would have obligations towards

those animals already living freely wherever cats would be released. Perhaps cats could

not live freely at all; more likely is that they would return to live around and among humans

as so-called “feral” animals. Releasing cats from captivity would also have the unfortunate

effect of ending the mutually beneficial and enjoyable relationships between cats and

humans I discussed above; this would be a bad thing for both the humans and the cats.

The largest and the smallest

I suggest that it is ethically untenable to continue feeding cats as is typical, but that ending

our relationship with cats (either through making them extinct or releasing them) is not a

desirable solution. I will now consider two possibilities which, initially, may seem to be

opposites. The first uses the “size matters” argument, which was recently carefully

explicated by Joel MacClellan (2013). The size matters argument is simply that “moral

evaluations of meat-eating are affected by the size of the animal in question” (MacClellan

2013, 58, emphasis in the original).7 MacClellan illustrates this by comparing two species.

7 For the purposes of the argument, the “size” of an animal, strictly speaking, is determined by the amount


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Kitti's hognosed bat is the world's smallest mammal; around 80 would be required for a

100g serving of bat flesh. By comparison, a blue whale would produce more than enough

flesh “to feed a single person three times a day for her entire life” (MacClellan 2013, 59),8

or, we can assume, a very large number of cats for their entire lives. Given this, the

importance of the size matters argument to utilitarianism should be clear. All other things

being equal, a plate of whale flesh requires the suffering of far fewer beings than a plate of

bat flesh. MacClellan does not specifically consider companions, but his argument applies:

if flesh is to be consumed, as perhaps it must be if we are to keep cats, then better the

flesh is taken from the largest possible beings, so as to minimise suffering overall.9 This

suggestion may be meritious even for those working within a rights framework, as many

theorists allow the infringement of rights in certain circumstances. Even Robert Nozick is

potentially open to rights-infringement in cases of “catastrophic moral horror” (1974, 130).

As a practical recommendation, we might claim that the rights of a few whales can be

infringed to prevent the catastrophic moral horror (CMH) of selective extinctionism. I do not

accept this, for three reasons. First, the argument would work only if there were no way to

avoid CMH that would not necessitate rights-infringement. For example, assume torture is

acceptable in a “ticking time-bomb” case. This surely does not extend to the case in which

the simple bomb could easily be diffused by the bomb disposal expert who happens to be

in the room. I will go on to discuss possible alternatives to the killing of whales or other

large animals, and so I suggest that it is not the case that this kind of rights infringement is

the only way we might avoid the CMH of selective extinctionism. Second, actions in a one-

of edible flesh its corpse can produce, rather than the size or weight of a live animal.

8 We might quibble with MacClellan’s calculations, but his point clearly holds either way. 9 An alternative size matters argument with regards to cats would be that we may have a plausible moral

imperative to breed smaller and smaller cats, as smaller cats require less food to surive. If we are taking a pure utilitarian line, this idea seems extremely plausible; we can minimise suffering by maximising the ratio of flesh to suffering, and also by minimising the amount of flesh required. I owe this thought, which warrants further consideration, to Kevin McNicholl.


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off emergency situation (a situation in which we act to avoid CMH) are very different from

actions which are established as the norm. The acceptability of torture in time-bomb

situations (ex hypothesi) says nothing about the acceptability of torture in normal

circumstances. Equally, that the size matters argument might be applicable to a rights

framework applied in an emergency lifeboat situation does not entail that we can or should

use it to order society. Indeed, to do so seems to entail that certain categories of beings –

whales or elephants, say – would continue to have their rights infringed ad infinitum and

through no fault of their own, which seems deeply unjust. Third, I am unconvinced that

demanding the extinction of cats truly is the kind of CMH which justifies the gross violation

of rights. I have argued that selective extictionism would be deeply regrettable, but it is

perverse to endorse the perpetuation of the gross and systematic infringement/violation of

fundamental rights merely to avoid that which is regrettable. I conclude that a rights

framework, even one making use of the insight of the size matters argument, could not

justify the slaughter of whales (or other very large animals) to feed cats.

MacClellan claims that Peter Singer endorses the size matters argument (MacClellan

2013, 58). In Animal Liberation, Singer says that, assuming they can feel pain, “a meal of

oysters or mussels would inflict pain on a considerable number of creatures” (1995, 174).

Singer, and Jim Mason, make a similar point in The Way We Eat, writing that “[i]f shrimp

can feel pain, since it takes many of them to make a meal, the suffering in every plate of

shrimp could be proportionally greater than for a larger animal” (2006, 133). While these

statements do endorse the size matters argument to a certain extent, when placed in

context, they reveal much of interest. Singer, upon giving up meat, originally continued to

eat “oysters, scallops and mussels”, having suggested “that somewhere between a shrimp

and an oyster seems as good a place to draw the line as any” (Singer 1995, 174). The

“line” is the capacity to feel pain, as a being able to feel pain has the capacity for the most


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minimal of preferences; to be able to feel pain is to have a preference not to be in pain. It

is highly likely that there do exist animals who do not feel pain. Singer and Mason note that

“with the bivalves, the evidence for consciousness is barely stronger than it is in plants,

which is to say it is vanishingly slight” (2006, 113). There is, however, very good evidence

to suggest that shrimps, crabs, lobsters and other crustaceans feel pain (Barr et al. 2008;

Elwood 2012; Magee and Elwood 2013).

The importance of this point does not need to be restricted to utilitarianism. If we follow

Donaldson and Kymlicka, Cochrane and Francione in suggesting that animals capable of

experiencing pain (sentient animals) have an interest in/right to continued life, then it is

clear that the location of the lower line is of importance to rights theorists, as it determines

the line between those animals who may be killed and those who may not.10 Cochrane

offers thoughts on the presence of sentience (2012, 23), and Francione, who advocates a

kind of radical equality among all sentient beings (Francione 2010, 5; Francione and

Garner 2010, 193), acknowledges that “[t]here may, of course, be uncertainty as to

whether sentience exists in a particular case, or with respect to classes of beings, such as

insects and mollusks” (2010, 15). Concerning human consumption of these beings,

however, Francione takes a cautious approach. Writing on his website, he says that he

errs “on the side of sentience” when there is uncertainty about a given animal; “I regard it

as good moral sense”, he writes, “to presume in favor of the sentience of clams, oysters,

and scallops and all mollusks (including snails) and to not eat them or otherwise exploit

them as human resources” (2012). Singer also (in some of his writing) takes a cautious

10 The alternative view, which is Singer’s (1995, 229), is that to say that painless killing is a bad thing only

for certain non-human animals, and not “merely sentient” beings. It is conceivable that a rights-theorist could take this approach and say that there exists a certain class of beings C who have a right not to have pain inflicted upon them, but no right not to be killed. Such a theorist would have few problems dealing with carnivorous companions; they could simply be fed members of C who had been killed painlessly. While Garner comes close to this view, he does accept that even merely sentient beings do have an interest in continued life (2013, 130-1).


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line with regards to human consumption of these creatures, suggesting that “[s]ince it is so

easy to avoid eating them, I now think it better to do so” (1995, 174). Francione and Singer

seem to be right in this regard. Since there is a chance that these beings can suffer, and

so possess certain fundamental rights, we are best to be cautious and not do things that

would violate rights, if they have them, when we gain little by doing so.

The case against human consumption of shellfish (and other plausibly-but-not-likely-

sentient beings) involves a moral risk argument. Dan Moller mentions human meat-eating

generally as an example of a situation in which there seems to be a plausible moral risk

argument (2011, 441). We analyse the moral risk of claim A by considering at least five

factors; the likelihood that A is wrong, the extent to which A would be wrong if it were, the

costs we face if we omit A, the extent we are responsible for choosing whether to A, and

whether not-A also involves moral risk (Moller 2011, 440-1). The claim “it is morally

permissible to kill shellfish for consumption”, given the low probability of shellfish

sentience, seems to represent a very low likelihood of a very large wrong, and we are

completely responsible for the choice. In the case of human consumption of shellfish, we

face very small costs in not endorsing the claim, and there is no chance of moral risk in

choosing not to eat shellfish. As such, there is a strong moral risk argument against human

consumption of shellfish. Unlike humans, cats cannot easily avoid the consumption of

flesh; for them, it is not “easy to avoid” having to eat some creature. There are some costs

in not allowing cats to eat shellfish (given the difficulty of feeding cats otherwise), and not

feeding cats shellfish, given the alternatives, does seem to present a moderately large

amount of moral risk (that is, it seems plausible that we are wrong about the acceptability

of calling for selective extinctionism or other alternative ways to feed cats). As such, a

moral risk argument against cat consumption of shellfish, if plausible at all, is significantly

weaker than the moral risk argument against human consumption of shellfish. For Moller,


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moral risk involved in A gives us a reason, though not an overriding reason, to not-A. We

therefore have a reason, though not an overriding reason, not to kill shellfish for human

consumption. However, such a reason holds only when “a large preponderance of the risk

involves falls on one side” (Moller 2011, 441); correspondingly, a moral risk argument

against the consumption of shellfish seems considerably less convincing.

I suggest that it is better that cats eat some animal to whom we likely (but not certainly)

have no obligations of justice than one to whom we certainly do, such as a whales, cows

or tuna. As I have argued, Singer and Francione’s argument against human consumption

of these animals does not seem to apply to feeding them to our cats. When we are dealing

with cats, the location of the lower line is not a mere academic curiosity, but, potentially,

the difference between their being able to live a life which does not necessitate the

infliction of suffering or rights violations and otherwise. In the vegan state, the location of

the lower line may be the difference between a state with cats and a state without them. As

such, I suggest that even if we are not certain if an animal falls below the lower line,

meaning that we should continue to avoid killing them, the need to feed our cats may

represent an exception to this general prescription.11 To put it simply, we might say that our

uncertainty about the existence of sentience in these animals means that we should not kill

them when the gains from doing so are trivial (for instance, we should not kill them to

satisfy our gastronomic curiosity), but that our uncertainty cannot preclude us from killing

the animals when the gains from doing so would be relatively important, as they are if it

allows us to avoid selective extinctionism.

11 I suggest, hopefully uncontroversially, that if we can determine with certainty that bivalves, or insects, or

gastropods, or some other grouping of animals is made up entirely of beings lacking in sentience, then the dilemma is solved; these animals can serve as a source of food for cats within a mixed-species political community. Like Francione and Singer, however, I know of no animal species about which this can be said with certainty which could plausibly be a source of food for humans or cats.


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As an example practical suggestion, perhaps scallops, oysters and mussels could be

foraged on a large scale for cat food, or industrial production could continue (or be

restarted) in the vegan state.12 It is a convenient fact that the three shellfish just mentioned

can easily be farmed completely sustainably, hanging in the sea; they thrive in conditions

which would represent the worst excesses of intensive farming if adapted for mammals or

birds. When shellfish are produced in this way, Singer and Mason even say that “there is

no strong ethical reason against eating them” (2006, 276). As explained, I do not wish to

make this claim, but I do suggest that the moral reasons we have to avoid killing these

beings, necessitating abstention from eating them, may not be so strong that we cannot

feed them to our cats.

Alternatives sources of flesh

Having outlined my own suggestion for a solution, I will now turn to consider the ideas

suggested by Donaldson and Kymlicka. Some of their suggestions are surprisingly

individualistic considering the political tone of their work; in a number of cases, it is up to

individuals to undertake the work necessary to feed companions. All of the authors’ ideas,

despite some having significant promise, encounter problems preventing them from being

practical, ethical solutions to the issue.

Recent scientific advances – specifically, the production of lab-grown flesh from stem cells

– allow us some hope for a technological solution to the problem. Lab-grown flesh is a long

way from commercial viability, but is demonstrably possible (BBC 2013). For lab-grown

flesh, artificial circulatory systems would be required for the production of any but the

12 Whether or not these animals in particular are suitable for cat consumption from a nutritional perspective

is not a question that can be answered in this paper. There are a large number of animal species containing beings for whom sentience seems highly unlikely. It is my suggestion that at least some of these will produce flesh able to satiate cats’ need for flesh.


P a g e | 17

smallest pieces (BBC 2013), meaning that, in practice, the “animals” produced would look

little different from those engineered to lack sentience. So-called “knockout livestock”

(Garner 2013, 136) are plausibly possible through genetic engineering (Shriver 2009). Jeff

McMahan argues convincingly that we could deliberately engineer anencephalic animals

(including humans) for the purposes of organ transplant; it seems clear that nothing is

owed to such beings directly (2002, 450-5). As such, it is possible that we could also

deliberately engineer anencephalic animals to be killed for their flesh. These various

technological solutions differ mostly in how the “animal” used is produced rather than in

the nature of the animal itself.

The pertinent moral question is whether consuming flesh produced in this way would

reinforce notions of disrespect for (sentient) animals conspecific with the source of the

flesh. Donaldson and Kymlicka raise this objection while taking for granted that human

flesh would not be eaten if produced in such a way (2013, 152), suggesting that, therefore,

the technology would reinforce false notions of human superiority. I doubt that we can

merely assume this. If lab-grown human flesh was available as food, it is likely that there

would be a small but real market; we can imagine adventurous individuals keen to taste it,

comparable to the way that other foodstuffs taboo in the west (such as raw fish or insects)

still find a small market. The idea that human flesh is too much of a taboo to be desirable is

unconvincing; the very fact that it is such a taboo is likely to make it all the more desirable.

Human placentas are already eaten in the west, though are not commercially producible. A

London café has even sold ice cream produced with human milk (BBC 2011). Neither

seem to entail a disrespect for humans. As such, lab-grown flesh might be fully consistent

with a world affording full respect to non-human animals. Importantly, however, these

solutions are impractical simply because the technologies are far from commercial viability.

More practical solutions to the issue of how we feed cats are needed.


P a g e | 18

Scavenging corpses for flesh to feed our companions raises similar concerns about

respect and dignity as lab-grown flesh. Donaldson and Kymlicka (2013, 150-1) worry that a

failure to extend the same respect to the corpses of non-human animal members of our

community as we extend to the corpses of human members may undermine efforts to

have them respected as full members of our community. This might not extend to non-

human animals who are not members, but this would likely contribute to a devaluing of the

lives of free-living animals when contrasted with human and non-human members of our

community. Donaldson and Kymlicka view the respectful treatment of corpses as an issue

of citizenship (2013, 151). This is plausible; consider the way that we would generally

expect others to show some respect towards the corpses of companion dogs, even if we

would not expect the same treatment of the corpses of free-living wolves, who are

conspecific with the dogs.13 If we assume that only corpses of free-roaming animals could

be scavenged, serious problems of practicality follow. Searching for animals who have

died recently enough that their corpses retain flesh which has not decayed to inedibility or,

alternatively, has not already been eaten by free-living scavenging animals, would likely be

a full-time and specialised job, and unlikely to be able to feed all of the carnivorous

companions who currently live in our society. This is doubly true, given that Donaldson and

Kymlicka rightly demand large-scale change in order to minimise the deaths of free-

roaming animals on the roads (2013, 201), and given that “road kill” would be an obvious

source of flesh. These facts would make foraged flesh prohibitively expensive for all but

the wealthiest cat keepers. This is undesirable.

13 There are certainly possible objections to this view. Cochrane argues that non-human animals have no

interest in seeing the corpses of their conspecifics respectfully treated or in knowing that this own corpses will be respectfully treated. As such, respectful treatment of non-human animal corpses is not necessary (2012, 87-8). An alternative challenge, this time from the perspective of Cochrane’s “cosmozoopolis” (2013), is to question why members of our community should be entitled to a particular kind of dignified treatment that others are not. These objections are both reasonable, but confines of space mean that this important issue cannot be solved here (cf. McMahan 2005, 372-6).


P a g e | 19

Another possibility is keeping chicken (or other bird) companions in order to produce eggs

to feed cats. However, given the strong restrictions that Donaldson and Kymlicka demand,

such raising would be limited to “on the farm or in large backyards” and could not be

commercialised (2013, 138). Furthermore, the chickens must be permitted to incubate

some eggs and raise some young, and unproductive birds (male chicks and older hens)

could not be killed (2013, 138). All of would mean that cat-keeping was impossible but for

all of those who have the time, space, inclination, wealth and expertise to raise chicken

companions in large numbers. Once again, this is undesirable.

A modified alternative to this would appeal to some kind of companion licensing system, as

envisaged by Cochrane (2012, 131-6). Perhaps under this system, in order to make cat-

keeping accessible to the non-wealthy, potential cat keepers would have to agree to pay a

monthly donation to a state-approved not-for-profit “farm”, in which all the rights of

chickens were respected but small numbers of excess eggs were used to feed cats. These

farms could be run by volunteers, paid staff answerable to a board of trustees, or even

government employees. I have argued that it is in the public interest (or at least the

interest of many members of society) to ensure that it is not necessary for cats to be made

extinct; as such, we have good reason to believe that the state has reason to be actively

involved in ensuring that a ready supply of genuinely ethically sourced “flesh” is available

to feed cats. Something like this seems to be the most viable solution derived from those

suggested by Donaldson and Kymlicka. However, it remains an open question whether it

would be feasible on a large scale without risking unjust treatment. With the introduction of

large-scale and expensive production of eggs physically removed from the consumers

(that is, cat-keepers or taxpayers), motivation for abuse will arise. Taxpayers, donors or

licensees would demand that their money be used efficiently, which could easily lead to a


P a g e | 20

clash of interests with the chickens. Siobhan O’Sullivan (2011) has demonstrated the

inconsistency in laws protecting non-human animals based on the visibility of the animals

in question, even between members of the same species. As such, we have reason to be

wary of moving chickens from the public view to hidden and out-of-town farm-like entities,

especially when the farm would have a motivation to work towards a larger and larger

turnover of eggs.

The final alternative solution considered by Donaldson and Kymlicka is to let the

carnivorous companions hunt for their own food. However, this is to do a disservice to the

so-called “liminal” animals who live among us. The authors write that “part of our

responsibility as members of a mixed human-animal society is to impose regulation on

members who are unable to self-regulate when it comes to respecting the basic liberties of

others (e.g., by putting bells on cats to warn mice and birds that they are approaching, and

by supervising them out of doors)” (2013, 150). This is clearly correct. Hunting on behalf of

our carnivorous companions, even though it would allow the companions to live cordially

with other animals (including, in the terms of Donaldson and Kymlicka, cocitizens and

denizen non-citizens) makes too much of the citizen/non-citizen distinction. No matter her

political status, to hunt a sentient non-human animal violates the protection offered by her

universal basic rights (Donaldson and Kymlicka 2013, 19-49; cf. Cochrane 2013). This,

too, is correct. If non-human animals have rights, they have those rights regardless of

whether they are a part of our particular community.

Conclusion

This piece has responded to a dilemma: I have argued that extinctionism, even selective

extinctionism, is something to be avoided if possible, but I have also cautiously accepted


P a g e | 21

Donaldson and Kymlicka’s demand that companion animals in a just society would have to

live on diets which do not require the violation of other animals’ rights as a demand of

justice. I sought an alternative which might be a possibility for those animal companions, if

they exist, who are unable to thrive on vegan diets, taking cats as my example. Donaldson

and Kymlicka’s preferred solutions (of keeping chickens in an ethical way or of scavenging

the corpses of free-living animals) are, I have suggested, too costly, and so would deny

many people (who lack time, money, space or expertise) the chance to keep a cat, which

is deeply regrettable. The possibility of communal chicken-keeping is worth further

examination, but I have suggested that it may encounter problems. Technological

solutions, regardless of their ethical viability, are not possible at this time. I have also

developed, but rejected, a rights-based solution which takes seriously the idea that “size

matters”, entailing that it may be permissible to kill a small number of large animals to feed

cats. Instead, I have offered the suggestion that companions be fed with the flesh of those

animals who probably lack sentience, but may not. While this possibility gives us good

moral reason to abstain from eating these animals, the case, I have argued, is different

when it comes to feeding them to our cats.

If my arguments are accepted, the key remaining issues are scientific rather than

philosophical. We have to work towards identifying those creatures who do lack sentience

with a high degree of certainty so that we can endorse the practical suggestion that these

creatures be utilised for the feeding of cats. Indeed, we need not wait until we are in a

vegan state before advocating this move; such a step would bring us closer to a society

which does not stand upon the exploitation of rights-bearing non-human animals. I have

picked out certain bivalves as my own example. This assumes further scientific claims

which cannot be examined here – that cats are unable to survive without flesh, and that

these nonsentient animals can serve as a sufficient source of flesh for cats. If the first


P a g e | 22

claim is false, then we should simply switch our cats to vegan diets. In this sense, the

ethical issues involved in feedng our cats would be little different to the ethical issues

involved in feeding ourselves, our children and our dogs. If the first claim is true but the

second false, then we will simply have to look for a different animal we have strong reason

to believe lacks sentience that could serve as an adequate source of animal of flesh.

Caution, however, is required: the scientific community has sometimes been slow to

recognise the capacity for pain in certain animals, with, for instance, controversy lasting for

years over whether fish are sentient, which we now know them to be. This gives us reason

to pause, and to adopt the exploitation of any animal, even one which we suspect lacks

any sentience, only when it is necessary, and not merely to satisfy our own gastronomical

curiosity. Ultimately, I suggest that, if the choice is between the exploitation of likely non-

sentient creatures and the extinction (or near-extinction) of certain kinds of animal

companions who form real and ethically valuable bonds with humans, we should choose

the former, though supplementing the diets of our companions with scavenged corpses or

ethically acquired eggs may well be desirable, where possible. Humans in the developed

world, by contrast, lose little in choosing not to eat oysters, grubs and the like, and so we

have good reason to believe that justice demands that we should not.

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Documents

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