200 cats, 200 dogs, one lab: the secrets of the pet food industry
Florence Meowmalade came to me on a chilly winter’s night last year. A oneyear-old orange tabby with a little pink nose, she arrived at my door in London after travelling for three days in a van with 30 dogs across continental Europe. She brought with her an EU pet passport, a soiled pink blanket and a penchant for snuggling into any available lap.
Growing up, I had a dog (a husky), a goldfish that jumped out of its bowl and a clutch of gerbils that refused to stop procreating – but those had all been family pets. The arrival of Florence, or Lady Meowmalade as she shall be addressed by her lessers, marked the first time in my life that I had a small creature entirely dependent upon me for her wellbeing. And like so many pet owners before me, her wellbeing became my fixation.
During her time on the streets of Vaslui in Romania, Florence’s teeth had come loose. By the time she reached me, she had none. Her foster mother, who cared for Florence in Romania until she left for London, assured me that she still had a healthy appetite and could sustain herself on kibble – dry, compound food – albeit the kind made for kittens. And she seemed to like it. She came to us at least a kilo overweight, her pouch swaying whenever she trotted into the room.
But I couldn’t stop worrying about her little pink gums, which she flashed at us every time she chirped or squeaked for our attention. If I had no teeth, I wondered, would I enjoy gumming down hard baked pellets for every meal? Or would I prefer some of that soft wet mix that, in pet food commercials, you see getting spooned so alluringly on to pristine white plates?
Most pets once got by on little more than table scraps, and whatever extra they could hunt or scavenge. Today, things are different. The love humans have for their pets, combined with capitalism’s eagerness to exploit our every desire and anxiety, means pets can now eat better than their owners do. As a pet owner, the sheer level of consumer choice can be overwhelming. Terms like “complete” and “nutritionally balanced” shout out at you from brightly coloured packaging in the pet food aisle of the supermarket. In adverts, hearty looking dogs sprint in slow motion toward kibble cascading into bowls. On social media, targeted posts barrage me with warnings about meat meal and ash content while pushing the latest curated pet food delivery service. Our pets are more than just animals to us – and the $150bn (£120bn) global pet food industry has risen up to cash in on that.
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One of the world centres for pet food innovation is located on the site of an old horse farm, deep in the rolling green fields of the British Midlands. The Waltham Petcare Science Institute in Melton Mowbray is the science arm of Mars Petcare, a leading company in the pet food industry. The research that takes place there determines the future products of dozens of pet food brands: Iams, Cesar, Whiskas, Sheba, James Wellbeloved, Pedigree, Eukanuba and more.
About a third of the staff at Waltham work in its research labs. The other two-thirds are dedicated to feeding, training, exercising and maintaining the living spaces of the real stars of the show: the 200 dogs and 200 cats that live at Waltham and test the products developed there. The 200 dogs belong to four different breeds, chosen to represent different canine sizes: labradors for big dogs, beagles for medium, and norfolk terriers and petit basset griffon vendéens for small dogs. Almost all the cats on site are domestic shorthairs, but the odd longhair can also be found.
When I arrived at Waltham one overcast day last summer, I found cats lounging in their outdoor catios, gazing out over swaths of manicured lawn, or shimmying up scratch trees. Labradors of every hue chased balls in play areas and walked on leads with their handlers. The animals live in state-ofthe-art facilities. The dogs have heated squares for sleeping and bunk two to a room to prevent loneliness; the cats have specially designed climbing nests that look like spiral staircases. All the animals can access the outdoors from their living quarters.
The dogs are well-trained in the arts of sitting still, lying flat and “chin to hand” – placing their snouts on to the waiting hand of the person in front of them – all of which aid the various check-ups and observations they undergo. Some of these observations require the dogs to be absolutely still, which is no small feat. “Have you ever tried to get a labrador to stop wagging its tail?” Lesley Deacon, Waltham’s behaviour and training lead, asked drily.
Amid all the training, playing, tongue-lolling and tail-wagging, these cats and dogs are hard at work. Each day, they eat two meals, and from there, teams of behaviourists, statisticians and nutritionists study how they respond to the food. Each bowl is protected with a cat flap activated by a specific animal’s microchip, so each dog or cat can freely access its own food, but can not eat food meant for another animal. The bowls are equipped with electronic balances so researchers can track things like how fast the animals ate their food, or if they paused during eating. Like professional athletes, these dogs and cats wear monitors that track their vitals. All of them have had their
DNA sequenced, and their quarters are under video surveillance, with staff closely monitoring them for any variations in behaviour or appetite.
All the animals are slated for adoption once they begin to show signs that they’re done with product testing. Most pets end up going home with the staff and scientists who have grown attached to them. To prepare them for the outside world, the dogs play fetch and go on walks at on-site parks designed with a series of different textures – wood chips, brick, pebbles – so they won’t get spooked when they encounter them off campus. When Scott McGrane, one of the research managers at Waltham, took home a cat named Joey 10 years ago, he found that Joey “was a bit perplexed” by the television. The cats’ socialisation rooms now contain TVs – and on the day I visited Waltham, the cats were watching Wimbledon.
This all may seem a bit much for