Tails of the City: What Public Pets Abroad Tell Us About America's Sanitized Streets

On recent trips to Türkiye and Morocco, I was charmed by the omnipresence of public pets—particularly cats. These furry denizens wander freely through cafes, markets, and streets, offering moments of unplanned connection that enrich urban life. In Türkiye, cats are so integrated into public life that during a panel talk I gave in Izmir, a cat casually wandered onto the dais, nuzzled the microphone, and stole the show.

These animals weren’t nuisances—they were part of the city’s rhythm. In Essaouira, a kitten lounged cluelessly in the center of a bustling market while passersby adjusted their steps. Packs of cats gathered in the mornings for sardines thoughtfully left by locals. These public pets, far from being nuisances, create a shared experience between people and the animal kingdom. They are a stark contrast to American cities, where over-regulation, car-dominated design, and a sanitized aesthetic have all but erased such moments of urban charm.

Why Cats Rule in Türkiye and Morocco

Public pets thrive in Türkiye and Morocco due to a mix of culture and practicality. Cats have been celebrated throughout the region for millenia, both for their associations with religion, royalty and more pragmatically, for their rat-catching skills. Islamic tradition holds them in high regard—popular tales link them to the Prophet Muhammad and of course, Cleopatra. This mix of reverence and utility ensures that cats are well-fed, calm, and a celebrated part of the urban landscape.

The Urban Layout: Roads vs. Streets

In Türkiye and Morocco, human-scale streets create a patchwork of comfortable pathways where people—and animals—naturally interact. Medinas and labyrinthine alleys encourage neighborly exchanges and shared experiences, such as greeting a friendly street cat. These spaces can also serve as a bellwether for the comfort and inclusion of others, like seniors.

By contrast, the U.S. prioritizes roads over streets. Our cities are designed for oversized cars, parking lots, and big-box stores, leaving little room for the serendipity of human or animal encounters. Our car-dominated infrastructure not only diminishes social interaction but is also hazardous for animals—an estimated 1 million become roadkill annually in the U.S.

There's No Place Like "Away"

America’s obsession with cleanliness and control stems from a broader cultural concept: the idea of "away." We treat waste, and often street animals, as something to be removed and forgotten, sent to an imaginary place called "away." 

This concept, deeply ingrained in American culture, removes the messiness—and, ironically, the humanity—from urban life. Street pets, once integral to the urban ecosystem, have been relegated to shelters or euthanized, stripped of their role in making cities feel like shared living spaces.

​Meanwhile, in Türkiye, a network of informal public dog houses offers a different perspective, hosting canine neighbors as part of the urban fabric.

Privatization of Pet Life: The American Approach

Interestingly, the U.S. has found ways to reintroduce animals into urban life, but only in controlled, commercialized, or segregated forms. Cat cafés, for example, offer the companionship of cats—but at a price. What other cultures embrace as a free, public joy, we package and sell.

Similarly, dog parks are caged spaces that confine pet life to designated corners of our cities, separating them from the broader urban environment. Instead of integrating pets into daily life, we isolate them within fenced-off areas, treating their presence as something to be managed rather than celebrated.

Even leashed pets in American cities often symbolize tension rather than connection. Dogs tug owners along sidewalks, only to "disturb" overly-manicured lawns or defile tree wells—acts viewed as disruptions in our sanitized urban landscapes. These interactions, far from fostering community, often lead to annoyance or conflict, reflecting the broader friction between individual and shared urban spaces.

​This tendency to compartmentalize pet life into privatized or tightly controlled contexts—be it cat cafés or dog parks—underscores a uniquely American discomfort with the spontaneity and shared responsibility that animals bring to public life.

Social Responsibility and the Fear of Free-Roaming Pets
​
​America’s lack of public pets also reflects a broader failure of social responsibility. We tend to view free-roaming animals not as companions but as threats. The specter of “dangerous” strays—like the stereotype of marauding pit bulls—reflects a society where mistrust and fear often overshadow care and stewardship.

Abroad, the presence of well-fed, calm animals in other countries suggests a community that takes collective responsibility for its shared spaces, fostering an environment where animals and people coexist peacefully.

​This isn’t to idealize other countries entirely. Türkiye recently enacted stricter laws targeting its 4 million stray dogs after several fatal attacks. While controversial, the law focuses on addressing animals that pose public health risks, rather than eradicating all strays. This approach contrasts sharply with the U.S. regulatory mindset, where a “one-size-fits-all” approach often punishes the many for the sins of the few. American regulations frequently stifle social activities like street vending and festivals, assuming bad intent rather than targeting specific problems.

Lessons in Coexistence for the U.S.

​Public pets remind us of the value of shared spaces and mutual responsibility. They create small moments of connection that humanize cities, making them feel less like sterile machines and more like living rooms. 

Public pets represent more than cute encounters—they are a lens through which we can examine urban design, regulation, and social values. Their absence in U.S. cities reveals a deeper discomfort with the messiness of shared urban life, a preference for control over connection.
​
By embracing—not erasing—these interactions, we might create cities that feel less like the crucible of commerce and realm of machines and more like living rooms: cozy, communal, and alive.​

Story and Photos by Ryan Smolar