When animals are discussed in community scheme environments, the focus is usually on rules, permissions, and complaints. Dogs bark. Cats roam. Neighbours are disturbed. Trustees step in, conditions are imposed, and unresolved matters escalate to the CSOS.

The focus is on people — what they want, what they tolerate, and to what they are entitled.

But the conversation needs to change. It should start with the animal.

Because in all of this, the animal has no voice. It does not choose the space it lives in, the hours it is left alone, or the level of care it receives — how it is trained, exercised, and stimulated.

An animal is not simply something to be approved or managed. It is a living being that experiences stress, boredom, anxiety, and attachment.

A dog that barks constantly is not necessarily a nuisance by nature. It may be lonely, under-stimulated, poorly trained, or unable to cope with being left alone.

A cat that roams into neighbouring spaces, climbs onto vehicles, damages patio furniture or fights at night may not be deliberately causing disruption. It may be acting within its natural instincts in an environment that does not properly contain or manage those instincts.

As indicated by Dr Tanya Grantham, cats, unlike dogs, are more solitary by nature and driven by the need to establish territory. While access to the outdoor environment may be beneficial in general, in community scheme settings this often creates stress, as cats are forced into overlapping territories, leading to constant bickering with other cats. She further explains that cats can live comfortably within contained spaces, provided they have adequate stimulation such as tunnels, scratch pads and toys. Secure outdoor enclosures, such as catios (a patio closed in for a cat), can offer a balanced solution by allowing outdoor access without impacting neighbouring properties.

What we often label as nuisance may, in many cases, be a sign that the animal is not coping.

This is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable because it requires us to look at ourselves.

As humans, we can sometimes be selfish. Not always in an obvious way, but in the quiet decisions we make. We choose to keep an animal because it brings us comfort, companionship, and affection. We place that animal into a community environment because it suits our lifestyle. But we do not always ask whether that environment suits the animal, nor do we ask whether we are truly able to meet the animal’s needs within that environment.

Community living adds another layer. Not all schemes are the same. A student complex, a retirement setting, and a family-orientated estate each present different demands. Limited space, a need for quiet, or higher levels of activity all affect whether an animal can live there harmoniously. An animal that may cope well in one setting may struggle in another.

In community schemes, the issue is often framed as a conflict between neighbours — one resident wanting to keep an animal, and another complaining about the disturbance. But there is a third party in that relationship: the animal itself. And its interests are rarely fully considered.

An untrained animal may react to noise, people or other animals in ways that create conflict, not because it is problematic, but because it has not been equipped to cope with that environment.

In many instances, the nuisance is not the starting point. It is the outcome — the result of an animal placed in an environment that does not suit it, or under the care of an owner who has not fully considered what responsible ownership requires.

There is also a truth that is often overlooked: