A God Among Cats

Many people will say that emotion is what separates us from the animals. Sure, they have fight or flight responses; they can feel pain and fear. But complex emotions, those are reserved for the humans and maybe a few of our like-minded mammal buddies, such as dolphins and chimpanzees.

I, however, proudly stake myself with the other crazy pet owners who think our animal companions have the ability to show and process complex emotions. The skeptics say this is merely a form of projection—a need of our pathetic pet-owner lives to see more than what is actually there. Well, let them say it. I just happen to disagree and can vouch for the complex emotions animals express.

Jealousy: Take for instance my cats. When we brought Phoebe home to live with us, I wasn’t surprised that Aja rejected her at first. But what surprised me was how she rejected me. Even though she had little idea of why this kitten appeared in the house, she knew I was trying to make peace between them, and that made me her enemy. We had it out and didn’t really get over it for a few weeks.

Let me even make a further stretch: Empathy. What makes a cat realize that when she wants something—to go outside, to have her litter box changed, to have the floaties removed from her water—that the more pathetic her meow is, the more likely she is to receive attention? She’ll start off whining, but gradually the meows will become elongated, deeper, and more mournful. Why does she doe this? Empathy. She has to know that I want her to be happy. Then she makes her pitiful attempt, so that I will realize how my lack of action is torturing her, so I will obviously remedy the situation. Her ability to feign complete helplessness is an exercise in her emotional awareness.

Yesterday I discovered a new emotion in Phoebe. Everyone knows cats to be an aloof sort of creature. I am their servants, they are the queens. It is a privilege for me to scratch Aja behind the ear, or to twirl a toy for Phoebe. This is one thing they never let me forget, until yesterday morning. I was sitting on the couch, reading, and Phoebe came to grace me with her presence. She sat sitting on the arm of the couch, and, not wanting to make eye contact with me, she stared at the closed blinds covering the window. For a few minutes she sat that way, deeply interested in staring at nothing to avoid my gaze. At that point, I got out of my seat, walked over to the window, and turned the wand on the blinds. A whole universe opened up outside the window. Phoebe stared at amazement at how the view from her couch arm was transformed. She then looked up at me, as if I had not only exposed this new world, but created it myself. She stood amazed, asking with her eyes how I had accomplished this great work. Projection of my own desires? I think not. Since that time, I have been admired as her god.