06/28/2025
The Thing About Cats (humans misunderstanding)
This Does Not Absolve Your Cat of Their Own Responsibilities.
I never really set out to be a Cat Whisperer. That label gets tossed my way sometimes—usually by friends who ask me to cat-sit or call in a pinch when their feline roommate starts peeing in the wrong place, hiding for days, or delivering dead birds to the bed with unnerving eye contact.
And while I hesitate to claim any special status (because cats would roll their eyes at that anyway), I’ve spent enough time in their presence—on hardwood floors, sun-warmed stoops, and even under porches during rainstorms—to know a few things. Or maybe, more honestly, to have unlearned a few things. Because if there’s one lesson cats keep teaching, it’s this: most of the time, it’s not about the cat. It’s about us.
The thing about cats (and the humans misunderstanding them) is that we keep trying to make them behave like dogs. Or like tiny humans. Or like mirrors of our own unspoken longings. But cats, bless them, resist those projections. It’s not personal—they’re just not built for that kind of codependence.
Dogs evolved to serve. Cats evolved to rule. Or, more accurately, to be—in ways we haven’t always known how to respect.
And yet, they can live stunningly long, healthy lives when they’re allowed to keep that wildness. Jake Perry’s famous cats—Grandpa Rex and Creme Puff—lived into their 30s. Not because they were pampered in the conventional way, but because they were loved wildly and weirdly, with broccoli, turkey, eggs, and a splash of red wine every few days (which… I’m not necessarily recommending, but it does raise an eyebrow, doesn’t it?).
Right now, I’m cat-sitting a 22-year-old farm cat. He’s half-blind, half-outdoors, and fully content. He’s lived through fox raids and coyote standoffs. And yet he purrs into my chest like we’ve shared a hundred lifetimes. That kind of resilience doesn’t come from vet visits and the right kibble alone. It comes from environment. From attachment. From knowing how to live with a human who listens.
Which brings me to the point: if you want to really know your cat, you’ll have to unlearn some of the human stuff. You’ll need to check your projections at the door—your need to be liked, to be needed, to be obeyed. Cats won’t coddle your emotional shortcuts. But they will teach you to be still. To listen. To show up.
And maybe, if you’re lucky, they’ll trust you enough to make eye contact in a moment of true feline grace. It might not look like a gift. But it is.
