Why do some people hate cats?
As a longtime feline lover, I try to listen as people share fervent complaints about allergies, criticism of supposed standoffish or erratic behavior, or just the plainspoken and emphatic, “Ugh. I hate them!”
I wear my love for felines on my sleeve, their fur on my dark pants, and am not shy about sharing my affections and fascination for all kinds of cats, domestic and otherwise. With some 86.4 million cats and 78.2 million dogs in homes across the U.S., clearly I’m not alone.
My mother thought cats were dirt-tracking flea-infested critters and just a tiny step up the creature chain from rodents. Yet I was never sans feline until I went to college, where dorm animals were frowned upon. My cats stayed outdoors and were only allowed to cross the threshold when there was an extreme frigid snap. As soon as it warmed, “that animal” had to vacate.
You cannot expect cats to have your best interests at heart. They’re just not programmed that way.
Watching cats in the wild (as I have) provides insight into behaviors kitty haters can’t seem to endure in the domestic version. The motions of any wild cat are more powerful and far more athletic than those of a house kitty. Whether a cheetah is stalking its prey, or a lioness is lording over her cubs, the motivations of a wild cat are perfectly clear.
Their needs are basic: Eat, and therefore, hunt to eat; and seek shelter and safety from those that prey upon them. Also, with the exception of female lions, most wild cats go it alone once weaned from their mothers.
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So you cannot expect a domestic cat to have your best interests at heart. Biologically, they’re just not programmed that way.
But cats are highly intelligent. You can’t really compare them to our supposed best friend, the dog, because felines haven’t had nearly as much time to go from the jungles and the savannas to making biscuits on our favorite blankets. A mere 4,000 years ago, all cats were wild. Four thousand years is nothing, a mere blip, on the evolutionary scale.
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Dogs have had a much longer time (some estimates say as much as 100,000 years) to learn how to live with humans. So the fact that cats have been able to adapt to human domestic life and even work their ways into our hearts is nothing short of extraordinary. They watch, they learn, they adapt. If there’s an honor role for domesticated animals, cats are getting the scholarships. They’re just plain bright.
Due to anxiety from her scattered past, our rescue cat was also on kitty Prozac.
We adopted a rescue cat last fall. The six-year-old had been in and out of homes five or six times for various reasons — the owners discovered allergies, they had to move, the dog had a conflict. She’d been brought back to the shelter each time but was so traumatized that she needed to be kept away from the other cats.
So she became an “office cat” and was housed in the confined space of one of the staff members. Given her anxiety, she was also on kitty Prozac.
Perhaps we should’ve chosen another cat for our two-parent, two-kid, one-senior-cat household.
She greets us at the door and flops down on the rug, exposing her wide white belly for a rub (a rarity among cats, in my experience).
Abby Cat was certifiable. The slightly obese tuxedo would fly through the house, racing up and down the stairs, topaz eyes bugged out, when we’d try to pet her. She hissed and displayed claws whenever our resident cat of 12 years, the sweet and docile Lily, approached. And woe to the one who stood between her and the food dish.
Fast forward six months. Abby Cat is now more dog than feline. She greets us at the door and flops down on the rug, exposing her wide white belly for a rub (a rarity among cats, in my experience). She trails me like a puppy, and, if I’m working from home, hops up on the table and plants herself at my computer’s side, or on the laptop itself.
She’s also affectionate toward the rest of the family, though a bit wary of my seven-year-old-daughter who has a tendency to over-love pets. And relations with her adopted sister, Lily? The two curl up together on a daily basis, napping the day away, hours on end.
Cats, those keen observers, are quick to understand where their bread is buttered.
When Abby Cat escapes through an errant open door, I can pick her up and relish her 20-pound fluffy frame molding over my shoulder as she takes in the views. Needless to say, she’s no longer on the meds. It’s as if we adopted a completely different animal.
Six months is a pretty short time for a complete behavioral flip-flop for any living creature. But cats, those keen observers, are quick to understand where their bread is buttered. They survey their lands (your home), evaluate who can see to their needs, and nestle in appropriately. Most cats even mirror the affection you show. Ours certainly have.
Rushing through the house at breakneck speed, mind you, is merely a cat in hot pursuit of prey, even if it is just a fly. Scratching a favorite table or chair makes sense if you don’t have the right scratching post; cats need to keep their weapons in prime condition. So their basic cat programming is still firmly in place.
Think about it: How else could you glimpse jungle behavior right in your own home?
If you can’t give cats your love and affection, then at least offer a bit of respect, and maybe a kibble or two.
Carol Kaufmann is the author of ’97 Ways to Make a Cat Like You,’ published this spring.
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