Do Our Cats Believe That We Are Cats Too, Only Bigger?


Editor’s note: Have you seen the new Catster print magazine in stores? Or in the waiting area of your vet’s office? This article appeared in our January/February 2017 issue. Click here to subscribe to Catster and get the bimonthly magazine delivered to your home.

We know what humans think of cats — cuddly, independent, liable to vomit on the nearest area rug — but what do cats think about humans? Scientists say cats think we’re just bigger cats and treat us accordingly, but surely more is going on than that. I asked my cat, Stella, whether she thinks I’m a cat.

Me: Stella, do you think i’m a cat?

Of course not. You’re a hippopotamus.

What? I look nothing like a hippopotamus.

A beluga whale, then. Amazing you’ve survived this long outside water.

Be serious.

I am serious — I’ve seen you lie on the couch and watch golf.

You have no idea what I am, do you?

You’re a sloth. A crustacean. A large snail? An amalgamation of barnacles.


I’m a human, Stella.

Is that like a water buffalo?

That’s nothing like a water buffalo.

Funny how they look so much alike.

Stella, humans are higher animals capable of advanced thinking and reasoning. They take care of cats, for instance.

Since when?

Since five seconds ago, when you meowed at me and I fed you.

Wrong. I meowed to remind you that food is necessary for BOTH of us to survive. You forget that every couple of hours, you know. Humans are really dumb.

Oh, really?

You’d sleep all night if it weren’t for cats.

That’s the point, Stella.


You can’t race around for hours in the dark like a maniac if you’re asleep, idiot.
You’re also a bunch of hypochondriacs.

How so?

Every day you get in your car and go to the vet.

I go to work, Stella.

Don’t kid me. Cars are for going to the vet. And humans go to the vet a lot, judging by what I see driving by our house. Such a sickly species. I can’t believe you’ve survived this long.

Any other ways we’ve failed you?

Too much microfiber. Who buys cat trees made out of microfiber?

That’s MY furniture, Stella.

And just once I wish you’d prepare the food I bring home.

I won’t eat dismembered insects, Stella.

Says a man who eats vegetables. And that reminds me: Why don’t we have a chicken farm?

Because we’re not chicken farmers?

That right there is your problem in a nutshell.

Hey, at least I provide a roof over your head!

When my great desire is to live outside — GREAT JOB reading cats, human.


So you really do think cats are smarter than humans?

I’m not the one who’s about to open a can of wet food to keep me from vomiting on the rug.

You wouldn’t do that.

Use your brain — of course I would.

About the author: contributor Michael Leaverton has written a wide variety of articles in the past 11 years, very few of which after consulting with his cat. That ends here. Stella is an 11-year-old Bengal with a firm editorial grip on her handler, whom she rescued from an alt-weekly in San Francisco many meals ago. She likes it when he writes about chicken. They currently live in San Diego.

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