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Writer's pictureCrone

There's no such thing as a strange cat

Yup, that's my latest pronouncement.


Now, there might be strange cats in the wild. By which I mean a sort of pristine wild. Like, it'd be strange if a lion turned up her nose at wildebeest because on that day she fancied Thomson's gazelle. It'd be strange if a cheetah took a liking to hyenas and slept next to them. It'd be strange if a lynx has a passion for chasing lasers and left the woods to prance around a city centre pouncing on reflected light in puddles.


But domestic cats, they do what they do to make us do what they want us to do.


Oh, she talks to me when I stick my tongue out.



Oh, she feeds me if I am screaming from the top of the kitchen cupboard rather than the floor.


Oh, she strokes my belly if I sit on her like a baby rather than a cat.


Oh, she likes it when I pat her face with my paw. Oh, right, not so much with the claws. Not to self: retract.


Smart creatures. They adapt. They can't communicate in a shared spoken language so they manage without - and pretty well in the case of these monsters. It doesn't take much in the way of trial and error for them to work out the surest way to the chicken.


The first task is to get attention.


The second is to direct attention.


The third is to manipulate behaviour.


Step-by-step, they take charge.


Thank goodness they sleep about 22 hours out of every 24 or I'd be even more exhausted than I am already.




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