Victor, my nineteen-year yellow rescued cat, was meowing at me right before I started writing this blog. I asked him, “What do you want?” He kept meowing. From the other room, Bill, my husband, says, “He wants food.”
Normally that answer would make sense. Victor suffered from food insecurity prior to our rescuing him, and he does get anxious about his next meal. But at the moment of his intense meowing, Victor had just finished his share of my scrambled eggs, and had recently consumed his weight in dry cat food, lapped up his daily half-and-half, and begged Bill out of some of his peanut butter, and the cat couldn’t possibly be hungry. Nonetheless, I offer him some kitty treats, which he gobbles up. From the other room, Bill says, “Don’t spoil that cat.” Okay, like he’s not the one who gave Victor the half-and-half this morning and let him lick the peanut butter off the spoon.
The mystery of Victor’s meow—okay, his yowling—isn’t over yet. Victor finishes his snack, looks at me with his intense black eyes, and yowls again.
Not food then. I check his water, check the litter box, and make sure the kitchen isn’t on fire. He follows, meowing in rising and lowering decibels. Pick him up, brush him, hold him, let him out on the porch, let him in again—I’m pretty much at the end of my litany of What-Does-Victor-Want ideas.
Still, he meows. There’s no question in my mind that he is intently trying to tell me something as he tangles around my feet.
But what exactly?
And there is the crux of the problem in the cat-human relationships. We human don’t speak cat-language.
Cats have learned to understand us humans pretty darn well. Animal behaviorists have determined the average cat understands 35 words in the English language, while an average dog understands 100. Now Trouble, the black cat detective, is going to challenge that because everyone knows cats are smarter than dogs. And, the animal behaviorists do admit cats are much better at understanding the nuances of human communications than dogs are.
So, yes, cats can understand us, at least up to a point. But how many cat words does the average human understand?
Not so many. It’s not that one meow sounds so much like another, as they don’t. Victor, for example, is quite vocal and even has a meow that sounds exactly like he is saying “MaMa.” But what meaning goes with which sound is not something I’ve mastered.
Mallory, our tortoise shell rescue cat, a mere youngster at 13-year-old, doesn’t meow. Which is a nice balance to Victor, the yowling cat. But she communicates very well with her actions. She’s managed to teach me when her behavior means “brush me” or “play with me.” Yet, sometimes she stares at me so intently with somewhat baleful eyes that I know I’ve disappointed her, and I’ve somehow misunderstood.
All of this is groundwork for my real point in writing this blog. When Celeste McHale Fletcher, fabulous person and award-winning author of The Secret of Hummingbird Cake and The Sweet Smell of Magnolias and Memories, read a pre-publication version of Trouble in Tallahassee, she gave me a splendid blurb for the book cover. Her last sentence was: “I’ll never look at my feline the same again.”
Which is so true for me also. After writing Trouble in Tallahassee, in which roughly a third of the story is told in the black cat’s voice, I’ll never look at my cats the same either. I will work much harder to understand what they are trying to communicate to me. After all, I’ve learned a little something about cat communication from writing Trouble in Tallahassee and letting Trouble the cat speak through my keyboard.
Still, letting Trouble speak through my keyboard didn’t come easily. When Carolyn Haines first discussed her concept of the Trouble book series, with each author writing a distinctive book that featured Trouble, the black cat detective, I was pleased she considered me as one of the potential writers. But I was also a bit …well…worried. How did one write from a cat’s point of view? And how exactly could a cat solve crimes and rescue people? I mean, dogs, yes, I could see that having been raised on Lassie, Rin-tin-tin and Lad-a-dog. But a cat?
Carolyn suggested I read her Fear Familiar books, which I did, and that jump started my brain. Cats can do so much more than I’d ever thought about. One thing they cannot do, however, is open doors. And this is something I use in the plotline in Trouble in Tallahassee. But as anyone who owns a cat can tell you, cats knows how to make humans open doors for them. And so Trouble has very little difficulty getting into and out of doors, even though he lacks the opposable thumb necessary to turn a door knob.
But let’s get back to how we humans fail to understand our cats. As any cat owner will admit, cats can clearly understand us—to the point cats often seem clairvoyant. But we let them down when we often fail to understanding the meaning behind their different vocalizations.
This failure of the human to understand cat-language and cat sign language plays a big part in Trouble in Tallahassee. You see, Trouble has figured out things the humans can’t—or won’t—because, after all, he can go places they cannot (inside the back of the refrigerator where there’s an essential clue hidden), he can smell things they cannot (the trail of cologne, or the gas and approaching flame), and Trouble can hide and spy in ways people can’t (as when he hides in the back of the police car to eavesdrop on the detectives). But he can’t tell his people what he has learned. He must push them and lead them and cajole them and trick them in typical cat ways. And for Trouble, in atypical ways as well. Figuring out how Trouble could tell his people what he’s learned proved more difficult to conceptualize in writing the story than figuring out what clues Trouble could discover.
So, yes, after spending a few months writing from a cat’s point of view and imagining out how Trouble could figure out what in the Sam Hill was going on, I—like Celeste—will never look at Victor or Mallory or any cat in quite the same way.
I hereby vow to do my best to understand them.
Which means I have to go spend some time with Victor right now as he is still trying to tell dense-humanoid me something, and his voice is getting more and more intense.
First I better re-check and make sure the kitchen really isn’t on fire.
Ah, and there it is. As I’m walking to the kitchen, Victor does a dance at the front door and meows again, loudly. I open the door, all the while telling him he can’t go out. And there on the front door stoop is my package from Amazon.
Victor sniffs the package, sighs, and soon curls up on the couch and goes to sleep, his job done.
Maybe he thought the package was food.
Claire Hamner Matturro used to be a dog person until she rescued a black kitten from a dumpster, and there was no going back. She’s been a journalist in Alabama, a lawyer in Florida, an organic blueberry farmer in Georgia, and taught at Florida State University College of Law. She spent one snowy winter out west where she was a visiting professor of legal writing at the University Of Oregon. She now lives with her husband and two rescued cats in Florida, where it doesn’t snow. Her books are: Skinny-Dipping (a BookSense pick, Romantic Times’ Best First Mystery, and nominated for a Barry Award); Wildcat Wine (nominated for a Georgia Writer of the Year Award); Bone Valley and Sweetheart Deal (winner of Romantic Times’ Award for Most Humorous Mystery), all published by William Morrow. She remains active in writers’ groups and contributes regularly to the Southern Literary Review.
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Cats are indeed smarter than the average biped–and certainly smarter than I am!
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I have two Hairless Sphynx; one talks non-stop, about anything and everything, the other one barely mews unless if he is seriously mad about something. Great post!
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Fabulous post! I pretty well understand what my black kitty Brady wants (food, treats, attention, to sit on my lap and put his forehead up for me to kiss, and to play–he’s excellent at relaying his desires!), and my tortie calico Belle mainly wants treats, for me to pet & brush her, and to let her talk to my mom on the phone every night! (Belle is 19 1/2 so she rarely wants to play.) But they’ve never let me know about a package at the door—what a smart baby you have! (Mine are very smart but yours sounds “TROUBLE-Smart!” 🙂
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What a great post, Claire! As a woman who is owned by 6 very opinionated felines, I get pushed around a lot. Sassy (long-haired, 14.5 lb. tortie) walks across my laptop until I brush her. This process includes taking screenshots, performing random internet searches, closing documents, editing documents, dimming the screen, and sometimes just shutting down the laptop altogether. They all begin walking across the bed and pouncing on my hubby and I as soon as the alarm goes off, then they herd me to the kitchen to make breakfast. Harry, my own purrsonal version of Trouble, paces across my lap until I assume the proper position for him to flip over in my lap for a long belly rub. And that’s just the beginning…I love my life! Can’t wait to read TROUBLE IN TALLAHASSEE!
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My cat, Chester Cheeto, CAN OPEN DOORS! The latches on my bedroom doors, Chester opens by head-butting them. And if I lock them, he tears the strips of wood off of the bottom of the door, until someone unlocks the door. Then he sashays in, plops his butt in the middle of the floor and in a very haughty attitude proceeds to pick his paws and wipe his face, all while pointedly avoiding acknowledging anyone else is in the room, until the offending human has been properly chastised and are now properly penitent, and making a suitable fuss over him.
Chester can also open cabinet doors, and utility room doors WITHOUT human assistance. He turns his paws pads-side up, grabs the surface of whatever he wants to open with either his paws or his claws, and pulls the doors towards himself until the latches pop open.
Chester can also chew cords holding his toys onto rods or doors, in order to carry his toys to his bed, food bowl, or play box, where he neatly assembles his toys in rows, or in circles in his food bowl on the empty side of dual bowls. He gets upset if anyone messes with his order of things.
He also acts as my valet in the mornings, sitting pretty near me as I attend to my toiletries. When I’m finished and tell him we can go, he stands up and sashes ahead of me to the living room, where he sits pretty in his box until I get my beverage, food, etcetera, and sit down. Then he stares me down until I get up and feed the feral cat colony outside, and give them water. Afterwards, he climbs his carpeted kitty condo tree where he waits for his Catnip treats for performing his duties. When he’s done with his treats, he’ll either eat his breakfast, or trot off to take a nap somewhere–sometimes in my bed, either in between the covers with his head on my pillow, and one of his toys to snuggle with and that marks his territory until he’s done napping, or stretched out across the top of the comforter if it’s already warm.
If displeased, he swats the backs of your calves faster than you can walk away, tapping one calve after another in synchronization with your walking pace, with claws sheathed. Should you stop to reprimand him, he can disappear faster than you can catch him. He also smacks hands without claws, and mouths arms without teeth, but with teeth touching skin, just enough so that you realise that if he wished to bite, that he could and would.
Chester is Master of his Domain, and if you swat his butt when he’s especially naughty, he retaliates swiftly in cat fashion, then runs and hides until retribution has been abandoned. I have crisscrossed scars across my upper legs and on my forearms from where he’s gotten a little too irate before learning how to gauge his own strength.
He’s a fierce hunter as well, and keeps the house spider, mouse, and scorpion free. I’ve had over forty cats in my lifetime, growing up on a farm before moving to the city. And Chester, by far is one of the smartest, best groomed, most clever cats with the most beautiful white, yellow and orange markings, perfectly groomed white whiskers, beautiful green eyes outlined in white fur, and gorgeous shiny sleek yet fluffy, fur coat that I’ve ever had the pleasure of admiring. He’s a “Movie Star Grade”Cat,” with an ordinary home life existence filled with semi-ordinary humans. And I don’t know how I shall ever survive without him once he’s lived out his short cat lifetime. He really is quite extraordinary and amazing, and I’m completely in awe of him and his brilliantly genius-grade brain. We may have rescued him from the pound, but he rescued me and our family from a humdrum existence.
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Hey, Sheila, thanks for the post. It gives me ideas for the next book–I might even want to borrow Chester (not literally but for the story). Thank you for rescuing him. Peace, Claire
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Hi Claire,
I’m glad that Chester and I could help. I know that everyone is biased, thinking that their cat (dog, etcetera) is the prettiest, smartest, best in the world, but I truly believe that Chester is the best. I’ve had more cats than anyone besides a veterinary practice could have, since I grew up on a farm with animals and crops, and I’ve never known a more clever cat. In fact, if I lived near a film studio, I’d get in touch with a Studio Animal Wrangler, to see if Chester’s a naturally talented performer, because there are times when Chester looks bored, like his full potential isn’t being fulfilled…like I’m holding him back without meaning to do so, and he needs a wider range of stimuli.
Anyway, the best of luck with your book. I hope that it’s a huge success.
Cheers,
Sheila Carsins
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As always, Claire, we learn something new from your blogs. It’s easy to give Trouble a voice, in my mind, but to translate his actions for mere mortals is always the hard part.
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Ha! This is adorable. I was held in complete suspense to the end, wondering what Victor could want.
We had a cat who could open doors. He would just push gently at the door to make it kind of bounce against his paw until it would eventually open. That may say more about the age of our antique doors–but I like to think it was all Procter!
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Dogs have owners, cats have staff.
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Truth!
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This is lovely, Claire.
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An interesting & informative blog you have written about Pet communication, well done & keep sharing such articles.
Thanks
Blood glucose monitoring system
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