Cat
This is Buddy. The impatient, offended cat.
  For those who follow this blog, you know I love great writing. I found this on Quora yesterday. Apparently it was posted in 2019. The author’s handle is “Space Admiral Steve Jones,” who describes himself as an “Animal lover and human servant to a crazy kitty.” The query was: “When my cat meows at me, I often meow back, using various noises he makes. How do cats interpret that?” This is Steve’s marvelously-entertaining answer: It was a catastrophe: Buddy’s dinner was supposed to be at 5 o’clock on the dot, but the clock was showing 5:05 and I still hadn’t delivered a fresh bowl of turkey to his little dining nook. “Meow?” I was on a work deadline. I had two stories in the editing queue, and both were slated to run ASAP. “Meeeeeow?” Now there were strains of disbelief in Buddy’s voice. Where was his food? This had never happened before. “Meeee…ooowww?!” Translation: Big Buddy? Uh, my yummies still aren’t appearing. It’s 5:06. I’m starting to get a little concerned. “Brrrrrr.” A trill of consternation. “Meow! Brrrrr!” Louder now, insistent. “MEOW!” A ball of fur flops onto my desk, and my view of the screen is obstructed by 10 pounds of worried, confused cat. I pick him up gently with both hands and place him down on the floor with an affectionate head scratch. Got to get these stories done. “Meow. Meow!” “Hold on, Bud. Just a minute.” “Mrrrrrreeeeoooowww! Mrrrrrrreeeeooowww!” “Relax.” Silence, sweet silence. Just let me get this done and… “MEEEEEOOOOOWWWW!” I swivel around in my chair, looking down at him, and deliver the most accurate, mockingly imitative meow I can muster: “MEEEEEOOOOOWWW! I’m Buddy, and my life is sooo terrible. It’s 5:09! I still don’t have my dinner! Woe is me!” He sits there staring up at me, dumbfounded. I swivel back toward the screen, determined to use these fleeting, hard-fought moments of silence. “Mrrrrrrrooowww!” Oh, he’s pissed. I mimic him again: “Mrrrrooowww! So terrible!” “Brrrrrr! Brrrrrrt! Meeeooowww!” I hear his trilled agitation and mock it. Back and forth it goes until I’m finally done and I look down at my cat. He looks like he can’t decide whether he’s more upset at me for making fun of him, or for being so late with his food. I can’t speak for anyone else or anyone else’s cats, but I can say with confidence that my cat did not appreciate my meowing back at him. Sometimes animals are frighteningly intelligent. There’s no doubt in my mind he knew and understood I was making fun of him, and he was pissed. Since then, any time I meow back at Buddy, he’s either confused or annoyed. Confused because I’m certainly bungling the Song of His People and butchering the nuances of the meow, and annoyed because cats never forget anything, especially insults. One thing is universal when it comes to meows. Adult cats really don’t meow to each other and the vocalization is relegated to communication between cat moms and kittens. Thus:
  • The meow is a clear attempt on the part of cats to “speak” our language. They understand we don’t speak tail or whisker, so they want to communicate with us on our terms. Without the fine motor control or similar vocal hardware we have, it’s the closest cats can get to talking.
  • To a cat, its meow sounds like the babble we make with our mouths. So when we meow back to them, cats probably wonder why we’re suddenly talking gibberish.
Happy meowing! (“The Great Dinner Delay of Aug. 3, 2015 is not funny and not something that should be joked about. Steve knows if it happens again I’m calling CPS — Cat Protective Services — and reporting him for failure to feed me in a timely manner.”)