Does Talking to My Cat Mean I'm Crazy?
Updated: Oct 3
I found myself giving my cat instructions tonight. “Patsy, Mommy likes it when you jump on my lap and cuddle.”
I talk to Patsy incessantly.
Why do we talk to our cats like that? We know they can’t understand most of the words, but we do it anyway.
When I walk to open the door to the lanai, I have a running dialogue—actually, a soliloquy. “Patsy, this is the tenth time you’ve wanted me to open the door. And you just turn around and come back in. You’re like a two-year-old. Make up your mind.”
Hubby and I both think Patsy, who marks everything in the house, can help us find things we’ve lost. “Patsy, where did I put my glasses?” “Patsy, did you turn my keys into a cat toy?” “Patsy, where’s the clicker (remote control)?”
Or I ask her why things are a mess. “Patsy, why are my grocery bags all over the floor?” Then I remember. It wasn’t Patsy. I didn’t put them back where they belonged.
I used to think out loud. Hubby didn’t appreciate it. But now I have a captive audience that doesn’t complain.
Sometimes you do wish they could answer. As part of play, Patsy will dash into the strips of packing paper we keep on the floor for her. She looks like she’s hiding, ready to ambush us—but she never does. I’ll crinkle the edge with my toe, thinking she wants to play. Nope. We still haven’t figured out what we’re supposed to do. I wish she could tell us.
We praise her a lot. When she catches the mouse we toss at her with one paw, “Yeah, Patsy!” When she fetches the spring we toss across the room, “Yeah, Patsy!” When she drops a dead gecko at our feet, “Thank you, Patsy!” Of course, when she turns her head, we dispose of it.
Our cat Misty used to play a game when we walked toward the stairs. She’d dash in front of us, do a somersault at one end of the carpeted stairway, then drag herself across the runner. She was obviously performing for us. So we’d praise her. “Yeah, Misty!”
I’m pretty sure they knew we were praising them. Or maybe that’s just what I hoped.
And sometimes, puzzled by their behavior, we ask them what they’re doing, as if they could—or would—answer us. “Patsy, why are you digging in that drawer?”
Sometimes we explain why we can’t give them what they want. “Patsy, I’m sorry, you’ve already reached your treat quota today.” “Patsy, it’s too hot to keep the door open for you.” “Patsy, I know you like whipped cream, but it’s not good for kitties.”
And there are times when we reprimand them. All of our cats have understood “no,” and most of them responded appropriately—most of the time. But if they were doing something they were absolutely compelled to do, our “NO!” went unheard.
Finally, sometimes we talk to them instead of saying something directly to our spouse. “Patsy, tell your dad it’s time for dinner.” “Patsy, tell your dad to hurry up!”
Or my favorite: “Patsy, tell Dad it’s time to wake up to go to bed.”
Most cats won’t respond at all. Our first cat, a determined creature, would sometimes “grumble back” at us if we took something away from her and told her no. “Mew, mew, mew, mew.” Sometimes she’d also answer with a few mews when we talked to her.
Casey, our orange tabby and a very expressive cat, responded when we talked sweetly to him with what a friend called “spray tail”—his tail quivering with excitement.
Most of the people I know talk to their cats. But I had a next-door neighbor who never did. I never understood that. I’m pretty sure her husband talked to the cat, but she didn’t.
Maybe she was just being practical. Why talk to a cat when you know it doesn’t understand what you’re saying?
But I always thought she was missing something. Not because the cat needed to hear about her day, but because talking to our cats seems to be one of the small ways we connect with them.
They may not understand the words, but they understand something. They hear the tone of our voices. They know when we’re angry and when we’re being affectionate.
And I’m pretty sure they know when we’re praising them.
Maybe sometimes we even treat our cats a bit like psychologists. We tell them our stories, and they listen without judgment.
So does talking to my cat mean I’m crazy?
Maybe. But it’s nice to have a listening ear, even if she isn’t really listening. And perhaps that doesn’t matter. Talking to her makes me feel that we’re together.
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