Aloof. Indifferent. Diabolical. Plotting. Cunning. Manipulative. Self-interested. Unphased.

No, I’m not describing your toxic family members (this time.) These labels represent some of the prevailing beliefs about cats, and I’m here because I have a bone to pick with them.

We all know people who firmly believe that felines exist purely to get their own needs met, humans be damned. These same people think it’s perfectly fine to leave cats alone for days on end with nothing but a little food and water to sustain them. 

 But peruse social media and you’ll find countless stories about cats that know their own names (plus a variety of other words,) fetch their toys, can be trained to give high fives or sit, require inordinate amounts of love and affection—and pout when they don’t receive it in a timely manner.

Recent research has shown that cats benefit their owners’ mental health as much as dogs do, something cat lovers know well. Some have even credited their feline friends with saving their lives by detecting the symptoms of a heart attack or other potentially fatal event.

To be sure, neither of my cats has saved my life (yet) and only one seems to know their name. For the purposes of this highly academic discussion, I’ll focus on our 5-year-old, a Siamese mix named Alfred.

Alfred has favorite toys (usually his fishing poles with feathers attached to the end) and favorite snacks (freeze-dried chicken.) He enjoys consuming malt-flavored feline toothpaste and looks forward to being brushed every evening. He loves going for walks on a leash and chasing sticks and bugs in our backyard. He sleeps through the night in our bed. He “makes the biscuits” on my spouse’s chest when it’s time for breakfast. When we’re off kilter, he feels it, and when he’s out of sorts, we feel it—and jump through any number of hoops trying to figure out what’s going on with him (information that he smugly withholds, sometimes necessitating an expensive vet visit).

Alfred is also very social, which means that he does not enjoy being left home alone. When my spouse and I dare to step out for a few hours (sometimes we have the nerve to replenish household items like toilet paper or tend to our grocery list), Alfred brings his favorite toys to the door, much like a dog might. When we’re not in view, he yowls around the house as though he’s on the verge of death until he finds us, at which point he makes demands for food or fun. He gets bored easily and has perfected his sneer and guilt trip for just those moments. Alfred has brought a level of expertise, talent, and skill to his emotional manipulation that, prior to becoming a cat mom, I’d only ever experienced from my mother.

For those who’ve read this far, I’ll simply point out the obvious: Our social boy is high-maintenance, and we knew we needed to find a way to stimulate him in our absence. Thankfully, we’ve discovered that Alfred is an avid fan of streaming media.