What Cats Know About Life That Humans Don’t

I’ve always been fascinated by the way cats go about their lives, as if they’ve got it all figured out from the start. There’s something about the way they strut around, seemingly unbothered by what others think, that makes me wonder if they’re the real philosophers among us. According to John Gray, who wrote a book called “Feline Philosophy, Cats and the Meaning of Life,” cats don’t need systems of morality or complicated ideologies to live well. They’ve got their own natural code. We humans tend to see ourselves as more advanced because we ponder issues of good and evil, right and wrong, and develop elaborate rules to live by. But cats don’t need that. They’re perfectly comfortable in their own skin, and they do their thing without ruminating or overthinking.

I remember reading about a philosopher who tried to convert his cat to vegetarianism. It turned out the cat just went along with it at home, all the while sneaking out to catch mice and birds in secret. The cat didn’t care about its owner’s moral stance on eating meat. It simply followed its natural instincts, because cats are hypercarnivores and need meat to thrive. The part that got me was how unoffended the cat seemed by these human attempts to change it. It just took the veggies if offered, then made its own arrangements whenever it wanted something else. It’s as if the cat was telling us that imposing artificial rules on creatures that already know how to live is not only pointless, but also kind of silly.

Gray goes even further, saying that humans are often dissatisfied with their own nature. We’re restlessly searching for ways to better ourselves or find some grand meaning in life. That constant search breeds anxiety, fear, and a need for strict ideas about morality. We love to classify things as good or evil, based on concepts that might not even hold up universally. What seems moral in one culture may be immoral in another. And what one person calls virtuous might be condemned by someone else. We have all this friction because we can’t agree on our moral stories. Meanwhile, cats aren’t losing sleep over these philosophical clashes. They do what works for them, and if you don’t like it, they’ll simply walk away. They accept who they are and don’t feel compelled to become something else.

That’s what I find so intriguing about cats. Unlike dogs, they were never truly domesticated to serve humans. Dogs perform tasks and have become emotionally intertwined with us, but cats kind of domesticated us instead. Thousands of years ago, they started hanging around farming communities because they got free meals and shelter while hunting rodents. Humans thought, “Great, these furry creatures keep pests away from our grain!” But the relationship was always tilted in favor of the cats. They’re masters at extracting what they need from us, and yet they remain perfectly fine on their own.

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It’s not that cats don’t show affection. They do. It’s just that they’re also fiercely independent. They’re not bothered about group identity or status or what other cats think of them. They’re fine being solo, which is a stark contrast to most humans, who crave company and often can’t stand being alone with their own thoughts. Cats don’t run from themselves or their nature. That might be why they seem so at peace. They just eat when they’re hungry, sleep when they’re tired, and when they face danger or have to protect their kittens, they rise to the occasion—no drama, no guilt, no moral hangups.

Gray believes the reason cats seem so content is because they don’t narrate their own lives. Unlike us, they don’t create big stories about their past or stress about the future. They exist more in the moment, unburdened by existential dread. When bad things happen, they handle the situation, then move on without overanalyzing. We, on the other hand, often cling to misery and turn it into our identity. We get stuck in stories of tragedy and keep poking at emotional wounds, always searching for meaning in our suffering.

But Gray doesn’t suggest we should become cats. We’re human, and that comes with all our mental baggage, our questions, our yearning for purpose. Still, he offers a few playful pointers inspired by cats. One of them is to stop trying to force others to act rationally, because people usually just use reason to back up whatever they already believe. Another is to avoid attaching too much significance to suffering, because dwelling on it tends to make it worse. And if we chase happiness too obsessively, we might just scare it away.

I like to think that if cats could speak our language, they’d share their wisdom in a casual, take-it-or-leave-it manner, then probably bat a paw at a yarn ball and go nap in a sunbeam. The beauty of their philosophy lies in its simplicity: do what comes naturally, don’t stress about things beyond your control, and enjoy life without getting tangled up in moral or existential knots. Maybe that’s why they look so relaxed all the time. They’re just being cats—no apologies, no questions asked.

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