That’s the title of a book by Paul Corey. I just finished reading it, and found it intriguing. Not once in the book does the author say he owned cats -- it was always “cats who lived with him”. He makes the argument that although scientific method cannot demonstrate whether or not cats think, his own critical observations over many years leads him to conclude that the possibility is certainly there.
That led me to thinking about a Siamese “who lived with me” many years ago. A friend and I lived in an apartment in San Francisco that allowed pets. Honey (so named because of her dark honey color) was a sweet animal who, like other cats, loved to have her ears and tummy rubbed. She also had a little game she would play with me, and this was strictly her idea. The apartment was laid out so that it was necessary to walk through the living room to get to the kitchen. Honey would hide on one side of the living room, and when I walked through, she would race across my path to the other side. Great fun, or something. One day I anticipated her dash in front of me, and as I walked through, I reached down and, much to her surprise, I scooped her up. Ha! Caught you.
Do cats think? Consider this: the next time I walked through and bent down to catch her, she leaped over my outstretched arm. Ha! You missed!
A man goes to his doctor and hands him a note that says, “I can’t talk. Help me”
“Okay”, says the doctor, and instructs the man to put his thumb on the table. The man doesn’t know how that will help, but he does as instructed. The doctor picks up a huge book and drops it on the man’s thumb.
“AAAAAAAAA,” screams the man.
“Very good,” says the doctor. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll work on B.”