Are Pets Intelligent Enough to Understand Us?

Whether or not animals are “smart” or just react according to
instinct has been debated for many years. A German shepherd
grabs the back of a three-year-old’s pants as she tries to climb
over the backyard fence: Is that herding “instinct” or the
intelligence of a pet knowing the child was not supposed to be
climbing over the fence.? I am one of the people who say some
animals, especially some pets, understand us and show
intelligence.

The German shepherd mentioned previously grew up with our
daughter. When both were nearly three-months old, I sat the baby
in an infant seat just inside the back screen door, where I
could see her, while I hung up clothes on the line. Pepper ran
around the fenced yard, coming by for attention before taking
off again. My daughter, who had been happily playing with her
hands, started crying. I put the diaper in my hands back in the
basket of clothes and started toward the door. Pepper rushed by
me, hopped up the steps, and gave a soft “woof” at the baby. The
baby stopped mid-sob, stared wide-eyed at the dog, and burst
into giggles, her first laugh.

I returned to my task while Pepper remained outside the screen
door for a few minutes. Then she jumped down to run over to me.
I petted her head. “Good girl. You are the best babysitter,
Pepper.”

A few minutes later, the baby cried again. Pepper ran to the
screen and woofed at her again. My daughter laughed. That became
the procedure for the rest of the time I hung clothes.

This dog could be shown the limits of our yard, and she would
not cross that imaginary line unless my husband or I gave her
permission, no matter what the temptation provided.

But Pepper wasn’t the only pet who “understood.” Shadow, a
miniature black panther (he looked like one and moved like one),
definitely understood what people said and acted more human than
many people. When we lived in the country, we had a mouse
problem, but Shadow would not lower himself to catch any of
them. We got another cat who was an excellent mouser. One day
the other cat caught a mouse, and I told Shadow, “See, Tabby
knows her job.”

The male cat glared at me and stalked to the door, demanding to
be let out. I opened the door for him, and he streaked outside.
A few minutes later, he scratched at the door. I opened it to
find him on the porch, a rat under one foot. He looked at me a
few seconds before slapping the rat off the porch. Guess he
showed me what he could do if he wanted.

Sometime later, we were given a Siamese kitten, one supposedly a
female. The kitten was so scared that its tail curled up between
its hind legs. We never checked its sex because we were told it
was a she, and most tomcats won’t tolerate another one. Shadow
sniffed at Taffy and walked away. That night we put “her” in a
box in the bathroom next to our bedroom. Shadow slept in the top
stacking basket on the bookshelf headboard above my head. When
the kitten started yowling, before I could crawl out of bed,
Shadow leaped to the floor and ran to the bathroom (he could
open the door). When I arrived, the huge male was cleaning and
comforting the tiny kitten.

When Taffy no longer had to stay in the bathroom, he followed
Shadow everywhere. But the night we went to bed, Shadow and my
husband with me, and found Taffy in Shadow’s bed, I had to leave
the room to laugh. Shadow jumped up, booted the kitten out, and
pushed him into the second basket down before jumping into his
own bed. He hung his head down to stare at Taffy, said a few
choice words in catanese, and went to sleep. Taffy slept in the
lower bunk from then on.

As we prepared to moved to town, my daughter helped me pack. We
took a break in the living room. Shadow lay in the middle of the
carpet, sleeping. My daughter asked me what we were going to do
with all the cats. I told her that all but Shadow had new homes.

“Then since you’re going to be in town, you’ll need to have him
fixed, won’t you?” she asked.

Shadow’s head flew up. He stared at my daughter and then
shuddered all over.

We both laughed as he glared. (Yes, cats can certainly glare.)

Several months later, one of my former students wanted to
practice his vacuum cleaner presentation, so we agreed. He sat
in the middle of the living room visiting after he had given his
spiel. I was on the couch, Shadow beside me.

“That’s one big cat,” Jack remarked, “but I like dogs better
because they’ll roll over and let me rub their stomachs.”

Shadow jumped down, walked in front of Jack, flopped down, and
rolled over. Jack sat staring at the cat.

“Go ahead, rub his stomach,” I said.

Jack did as he laughingly remarked, “I think he really
understood me.”

I have given only a short list of the anecdotic examples I have
just from my own pets. I firmly believe that animals can and do
understand, that they have more than instinct to guide them.
Yes, some are not as intelligent as others, but those who live
and interact with people can and do understand. Too bad we can’t
understand them as well.