Lessons Cats Taught Me (That Humans Forgot to Mention)
- Christine Baker
- Oct 2
- 3 min read
Updated: Oct 22
I didn't choose cats. Or maybe I did, but they'd argue they chose me first.
Either way, here we are—me, my laptop, and a rotating cast of feline supervisors who have taught me more about writing, living, and paying attention than any workshop ever could.
This is where I share their stories, their lessons, and the ways they've shaped not just my life, but the stories I tell.
Some of it's funny (the 3 a.m. zoomies, the strategic knocking of things off counters). Some of it's profound (the way they show up exactly when life gets too heavy). All of it's true.
If you're here, you probably already know: cats aren't just pets. They're teachers, muses, mystery-keepers, and occasionally, tiny tyrants who demand dinner at 5:47 a.m. sharp.
Welcome to Team Cat. Pull up a sunny spot. They've been expecting you.
Lessons Cats Taught Me
(The Humans Forgot to Mention)
I used to think I was the teacher in my relationships with animals. After all, I was the human—the one who knew better, who understood things, who had it all figured out. But somewhere between the 3 a.m. zoomies and the hundredth time I found myself apologizing to Phoebe or Lucy for having the audacity to move their favorite blanket, I realized: I've been the student all along. Here are a few lessons cats have taught me.
Lesson One: Presence Isn't Optional
My cat Phoebe taught me this on a Tuesday afternoon when I was drowning in deadlines. She walked across my keyboard—as cats do—(ahh the joy of working from home) and settled directly between me and the screen. Not beside me. Not near me. Between me and the thing stealing my attention. In fact, as I write this, Phoebe is sitting to my right on her heated blanket cat perch, staring at me with an expression that looks a little like she's editing my every word. Which, knowing her, she probably is. They're always watching, always present—even when we forget to be.
She wasn't demanding food or play. She was just there, purring, her blue eyes half-closed in that way that says "this moment is enough."
Animals don't multitask their love. They don't scroll while sitting with you. When they're with you, they're with you. Fully. Completely. No part of them is somewhere else, planning tomorrow or replaying yesterday.
Lesson Two: Joy Doesn't Need a Reason
Watch a cat discover a new cardboard box or fling the little plastic thing from the top of the milk carton. Watch a dog see their person come home. There's no calculation there, no "is this joy appropriate right now?" They don't save their enthusiasm for special occasions.
My animals have taught me that joy can be found in: a particularly good sunbeam, dinner being five minutes early, the discovery that the forbidden room (in my case a close in the office) is suddenly accessible, a toy mouse that was lost under the couch for three weeks.
We humans are so good at postponing joy. "I'll be happy when I get the promotion, lose the weight, fix the thing, reach the goal." Animals remind us that joy isn't a destination. It's noticing the good stuff right in front of you and letting yourself feel it fully.
Lesson Three: Boundaries Are Acts of Love
Cats are spectacular at boundaries. They'll come to you when they want affection and walk away when they're done. No guilt, no explanation, no "I'm sorry but I really need some space right now."
I used to think this was cold. Now I understand it's honest.
They've taught me that saying "no" or "not right now" or "I need to be alone" isn't rejection—it's respect. For yourself and for the relationship. The love doesn't disappear when they walk away. It's still there, waiting for when they return on their own terms.
Lesson 4: The Real Lesson
Animals haven't taught me anything that I didn't already know, somewhere deep down. They've just reminded me of what I forgot in the noise of being human: that life is happening right now, that love doesn't require perfection, that it's okay to rest, to play, to feel everything fully.
They've taught me by simply being themselves—completely, unapologetically, with a purity of purpose that humans spend lifetimes trying to reclaim.
So yes, I feed them and give them homes and take them to the vet. But the debt? It runs the other way. And it's one I'll spend the rest of my life being grateful for.
What have your animals taught you? I'd love to hear your stories in the comments.
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