Cattitude (or the Attitude of Cats)

My first degree in college was in the field of Psychology, more specifically in the area of Behavioral Psychology. I reveled in the idea that learning could be broken down into small components. Like any scientist eager to understand the mysteries of the human mind, I looked at the classics in my field. The teachings of Pavlov were fascinating. They showed how we could unconsciously be trained to salivate at the slightest sight of what we desired. Of course, as a young man, this often became an embarrassment in the presence of the female breast. The work of B. F. Skinner was even more amazing. He taught a cat how to escape from a simple box, held closed by a basic lock clasp, by successive approximation. The cat reached outside the box enclosure and over time learned to flip the lock clasp free. Each time the cat did so, it learned the task a little faster. But as time went by, I began to ask myself, 'who was the real teacher here?'

You see cats are the ultimate behavioral psychologists. They teach us how to do things by successive approximation. Things they want us to do. For example, my cat Mah Pee wanted me to let him outside the house. To get me to do this, he first greets me with great affection. Ah, he's sucked me into his little dominion. Then after I've been reinforced for paying attention by his rubbing against my side, he walks a few feet away. Because I'm only a stupid human, he glances back with his back to me. He's no longer giving me his affection and the stimulus is now offensive.... painful perhaps. No one likes rejection. Now I must respond. I move closer to him and pet him, and the offensive stimulus is removed by his brief moment of affection. This is what is known as negative reinforcement, the removal of a painful or unpleasant stimulus to strengthen a response.

He then moves away again, turning his back to me. Eager to regain his love I move closer. I touch him and he lifts his tail and gets that happy look on his face. 'Good, the human is learning,' he thinks. After that brief moment of relief to my psyche, he again moves away. This behavior continues until I find my head striking the door. Now, he's accomplished his mission and gives me the most affection of the entire episode of training. I've learned to get to the door. Sure, he could probably open the door as he's learned vicariously in the past. I've had cats that could turn door knobs, open the refrigerator and probably even drive my car. Certainly, he must be using my credit cards. I've gotten plenty of bills for 1-900-bigmeow. But to open the door himself would be below his dignity. And after all, he has to make sure we understand who is really in charge here so the learning environment does not become disruptive.

So you see, B. F. Skinner was a bit full of himself. The cats in his experiments had already had a cognitive mastery of the problem. They felt around outside, thinking to themselves, 'where the hell did he put the lock, the stupid jerk!' They teach us everyday what they want and I know when my cats don't get the response they desire, they are very quick to let you know. Each night I come home, Mah Pee runs to the bedroom repeatedly to let me know this is where I'm supposed to go to watch TV with him and sometimes I'm so stupid that he has to repeat this ten times before I catch on. He's checking on me now because I still haven't made it into the bedroom. His sister, Sheba, is more of a punisher. She nips my feet when I don't move fast enough in the morning to feed her, or tips her bowl over to spill her food when we don't fill it enough to get her fat face inside. The world of Psychology has much to learn from cats. Their brains are those from which we've evolved, so they had it long before us. I often say that we are just apes with thumbs and car keys, but they must be more highly evolved. After all, look who's stressing about the day to day grind and how to keep a roof over our heads and feed ourselves. When all they have to do is eat, sleep, play and poop to feel complete.