Training & Behavior

A friend of mine has a tabby called Nessa who bites. That was how it was put to me for about two years: she bites, out of nowhere, mid-purr, no warning at all. So one afternoon I sat across the room and watched while my friend stroked her on the sofa. Nessa purred, clearly enjoying it. Then, at roughly the fifty-second mark, the purring changed pitch. Four seconds later the skin along her back rippled. Two seconds after that the last third of her tail gave a fast little flick against the cushion, her right ear swivelled outwards, she turned her head towards the hand, and she bit.

Three separate signals and about ten seconds of notice. Not out of nowhere. Just quiet.

That is the trouble with cats. They are not subtle by their own standards, they are subtle by ours. A cat's face moves far less than a dog's, the signals are small and fast, and most of us were never told where to look. Once you know, it becomes almost noisy.

Start with the tail, because it is the biggest moving part. Held straight up with a slight hook at the tip is a confident, sociable greeting and one of the nicest things a cat can say to you. Low and loose is neutral. Tucked tight to the body means she is frightened. A slow, heavy swish across the floor is irritation, not pleasure, and it catches out anyone importing their dog knowledge. But the one genuinely worth learning is the twitch at the base: a fast rippling flick in the last third of the tail, or a rhythmic tap where the tail meets the spine. In a cat who is otherwise relaxed and being handled, that is the earliest reliable sign that she has had enough. It arrives well before anything else.

Ears next. Pricked and facing forward means interested. Rotated out to the sides, sometimes called aeroplane ears, means conflicted and aroused, and it is a signal to stop whatever you are doing rather than push on. Flattened right back against the skull is fear or an imminent defensive swipe, and by then you have missed several earlier chances. Watch for the ear that swivels backwards independently while she is still looking at you, too: she is tracking something behind her, and she is not relaxed.

Whiskers are the most ignored part of a cat's face. Held out to the sides in a loose fan, neutral. Pushed forward and spread wide means stimulated, which is lovely over a toy and much less lovely on your lap. Pulled flat back against the cheeks means fear or pain.

Eyes need reading against the light in the room, which is where people go wrong. Wide black pupils in bright daylight are not romantic, they are arousal. It might be fear, it might be play excitement, but it is not calm, and if you are stroking a cat with saucer eyes in a sunny kitchen you should stop. Constricted slits paired with a hard stare, forward whiskers and a stiff body point the other way and can precede an offensive move. Between cats a long unbroken stare is a threat, which is why the nervous cat at a party heads for the one guest ignoring her.

The opposite of the stare is the half-blink. Soft eyes, lids drifting to half-mast, a slow deliberate close and reopen. It is an affiliative signal, roughly the feline version of unclenching, and cats offer it to people they are comfortable with. You can return it: look at her, let your eyes close slowly, open them and glance away. Plenty of cats will do it straight back.

Then there is body shape, and the loaf deserves its fame. A properly relaxed loaf has the paws tucked underneath, the tail wrapped loosely round, the chest resting down, ears neutral, eyes half closed. That cat is off duty. What catches people out is its near-identical twin, the crouch: paws still under her but the elbows tense, weight forward rather than settled, head carried low, eyes wide, ears out to the sides, tail wound tight instead of draped. She looks like she is resting. She is loaded, and she is thinking about the door.

Full relaxation looks different again, sprawled on her side with limbs loose and belly showing. Which brings us to the great misunderstanding. A belly is not an invitation. In a relaxed cat, it is a display of trust that says she feels safe enough not to protect it, and rubbing it usually ends that feeling immediately. In a frightened cat rolled onto her back with ears flat and claws out, it is a defensive position that brings all four sets of weapons to bear. Either way, admire it and keep your hands to yourself.

Which is really the whole lesson of petting-induced aggression. It is not random and it is not spite. The sequence runs: purring stops or changes; skin twitches along the spine; the tail base flicks; ears rotate; she stops leaning into the hand and goes still; her head turns towards you; and then the grab. Ten seconds, sometimes less, and most owners only register the last item.

So keep sessions short and let her set the length. Try the three-second test: stroke for three seconds, take your hand away entirely, and see what she does. Leaning back in is a yes. Staying frozen or moving off is not. Stick to the cheeks, the chin, the base of the ears and the top of the head, which is where cats groom each other, and leave the belly and the tail base alone. Stop before she has to ask.

One last thing. A cat who used to tolerate handling and suddenly does not is telling you something medical more often than not. Arthritis, dental pain, skin sensitivity along the back. Book the vet before you book the behaviourist, and if there is real aggression in the house, get a qualified feline behaviourist involved rather than guessing.

Nessa, incidentally, has not bitten anyone in about a year. Nothing about her changed.