"How can animals tell lies when they can't even speak?" Animals certainly can't come close to humans' lying skills, but on a primal level most animals tell nonverbal lies.
Of course, for most animals, no conscious choice is involved in their little deceptions. Usually it's more of a matter of having evolved to favor looks that deceive predators. In many animal species individuals can inherit looks that stand out and make clear what kind of animals they are, or looks that camouflage them as something else. Often the camouflaged individuals tend to live longer and successfully rear more offspring than the ones whose identity is hard to overlook.
How many cats have you seen lately? Of those cats, how many more had gray tabby coats, or black coats, than had pure white ones?
If you live with a pair of cardinals, or other songbirds of a species whose males are colorful and whose females are camouflaged, how many mates has your female bird outlived and replaced?
If you live in the contiguous United States, you probably see Tiger Swallowtail butterflies. Do you live in a place where most of the female Tiger Swallowtails are yellow like the males, or a place where more of them are iridescent blue-black like the Pipevine Swallowtails? Female Tigers are much more likely to have black wings in places where Pipevine Swallowtails are found. No Tiger Swallowtail seems to be any bird's favorite food, but Pipevine Swallowtails are more toxic than Tigers.
Animals' camouflage is a way of nonverbally proclaiming to the world, usually, "There's nothing to see here. I'm not an animal you want to eat--I'm a leaf, a stick, a bird dropping, or just a shadow," or in some cases "I'm not an animal you want to eat--I'm toxic."
Or, in some cases, "I'm not an animal that's about to eat you! No worries! You didn't see or hear anything! I'm only a shadow! Keep going about your business...so that you move into the position that makes it easiest for me to kill and eat you. Of course there's nothing up here but this tree branch..."
Most animals disguise themselves from prey and predators to some extent. But, a contrarian might say, that may amount to being a lie but does not amount to telling one.
Do you have an indoor pet? What does it do when you tell it something like "Keep those muddy paws out of here"? Have you ever seen a dog nonverbally reply along the lines of "Who, me? What are you talking about? Oh, yes, I see now, muddy tracks on the floor. I wonder how those happened"?
This actually happened:
Most cats don't really teach their kittens to hunt so much as they show the kittens examples, and toss the kittens wounded prey to practice on. Well, most humans aren't world-class teachers either. My social cats do, however, teach their kittens to hunt. The kittens are being prepared to hunt with the adult cats as a team.
We have a Professional Bad Neighbor who dumps out rodents by the half-dozen near houses he's hoping to be able to buy very cheap. Apparently this kind of stunts actually paid off for him, once, in Tennessee and now he thinks they're going to pay in my neighborhood. Well, he's clever in some ways but he is a fool. These colors don't run. A team of social cats can usually deal with a half-dozen assorted small rodents in one day. The cats have fun with the rodents. The possums eat them.
Maybe that's why the fool became frustrated and tried to poison the neighborhood cats.
Anyway, years ago, during the reign of Queen Cat Polly, a non-resident kitten living here was not and would never be much of a hunter. But it watched an older, more competent kitten run down beside the creek and come back with a little rodent it seemed to intend to present to Polly. Non-hunter kitten begged, seeming to say that it was very hungry and wanted to eat the rodent. Successful-hunter kitten seemed to say "Rather you than me," and laid the rodent at non-hunter's feet. Non-hunter immediately picked up the rodent. Back to the house it ran, meowing with its mouth full, to present the rodent to Polly.
Whether Polly knew the kitten was "lying," or cared, I couldn't tell. I wasn't even sure whether she was particularly trying to encourage it to hunt, or only being kind to it as usual.
Serena, who has spent most of the time indoors after apparently surviving poisoning, is now healthy enough to be bored indoors. She has always tried to encourage me to play games that involve chasing and play-fighting. As a result she has mischievous moods. "Catch me before I knock this over, or put my wet paws on that, or eat this other thing," she often nonverbally says.
If I get really tired of it I can say "Do you need some time out in your box?" (When talking to Listening Cats I've called all box-shaped things "boxes" for a long time.) Serena understands this to mean a box trap designed for raccoons, which I called the Samantha Box when Serena's mother was showing herself to be a Scaredycat rather than a Queen Cat. Serena inherited the "box"--her official photo shows her claiming it--but obviously she does not want to sit in it when she's trying to get me to chase her. She knows what we're talking about. She settles down.
But at least she does seem to enjoy having indoor privileges, however horribly won. She seldom has to be called into the office twice. Often, before her scheduled outdoor break time is over, she's waiting at the door. She likes having the right to sit on my lap whenever I form one. She likes sniffing and investigating food.
The office really is the warm room; it's where things can normally be plugged into walls. About the time I felt that I'd exhausted all the possibilities of cooking over a candle, I met someone who had scratched the teflon off an electric skillet and wanted to get rid of it. I had never wanted to put food directly on teflon in the first place, so putting a stainless saucepan inside the skillet seemed like a good way to get the full use out of the little machine, and everyone was happy. Serena learned quickly to avoid touching the "skillet" while watching and sniffing avidly at everything going into it. If I ever forget to check food or unplug the skillet, I'm sure Serena will remind me; she knows when food smells "done" by human standards, although, she nonverbally says, food often tastes good long before humans think it's "done." (Cats have very high resistance to the bacteria that sometimes survive inside cans.)
So...Recently I cooked a nice little stew for the cats and me in the "skillet." I set out some meat for Serena, inside, and young Drudge, outside. By the time I'd sat down and uncovered the saucepan to ask a blessing over my beans, Serena was back at my feet, staring soulfully up at the saucepan, obviously hoping for more food.
"You've had a cat meal already," I protested. "Do you want to get fat?"
"Yes! Just a little bit fatter, so I can have kittens again! Haven't you noticed how lonely it is around here without the junior cats?" Serena nonverbally said.
"It is horribly quiet around here, but I don't expect any spring kittens you have are going to come out alive, anyway," I said.
"All the more reason to get them out and have summer kittens," Serena nonverbally argued.
"Actually," I said, "this might be a good year for you to adopt some normal kittens and see how much social cat behavior you could teach them."
"Even then I'd need a little extra weight to make milk to feed them. So could I have some more stew, please?"
"It's only vegetables anyway," I said. "If I give you a spoonful of beans and tomatoes, will you let me eat the rest of my portion in peace?"
I wasn't sure whether she'd said she would, but in the interest of keeping her at least on the other side of the room while I ate, I gave her a generous portion of vegetables.
But I'd eaten only about a quarter of my veg before Serena was back at my feet again. "I like beans. I want some more. I lost so much weight when I was ill!"
"You've gained it all back. It's getting hard to feel your ribs!"
"I'll be skinny and ribby again after I've had kittens. I want some more beans."
"Even for humans it's not a good idea to eat a great quantity of beans," I said. "People who eat too many beans feel as if the beans were still alive." I thought of Pythagoras, who was famous in his own time as a great mathematician, but is now remembered for two quaint beliefs he wrote about: numerology, and the idea that beans have immortal spirits and, if eaten, spend their time inside a body trying to get out. I thought of Robert Westall, whose fictional characters claimed that beans they had eaten kept them up at night telling funny stories.
"You're still eating beans," Serena argued.
"Yes, but I'm about ten times your size."
My twelve-pound cat turned away as if she'd given in. Then her ears pricked up. "Meow?" said Serena, who said a lot of things when she was younger, but that kind of dulcet "meow" was not one of them. It was the kind of "meow" I've heard other social cats say to mean something like "Welcome, friend" or "Welcome, lover." Serena went on. "Meow meow meow? Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow!" Drudge could hear her, and answered enthusiastically, but Serena was looking at the floor, not at the door, as if talking to someone in the cellar.
"You want some food for a guest? Well, that's different, I suppose."
"Yes!" Serena pointed to the door.
I covered my dish and stood up. "Who's our guest, then?"
Serena ran back toward the table. "April Fool! I want some more beans."
"Serena," I said severely, "it's not even April." I said this nonverbally by picking her off the table. "Do you have a guest or not?"
"Not," Serena nonverbally admitted. "I just wanted some more beans."
"Lying is a sin," I said, and took Serena out onto the porch with me. I wanted to see whether our errant Silver had recovered enough strength to come home. She had not. There wasn't even a visiting tomcat outside.
"So," Serena nonverbally said, "may I have some more beans?"
It's time for the Petfinder Photo Contest! Here are some cats and dogs whose photos show transparent deceptions, but who are known to get along well with other cats in a household. These photos are for sharing. The more shares and likes, the better the chance that someone will actually adopt the animals.
Zipcode 10101: Marvelous Margo from Bloomfield
"I cannot imagine how those boxes of Friskies fell over on their sides! Since you're looking at them could you break one out for me?"
Her web page: https://www.petfinder.com/cat/marvelous-margo-74873845/ny/new-york/daps-animals-nj694/
She'd been a house pet for fifteen years, and then she was dumped out at a park. She was scared! But she quickly adapted to being a foster pet. Our theme this week is pets who are known to get along well with other cats. Margo qualifies.
Zipcode 20202: Night from DC
"Go on and tickle me! You know you want to! I would never scratch and bite your hand!"
His web page: https://www.petfinder.com/cat/night-75121558/dc/washington/lailas-legacy-animal-rescue-dc31/
He really might not scratch and bite your hand if tickled. Siamese-American crossbreeds can be very lovable pets, and our Drudge, though (a) male and (b) one of those long-haired cats who often don't want their fur messed up, flips over and walks away when he's had enough tickling--no claws. (I think Drudge learned to be gentle and responsible by being the biggest brother in the litter.) But I'd be aware of that classic kitten game.
Apparently Night's coat looks black above, but that melanistic Siamese look below is certainly distinctive. He is a bouncy-pouncy playful half-grown kitten who likes other cats and even dogs, even large dogs, especially if they'll play with him. He likes to snuggle up with humans, too.
Zipcode 30303: Luther from Atlanta
"I haven't got a thing to do. No idea what that thing in front of me is. Show me."
Luther is a large, not gigantic, adult male cat who still likes to play and snuggle. He meets the public on Saturdays, searching for his purrmanent home. He's deaf; it takes a smell or touch to wake him.
Zipcode 10101: Lotus from Georgia by way of NYC
"I'm such a good girl, I even look for color-matched furniture to shed on."
Her web page: https://www.petfinder.com/dog/lotus-ga-72460861/ny/new-york/rescue-dogs-rock-nyc-ny1274/
This is a puppy picture. In January 2024 Lotus was not yet six months old and weighed about twenty pounds. She's bigger now. She is the classic "yellow dog," as in the phrase "yellow-dog Democrat," someone who'd vote for a yellow dog if the Democratic Party put it on the ballot. "Yellow hounds" were traditionally stereotyped as clumsy, sloppy, not the cleverest dogs ever, despite Old Yeller, but very affectionate, loyal, and tough. Lotus is described as "uncoordinated," lazy except when her desire to please motivates her to walk or play with a human, and likely to try to transfer a toy to your mouth to show how friendly and willing to share she is. They don't mention the classic yellow dog behavior trait--"It will never stop licking you." Why anyone thought New Yorkers would want a yellow dog is beyond me--maybe they thought she'd be exotic and start a fad? The price they demand suggests that, but then it does include a vet bill and travel expenses. Southern country folk traditionally appreciated yellow dogs, kept them under the porch so clumsiness in the house is not a problem, and enjoyed their company outdoors. Lotus has been fostered outdoors and is known to get along well with dogs, cats, and chickens. She likes humans of all ages, too, and is the rare shelter dog who is recommended to families with children.
Zipcode 20202: Licorice from Alabama by way of DC
"This is what I'm going to look like next year, and the years after that."
A DC shelter rescued a whole lot of puppies from what they describe as a "high-kill" shelter in Alabama. Licorice came with buddies Reese (peanut-butter-and-white-chocolate-colored spots) and Milky Way (mostly white). He is a baby. He can learn to get along with just about anybody. He is at least half retriever, likely to become a substantial dog, fat if you don't watch out. A healthy person can carry a retriever but not in this position! Weighing in at six pounds when photographed, he probably won't weigh sixty pounds when he's two years old--but he might. Some retrievers do. He's also thought to be part beagle, so potentially a combination of Barkley and Snoopy. But he hadn't had time to grow much of a personality when his web page was set up with his official picture. He was only two months old, barely old enough to be separated from his mother. People do dump out puppies at this age...if you want to call them "people."
His adoption fee is not cheap, but it includes veterinary care and transportation, and they're eager (if not control-freaky) to help you keep him vetted and trained 1to their high standards. They will let some lucky human "foster" rather than "adopt" him first. Foster humans get to know whether an animal really fits into their household before they make the financial commitment to adopt it.
Zipcode 30303: Coco from Atlanta
"I'm so small, I'll be no trouble at all!"
A Pomeranian is a tiny dog, not necessarily as big as a Chihuahua--it depends on the individual dogs--but looking bigger because of its shaggy coat. Mitigating the odor of the coat is one of the special skills Pom people learn. But they're very cute and friendly, they can give the alarm if a stranger approaches the house just as well as a big dog can, they can live as long as cats, they can get their exercise just bouncing around indoors, and they don't eat a lot.
Coco is two years old, probably as big as she's meant ever to be, and she weighs less than five pounds. She is still in the learning process of housebreaking and leash training; she's not exactly a puppy prodigy. Shelter staff evidently feel very protective of Coco and want to be sure she's adopted by people who will be firm but patient and gentle in training her. Control freaking may occur; they want her adopted by people who live in metropolitan Atlanta, to maintain a relationship. The asking price is steep but then she does look like a perfect specimen of a fairly fancy breed.
Actually, they say, Coco can take other dogs and cats or leave them alone, and might be perfectly happy being the only dog in a family. But she behaves well around other dogs and cats.
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