English Is Our Cat’s Second Language. Love is Her First.

She understands plenty and her actions say it all.

My husband and our cat, Skye, have their own love language. He coos — she mews. I don’t know if she understands his words, but without a doubt, she gravitates toward his loving expressions. Although it’s not English, Ed speaks to her with phonetics akin to how parents often speak to their babies. It’s very endearing.

I’m not so creative. I speak to her in even tones. She responds with leg rubs and purrs. However, over recent weeks, I’ve noticed that Skye communicates with us in various ways. Cats may not speak English, but their actions speak louder than words.

1. This is the true definition of shared living

Our condo is not large, so it isn’t surprising that Skye and I often rest in similar spots. Although she has many places to lie, such as the top of her cat tree or a shelf in the closet, she chooses to lounge in my favourite spaces.

I’ll often find her curled on our couch atop my comfy, down-filled blanket. Choosing not to disturb her, I squeeze my bottom between the couch edge and her sleeping body, careful not to squish her. Sitting in an awkward position has become my new fate since gaining weight during COVID and Skye liking my side of the couch. She’ll lay there for hours until either I move her or she gets hungry.

Skye’s love language: There’s lots of room on the couch to sit. I’m comfortable. It would be best if you worked around me.

2. She’ll have what I’m having.

It isn’t rare to write my long forms on weekends in the wee hours of the night. After all, when I create, I’m usually in it for the long haul as my style is to edit as I go. So the routine consists of me rousing from sleep — usually off the couch where I fell asleep watching TV —then shutting the bedroom door to shield the light, making a cup of coffee, and finally, bunkering down to write the article.

Now I’m good to go. The ideas are swirling. My fingers are rapidly typing when suddenly I hear that soft pawing at the inside of the bedroom door telling me Skye wants to come out. It happens every time. Sometimes she asks immediately, and sometimes she waits until I’m deep into my story. However, without fail, she wants to be near me and to see what’s going on.

After letting her out, she hops into her cat tree beside me and drifts off to sleep. When I’m finished, we both head back to bed — me on my side with her at the bottom as she warms my cold toes.

Skye’s love language: I don’t like being behind a closed door and missing out on any fun.

3. She’s the feline version of a watchdog.

I spend a lot of time at my computer, and despite giving Skye plenty of attention, she often wants more. We have a filing cabinet still in its box not far from my desk. I bought it to replace our broken one, but Skye has adopted it as her platform to bring us all closer together. When she jumps on it, she’s at our perfect level to get her ears and belly scratched. It’s also the perfect perch for Skye to see what’s going on.

A few weeks ago, Skye stared at the wall closest to me when I was writing, and all was quiet. At first, I didn’t take notice, but suddenly, her intense focus unnerved me. Finally, I looked at her and then looked at the wall, but I saw nothing. I figured she was watching my shadow and convinced myself there was nothing there.

Then I saw she wasn’t staring at one spot. Her eyes kept moving as if she were following something. I jumped out of my seat and went to pet her atop the box. When I looked back at the wall from her point of view, I saw it. The spider was small but unlike anything I had ever seen. It looked nasty and vicious. It made my skin crawl and my heart race. After knocking it to the ground, chasing it with a broom, and squishing it dead with the bottom of a shoe, I relaxed.

I don’t know what genus that spider was, but to this day, I’m convinced it wasn’t harmless. Did Skye save my life that night? I don’t know. I can’t be sure. I wish I had snapped a picture of it.

Skye’s love language: Although I like to watch things that move on a wall — you are my people — and I’ll do whatever I can to get your attention and keep you safe.

4. There’s lots of room in the middle of the bed.

Because of my sporadic sleeping habits, it’s not rare for me to take naps in the middle of the day when I'm not working. Ed sleeps on the left side of the bed at night, with me taking up the right. Skye has ample room to lay in the middle, or at our feet, and if she really wanted to, she might be able to snuggle between our pillows close to our heads.

But today, I went for a nap and peacefully fell asleep on my side. I like lots of weight when I snooze, so I pulled the duvet and two little blankets over my shoulders and soon was toasty warm. Then, the next thing I knew, Skye walked along my legs, onto my hip, and then lay on my side and began purring loudly. She had Ed’s whole side to choose from, but she decided she wanted to lay on my side.

Although there’s something very soothing about having a cat’s weight on you while you’re resting and listening to her purring in your ear, I couldn’t help thinking Skye would still be there even if I weren’t. She spends a lot of time in my spot. But, unfortunately, I think she’s now under the false impression it belongs to her.

Skye’s love language: Hey lady, you’re resting in my spot. If you don’t move, I’m going to lay here anyway.

In summary, cats will be cats. But, overall, I know her antics are simpler than I’ve described. She sleeps close, goes where it’s warm and comfy, zeroes in on things that move, and is curious to see what’s going on — she has no ulterior motives. But when left to my imagination, I like to give her lots of credit.

Nevertheless, one only needs to look beyond our words to see, Skye has a love language she saves for us, and when it comes to her, Ed and I have one too.

The term “love language” was inspired by Katherine Ortega Courtney, PhD