Nine Ways the Word “Cat” Influences Our Lives

This post may seem a bit odd at first after others like “Semantic Satiation” and “ASMR and Frisson.” Why am I writing about so simple a word? But this word isn’t simple at all. In literal meaning it isn’t terribly complex, but once you add in all the cultural connotations and associations, this three letter word is absolutely enormous. I argue that the word “cat” has made a larger impact on most of your lives than almost any other.

Because this word is just so huge, there is no way for me to cover it entirely. Instead, I am going to give you the nine largest ways it has influenced my life as a piece of language.

  1. Learning Tool
    “Cat” is one of the first words English speakers learn. It is one syllable long, only three letters, and easily pronounceable, which makes it a nice introduction to words in speaking, reading, and writing.

    The word is also a noun, which is probably the easiest part of speech to understand from a young age. Before learning what something does, how to describe it, or the intricacies of grammar, we learn what things are. We can point to different parts of our world and identify them as our first bits of communication. Cats are recognizable parts of our world as they populate many of our homes and our cartoons, and the word can be matched to pictures of cats with relative ease.

    “Cat” is also one of the first words we learn to understand music in language. This is largely in thanks to Dr. Seuss who created “The Cat in the Hat” and introduced generations of children to rhyming. There are so many simple words to rhyme with cat: at, that, sat, bat, rat, brat, splat, flat, chat. This word is especially useful for teaching children how sound is important to the use of words.


  2. Literal Definition
    From my dictionary:

    cat 1 |kat| noun
    a small domesticated carnivorous mammal with soft fur, a short snout, and retractile claws. It is widely kept as a pet or for catching mice, and many breeds have been developed.

    ORIGIN Old English catt, catte, of Germanic origin; related to Dutch kat and German Katze; reinforced in Middle English by forms from late Latin cattus .

    This definition is only the first in a truly long list of possible others. The definition can refer to simply the domestic house cat or can refer to all felines, depending on the context. Not only this, but it is sometimes used to identify mammals that just look feline like the “ring tailed cat” or even creatures that vaguely resemble felines like “cat fish.”

    This definition begins so simply, but before too long, it expands into an umbrella term to include everything with some descriptive quality of “catness.” There is something inherent in cats that seems to be so distinct that we can recognize it even in things that are not cats at all.


  3. Slang and Common Phrases
    Even after you get through the more common definitions, you arrive at all those uses of the word which grew into use over time.

    Cat came into use to refer positively to a person (especially a man), at first among jazz musicians, and then later across much of the United States culture. It isn’t used as much anymore, but it definitely left its mark. Sometimes used in the phrase “Cool cat.”

    Sometimes “cat” or the adjective “catty” can refer to someone (especially a woman) who is spiteful or hurtful in their use of language, and possibly a malicious gossip.

    A “copy cat” is someone who mimics others.

    A “scaredy cat” is someone who is easily frightened.

    There are also a variety of sayings that have to do with cats including, but not limited to:
    “Playing a game of cat and mouse”
    “Has the cat got your tongue?”
    “Someone let the cat out of the bag”
    “Like a cat on a hot tin roof”
    “You look like something the cat dragged in”
    “While the cat’s away, the mice will play”
    “It’s raining cats and dogs”
    “Curiosity killed the cat”
    “There’s more than one way to skin a cat”
    “To be the cat’s meow”


  4. Synonyms and Thesaurus Entries
    The word and concept of a cat is so important, there is an extremely large number of other words that refer to cats: Alley cat, feline, furball, kitten, kitty, kitty-cat, mouser, puss, pussy, pussycat, tabby, tom, tomcat.Each of these contains its own set of connotations that can be applied to cats.


  5. Literature
    There are so many colorful cats in literature. There’s no way I can discuss them all here, but I’d like to at least mention three notable works with cats.

    The first is The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss, which I already mentioned. It gets to be mentioned twice in the same post because it is an excellent book. The cat in this book lives out the trickster archetype, being mischievous and plotting while all the while remaining humorous and oddly charismatic. You never know what to expect with this cat, except trouble.

    The second is Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. The Cheshire Cat is also a bit of a trickster, well known for its wide grin and its ability to appear and disappear, partially or altogether, whenever it pleases. This cat also seems to be a philosopher and conversationalist, often trying to spark some new line of thinking.

    The third is a book recently given to me by a good friend of mine: Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats by T. S. Eliot. This entire book is made up of fun poems about cats, each with their own distinct characteristics and personalities. If you want to learn all about Jennyanydots, Growltiger, Rum Tum Tugger, Mungojerrie, Rumpelteazer, Deuteronomy, Mr. Mistoffelees, Macavity, Gus, Bustopher Jones, Skimbleshanks, and Cat Morgan, you should read this book.


  6.  Historical Relevance
    The word “cat” describes an animal, but it also describes the relationship of that animal to humanity.

    This will be the briefest history of cats I can tell: The whole genus of cats shares a common ancestor that probably roamed Asia about six million years ago. At some point the cats became domesticated, and many theorize that the cats domesticated themselves.

    Human society attracts a lot of rats and mice, and the cats began living alongside humans. Their treatment varied: people in ancient Egypt admired and respected cats, some cultures skinned them for clothing and blankets, other cultures (like ours) thought they were adorable and invited them indoors.

    Unlike domesticated dogs, cats’ bodies and behavior do not vary as dramatically from their wild counterparts. Cats are also much better able to survive in the wild than most domesticated animals, and are able to interbreed with wild cats.

    Cats generally do not obey humans or take any commands, but we give them greater privileges in our homes than most other pets. We let them on the furniture, we clean up after them instead of sending them outside, and we entertain them when they’re bored. Humans feel honored if they allow us to pet them. They don’t really need us, but they stick around anyway.

    In short, this word tells a story: we love cats, and they find us useful.


  7. Cultural Representations
    The word “cat” represents cultural ideas rather than just referring to the animal itself. Cats have a large role in our society, often contrasted against dogs.

    Cats are associated with ideas of independence, curiosity, slyness, intelligence, balance, and other prized qualities that have to do with the loner spirit. (Dogs, in turn, are associated with loyalty, trust, friendliness, training, and other traits associated with either nurturing or protecting.) In some ways, they represent two old archetypes which a lot of people can relate to.

    We have “cat people” and “dog people” who each identify with one animal or the other, usually having to do with the person’s sense of self and which pet they formed the strongest bonds with. Sometimes “cat people” are associated with a level of femininity, sometimes a higher social class, and sometimes with loneliness.

    Even though dogs are generally characterized as more affectionate, the jokes about people not finding a romantic partner usually involve them finding companionship in many cats.

  8. Internet Symbolism
    Adding to the cultural significance that was already present in the connotations surrounding “cat” is the new symbolism from the relatively recent internet culture.

    Cats are completely famous on the internet. In a world where anyone with unrestricted internet access has an enormous wealth of human knowledge at their fingertips, many spend the majority of that time looking at cats: pictures, videos, memes, drawings, comics, or any other catlike representation. It would not be an exaggeration to say that the internet, as a community or culture, has a cat obsession.

    There have been articles written about this phenomenon that go into much greater depth than I can here. Anyone willing to really dive into this could probably write a book on why cats have become symbols of internet culture.

    Here is my take: Cats are cute, expressive, and allow us a sense of community across otherwise important barriers. There is something in cats that reminds the average internet user of themselves. They are walking contradictions— they want to be loved but get angry or frightened all the time, they are independent and dignified but rely on others for food and often embarrass themselves, and they frequently act both with cruelty and kindness.

    Cats wander around, somehow finding purpose in random bursts, then lose motivation entirely and flop over onto the ground. They represent the struggle to create meaning in our lives when we also want to be lazy, they represent our need to understand ourselves despite contradiction, and they represent the possibility of finding connection and affection.

    Not only this, but they do it in an adorable and funny way.


  9. Modern Day Mythos
    Evolving out of experiences, associations, connotations, cultural significance, internet symbolism, and general humor, a modern mythology cats has been created.This generally includes the following:

    Cats believe they are gods


    Cats can become fluid.

    Cats love boxes and may be drawn to them by a mysterious cat-force.

    Cats make people stupid or have the ability to control humans.


    These ideas seem to just be common knowledge in my group of friends. The other night a friend mused with me that we remind cats that they’re cats as an incantation to keep them from drifting into their liquid form. We then theorized that perhaps if we let the cats all become liquid, they would transition into their true godlike state and become a single, fluid entity that wrapped around the stars, and the universe would be nothing but a hum of purring.

    Maybe that part is just us.

“Not Goodbye”

(A phrase given to me as one of the best graduation gifts I could ask for.) 

This past Saturday I graduated from SUNY Oswego. The day went wonderfully: the commencement ceremony was beautiful, the reception allowed me to take plenty of pictures with friends, my Oma gave me a beautiful bouquet of orange roses, my mom brought a delicious lunch of tabouli and hummus (which we ate in the true college spirit— cramped in a little kitchen, eating off paper plates), and I was greeted with family, thoughtful cards, and triple-chocolate cake. But it was also the saddest I’ve been in a long time.

Whoever I was before I spent my first night on campus, I don’t know anymore. That person is lost to the past, and the self I know now came into being when I became a student. I think that a lot of who someone is comes from who influences them. I believe that I am, to some extent, everyone who I grew to love. I am everyone who I carry with me.

And so, there is something especially hard about graduating. The SUNY Oswego that I know is one of a specific community of intelligent, caring, funny, wonderful people at a point in our lives that we will never repeat. Graduation signifies the dispersing of that home entirely. I can visit the collection buildings, and I can visit individual people, but I can never go back.

Equally difficult to face is the reality that everyone is always changing. I cannot know with any certainty that the people I hold so dear will remain exactly who they are today. I cannot have absolute faith that my relationships will hold strong through this mass dispersal.

The whole week leading up to the event left a hollow feeling in my chest. Is the anticipation of loneliness the same as loneliness? I knew that I would have to say my goodbyes to the people who have made me who I am, and I wasn’t ready.

Even the word “goodbye” seemed to feel wrong to me. What was so good about these byes? I have tried to tell myself that change leads to great new things, but at times it feels more like an empty saying. I will probably grow from the experience, but seeing how I’ve grown alongside my peers, I don’t think that our separation is the magic ingredient for my personal development.

I cried just writing notes, because I wanted so badly to say everything. As a creative writer, I have repeated “show, don’t tell” as a mantra for years, but when I came down to it, I didn’t know if I had shown everyone how much they meant to me. When I started to tell, my ability to express myself with the written word faltered with my breath. I was terrified that just placing these big emotions on paper would somehow lessen them.

I went to see one of my favorite professors, and we spent a long while talking as if it was just another conversation. I could almost imagine that I would be able to walk over to her office any day to laugh, ask for advice, or talk about poetry. It came time to leave and she said that she didn’t do goodbyes and that we would see each other again soon.

I had planned to meet up with someone I had been dating through the semester for our last time. She arrived unannounced, surprising me out of my anxious anticipation of her future absence, and I almost started crying just from her hug. We watched old cartoons and pretended it wouldn’t be the last time we would be together. When she went to leave, she smiled and said, “this is not goodbye.”

Thursday I had an absolutely delightful dinner, walk by the river, and evening of movie watching with two of my best friends. They are both incredible people in many ways and we made sure to make vague plans to visit as soon as possible. We all told each other over and over that our hugs were not our last and our expressions of appreciation and love were not goodbyes.

The exchange was repeated among so many of those close to me. We spoke of how many hours away we were and how we would find time to visit. We each mentioned ways we would bribe each other with milkshakes or lunches, even though we all knew that the real lure was conversation, company, and closeness.

And this was the last beautiful gift that college (not the campus or the institution, but the temporary home made up of incredible people) gave me. This phrase of “Not Goodbye” means so much. At a time when it often feels as if a part of myself is closing off forever, this phrase opens up my life to a possibility of future growth. It contains all the sentiment and love of a goodbye but still maintains the hope and reassurance of “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Not Goodbye” are the words of those who know that physical distance does not mean emotional distance. It is for those who carry each other inside themselves and continue to live and be the person who embodies the character of those who shaped them. It represents going forward. It is not the same as promising to visit in order to recreate the past with people who might change while they’re away.  It is a promise of maintaining those relationships in some form and continuing on into the future, growing together despite any distance that may rest between us.

It is a promise that leaving this college is not the death of a self that has come into being there, but a furthering of that person. It is not the death of our community of friends, but merely our spreading out and having the opportunity to bring new people along. “Not Goodbye” tells me that, while I might be pained with nostalgia, I can look forward to the future too.

Thank you for these words.



(beautiful word) 

Everyone has preferences in the things they read. For some, it’s magic and battle scenes, for others it’s deep introspection and philosophy. Some read for twists and surprises at the end, and others read for the ways characters change over time. 

In poetry, these preferences often have more to do with things like sound and rhythm— some people just love alliteration, and others find that any more than two words in a row  beginning with the same letter becomes repetitive. Some like rhyme and end stopped lines, and other people fall in love with the subtle music of assonance and consonance and the use of enjambment. Some people love narrative poetry, and others just want the emotion. 

I love things to be wet. 

It sounds odd at first, but to me, everything is more vivid when it’s wet. I think this is because rain and moisture in the air allows us to expand our sense of smell, and so I associate water with a richer experience of life. When it’s raining, we might love petrichor, and the smell of rain itself, but we also love the smell of the world. Rain shows us what we’re missing. 

Maybe a part of it is just because I am allowed to enter my own imagination more when I’m in the shower. The water opens up an inner universe that becomes dreamlike in its realness. The moments when I’m under the surface in a lake or ocean, I feel like I’m under the world, outside of time. Under the water, it’s like I’m back again in the weightlessness before my birth; I can feel the presence of a safe, temporary inside and a vast, unexplored outside.

All the times I’ve walked home in clothes drenched and heavy, or splashed through puddles filled with brown, limp leaves, or watched spaghetti moving like sea creatures in bubbling pots, or smelled the way steam brings oil and garlic to life, or watched the world through the hot tears gathering at the corners of my eyes— it all builds on my associations. Water seems to be present when I am feeling the most physically and emotionally. It taps into something in life that is present and important. 

Think about the poem by Ezra Pound 

“In a Station of the Metro” 

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough. 

Would that image be near as lasting if that was a dry brown branch? I don’t think it would. There is a slickness there where you can feel how easily you might slip trying to touch it, to hold on to it, and this allows the idea of the apparition to become more poignant. There is a fleeting emotion here— the faces in the crowd, the petals who might fall from the relentless impact of heavy raindrops, this wet branch. You can imagine losing yourself in the rain. 

Brigit Pegeen Kelly uses water in the most beautiful ways, and I am absolutely addicted to it. Her poem “The Leaving” comes alive with its use of wetness.

My father said I could not do it,
but all night I picked the peaches.
The orchard was still, the canals ran steadily.
I was a girl then, my chest its own walled garden.
How many ladders to gather an orchard?
I had only one and a long patience with lit hands
and the looking of the stars which moved right through me
the way the water moved through the canals with a voice
that seemed to speak of this moonless gathering
and those who had gathered before me.
I put the peaches in the pond’s cold water,
all night up the ladder and down, all night my hands
twisting fruit as if I were entering a thousand doors,
all night my back a straight road to the sky.
And then out of its own goodness, out
of the far fields of the stars, the morning came,
and inside me was the stillness a bell possesses
just after it has been rung, before the metal
begins to long again for the clapper’s stroke.
The light came over the orchard.
The canals were silver and then were not.
and the pond was–I could see as I laid
the last peach in the water–full of fish and eyes.

The pond brings out the texture of every piece of fruit, the cold starlight across the water, and the pride of doing something someone told you that you could not do. If she had simply set the peaches in a basket, the poem would not have evoked the true weight of this moment. I would not have known what it was to place the last peach. 

I fear for my love of wetness in verse. Sometimes I worry that it is becoming too strong in me— my longing for the words “wet,” “moist,” “damp,” “slick,” “drip,” “ocean,” “sea,” “steam,” “fog,” “juice,” and even words like “fluid,” “milk,” or “blood.”  There is something so completely capturing to me in anything liquid that appears in poetry.

It’s obvious in my own work. I wrote a novel in verse, and I think if it was condensed to a mere ten words, three of them would be “wet,” “juice,” and “fruit.”  I once wrote a poem entirely about my relationship with gasoline and the smell of exhaust from cars. 

I worry, sometimes, that I am not the only one, and that everyone is craving water. What if our community of readers is a parched one? Maybe we are all dehydrated and waiting to drink deeply from our poems to rejuvenate life for us for a little while. 

What happens when we drink too much and we can hear it constantly sloshing in our bellies? What happens when we flood our pages? I don’t want wetness to become the next “red as a rose.” I don’t want ripe fruit to ever be stale or dry. 

But occasionally, I also worry that no one else has this preference. Poetry with wetness is so beautiful to me, and I want to share that feeling with other people. 

I want my friends and family to be able to close their eyes and feel peaches rounding their palms in cold water. I want them to let their fingers slip from that wet black bough. I want them to listen for approaching storms and feel the way the air changes on their skin and in their lungs, just from the world anticipating the rain.


Grandiloquent Language

There is a point in many people’s lives when they are faced with a text that is packed full of long or unfamiliar words. This often happens when reading very old literature or philosophical texts, but it might be an academic essay or a particularly difficult poem. Whenever it happens, it has a similar effect: the reader feels like an idiot.

These texts leave us struggling with understanding words in a way we haven’t since we first learned language as a child. Word by word, the line slows down, the shapes of letters becoming more apparent on the page, and we become painfully aware of how much mental energy it actually takes to read. There are no context clues because the surrounding words are as incomprehensible as the word we first paused on. Soon, even the grammatical structure of the line seems strange and wrong. There is a foreignness to the moment, as if we are completely lost in a parallel world. A small, perhaps irrational, panic spikes in the back of the brain— what if I don’t understand my own language? What if I can’t comprehend or communicate? Am I isolated from other people? 

It sounds extreme, but I believe that these moments truly tap into a special sort of fear, at least the first time they happen. Humans are social beings. We need companionship and interaction with each other. Our form of communication that we call ‘language’ is so important to us as a species that when we feel that our ability to use it is threatened, even just for a moment, somewhere a fear whispers that it will cost us our communities and loved ones.

There are a few responses to this feeling, and each has the power to forever shape someone’s writing.

1. “The Dictionary”
Decide that not understanding the text is due to you not trying hard enough, and dedicate your life to learning new words.

This is a pretty good reaction, because it has the potential to really expand your vocabulary. These are the sorts of people who actually own a physical dictionary, buy word-of-the-day calendars, or set themselves up with a screensaver that displays them definitions. They subscribe to facebook groups that post pictures of obscure words (which may or may not be real) and try to work some of these into conversation occasionally.

Most of the time, those who fall into this category don’t end up writing extremely difficult texts, but do tend to include a greater amount of challenging words in their work along with plenty of context so readers can learn them too. Many authors fall into this category, and you can recognize them as the ones who seem to teach you new words all the time as you read their work.

(Small warning: Occasionally those with “The Dictionary” reaction will get caught on a new word and try to work it into everything, so there is a minor risk of them structuring ideas around their words instead of the other way around. This happened to me after learning the words “disgruntled” and “indubitably” as a child, and I’m sure I became unbearably obnoxious for a while.)

2. “The Thesaurus” Decide that not understanding the text is due to you being spectacularly stupid and incapable, and dedicate your life to attempting to hide this from everyone else who must just be inherently smarter and perfectly able to navigate thick tangles of obscure words. 

This reaction is what makes English teachers pull their hair out and frustrates Stephen King.

“Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. There are no exceptions to this rule.”

These people will write papers and then open up a thesaurus and substitute every word possible with a synonym that’s more difficult to read (and often doesn’t even share the same meaning or connotation). These are the ones that change every “use” to “utilize” and “praise” to “approbation.” They will make their sentences as long as possible and are known for packing papers with enough fluff to fill a nursery of toy bears.

For some, it becomes a game. They feel that they’re expected to shove these words into their writing, and so they play along, feeling that they have outsmarted the system. You can see this sort of reaction from Calvin.

Image                                              (Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson)

Their goal is no longer to communicate their ideas but to convince others that they have a command of grandiloquent language.

Unfortunately, it often convinces people of the opposite, because the goal of language is communication, and readers often can’t understand what in the world these writers are trying to say. This happens a lot in lower level essay writing courses, but I’m sure some go on writing this way forever. I imagine a dangerous loop could form where they feel stupid, use big words to feel smart, someone points out they used the words incorrectly, and then they feel stupid again.

“The Thesaurus” response is often caused by embarrassment or a secret lack of confidence, and is incredibly destructive. It’s one of those situations where fear leads directly to bad writing.

3. “The Hemingway”
Decide that not understanding the text is due to the writer of the text being incapable of expressing their ideas clearly and dedicating your life to proving that all of life’s complexities of thought, emotion, and experience can be expressed in plain vocabulary. 

This reaction leads to writing that is accessible to all sorts of readers. It doesn’t always mean that these writers don’t have a good vocabulary, but they usually believe that the simpler a sentence can be constructed, the better.

These people will look at essays with lines like, “The researcher discovered that female individuals have a greater tendency than their male counterparts to preface their statements with expressions which allow for additional possibilities or indicate a lack of commitment to their position” and correct it to “The researcher found that women are more likely to hedge their speech.”

They are likely to make the actual reading easy so that the reader’s focus can be on the complexity of the ideas explored. The reaction is named after the famous author because he is known for simple sentence structure and the use of accessible vocabulary. Plenty of other authors take this approach too, but Hemingway is famous for it.

The heart of this reaction is summed up in this exchange between Faulkner (who appears to have had a “Dictionary” reaction) and Hemingway:

“[Hemingway] had never been known to use a word that might send the reader to the dictionary”

“Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words? He thinks I don’t know the ten-dollar words. I know them all right. But there are older and simpler and better words, and those are the ones I use.”

Not everyone necessarily falls into one of the three categories, of course. Life is too complicated for that. For example, I believe it’s possible for a “Thesaurus” reaction to become a “Dictionary” or “Hemingway” response with a little reassurance.

Some texts are just plain difficult, and it doesn’t make anyone stupid for not understanding them immediately. People can have all sorts of creative ideas without also having a large vocabulary.

I think one of the best strategies to help make this shift with students is to encourage developing and exploring their ideas, using whatever vocabulary they currently have.

To anyone who is faced with feelings of doubt about your vocabulary while writing, my advice is to work with the tools you have. You can go looking for words as something fun to do when you aren’t writing, but during the actual writing process, try to explain your thoughts as best you can using the words with which you’re already comfortable. Reading more in between writing (even books that are just fun to read and would never be described as “challenging”) will probably build and round out your vocabulary on their own without you ever needing to memorize words from the dictionary.

Blending of multiple reactions is possible, too. I think that I myself am often “The Hemingway” in philosophy and “The Dictionary” in practice. While I believe that all ideas can be expressed simply, I am, after all, writing this blog about how much I love learning about words.