“A cat has absolute emotional honesty: human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.” – Ernest Hemingway
Let’s end August on a feline note and with a homage to Ernest Hemingway. A cat never wonders if it’s being “too much.” It doesn’t lie awake at night replaying a conversation, fretting over whether its tone was off. No, a cat will simply leap onto your keyboard mid-email, stare into your soul, and express exactly how it feels about your “urgent deadline.” As Hemingway put it, cats have absolute emotional honesty. They never sugarcoat, will not lift a paw to mask discomfort behind polite smiles. They do not say, “No, no, I’m fine,” while secretly plotting revenge. A cat, when displeased, will hiss; when bored, will leave; and when it desires affection, will plant itself directly on your book until you get the message. Beginning to sound like anyone you know?
Humans, however, have spent centuries perfecting the art of hiding how we really feel. We call it diplomacy or even worse, social graces. We are raised to wrap our claws in velvet, lace our hisses with metaphors, and sometimes swallow them entirely. There are advantages to this, of course, and society generally functions better when not everyone is baring their teeth at the buffet table or the board meeting. But there’s a danger in constant concealment. If you never express your wants, needs, or boundaries, you become like a dog waiting for permission to join the conversation (with the classic tail wagging, eyes hopeful) quietly praying someone will notice you and offer a seat. Cats, meanwhile, skip the damn waiting list and strut into the room, climb onto the most comfortable spot, and if the table doesn’t suit them, they demand a better one.
Being unapologetically authentic doesn’t mean unsheathing your claws at every slight. A cat knows when to hiss and when to simply walk away, tail high, dignity intact. That’s elegance in boundaries. It’s the art of saying, “This space isn’t right for me,” without shredding the furniture on your way out. Confidence is not in constant confrontation; it’s in knowing you are worthy of comfort, respect, and the occasional sunbeam. More importantly, it entails refusing to linger in rooms where those things aren’t offered.
So perhaps we could all learn a little from the feline approach. Feel your feelings. Show them without apology. Demand what you deserve without waiting for an invitation. And when the world offers you crumbs, remember: you are not a dog waiting patiently at the table’s edge. You are the cat who will claim the room, rearrange the furniture, and if necessary, demand a brand new table entirely. After all, the crown doesn’t need approval to sit upon the head.
FrogDiva Thoughts 