Cat’s intelligence has long fascinated pet owners and researchers alike. The latest scientific findings shed light on various aspects of feline cleverness, allowing us to appreciate their unique abilities. Measuring the intelligence of cats involves assessing their cognitive abilities and problem-solving skills. One standard marker of cat intelligence is their ability to adapt to new environments and learn from experiences.

I had my cat Chettoh take a challenging test to assess his IQ (which I suspect must be way above the feline average). I found this test in Calla H. Knopman’s book Measure Your Cat’s IQ, which I mentioned in a previous post.

The Cats as Analytical Beings Test comprises four stages, each harder than the previous one. Depending on a given step’s outcome, a devilish genius like my Chettoh can either improve his entry score (5 points) or subtract from it.

Stage 1: Sensorimotor test, a.k.a. ‘out of sight, out of mind test.’

The aim is to test the cat’s ability to understand object permanence.

According to the book, one must:

“[…] Show the kitty a toy and keep their attention by playing with it. Then hide the toy behind your back or someplace out of sight and see if your cat finds it. Kittens and young children would have no idea what happened to their toys. [However], most adult cats immediately go behind your back to retrieve the toy, wondering what is wrong with you. […]”

Unfortunately, Chettoh doesn’t like to play. One might argue that a fourteen-year-old cat is an elderly cat: of course, he doesn’t want to play. I doubt that’s the problem, though. Chettoh never loved cat toys, not even when I first brought him home on April 24th, 2009, in a shoebox with a punched lid.

Soon, I realized that eating, sleeping, licking his fur, and using the litter took up 98% of his time. Sometimes, he enjoyed a bit of hand-to-hand fight (literally) with his human mom. If I only tried to stroke him, he would become a biting and scratching little panther. This attitude soon earned him a second nickname: Morsy, Italian slang for ‘someone who bites.’

So, I can’t use a toy to assess Chettoh’s sensorimotor prowess. Still, I have another story that serves as a perfect example of his uncommonly analytical mind.

Like many cats, Chettoh occasionally suffers from hairballs. This happens mainly during the shedding season. And the consequences are rather unpleasant: he often barfs, usually in the house’s most hidden and hard-to-reach corners. Trying to solve the problem, I went to a pet shop and bought a medication tube. According to the instructions, the yellowish jam had to be spread over the cat’s food. Only a few small doses would suffice to eliminate the worst hairball symptoms.

Well, it didn’t work. Chettoh became pickier than usual with his food. He refused to eat whenever he smelled the tiniest amount of yellow jam. Out of ideas, I resorted to reading the small printing on the patient information leaflet. “In case of difficult cats,” it said, “the product should be smeared on the animal’s paws.”

At first, this second attempt was a roaring success. But, as often happens, it was too good to be true. Sure, Chettoh gulped all his food, carefully licking every last scrap of medication from his front paws. Also, he stopped throwing up.

However, he soon developed an unquenchable craving for the yellow jam. He began refusing even his favorite food (fish and chicken cakes). All he cared for was a generous amount of that devilish drug on his paws. 

I tried to wean him out of that medicine by gradually reducing the amount I put on his paws and hiding the green tube.

Unfortunately, Chettoh knew the kitchen cabinet where I kept it and waited long hours in front of it, looking sad.

Finally, after long, frustrating weeks, I succeeded.

So, I know the answer to the sensorimotor test. My cat can understand object permanence.