Growing up, I recall discussions about how it was impossible for animals to go to heaven, being that they don't have a spirit. How could they have one, being that they don't talk and, thus, can't understand or communicate with God? Or, at least, that was
winning argument. Though, I've wondered, more and more, how that it would be possible for them not to have a spirit, after having our current cat; Whiskers. We've never had one like him before.
When we snap our fingers, in disapproval, Whiskers wines. When he wants to do something that he isn't suppose to do, he'll wine as if we've scolded him already. Knowing he'll get into trouble for doing it, Whiskers proceeds to do thing he isn't suppose to, anyway ... fully anticipating that we'll immediately tell him to stop, for which he reluctantly does; perhaps also testing to see if we care enough to respond.
In every way, Whiskers appears to have feelings and understanding of a toddler. He even talks back to us when he doesn't like rules. Others have said they've never heard a cat make sounds like he does, sort of like how a baby's cry has different meanings.
When our hands are full and we need to open a door, Whiskers will reach for doorknob and attempt to open it for us. He has gift of helps! When he wants us to open a door for him, he'll do same. "Ask and ye shall receive."
With aroma of cooking, Whiskers will run to kitchen. Much like we did as children, he's prepared to rinse pots and bowls by licking tasty residue. (Being in age of dishwashers, germs aren't a problem.)
At meal time, Whiskers will select a chair around kitchen table, just like any other member of family; patiently awaiting (most of time) scraps. (Just don't leave your plate until you're finished eating.)
Like children might sneak cookies, evidence later to be revealed, we discover pieces of food Whiskers has snitched, then hid to eat. It isn't a good idea to leave white powdered donuts out, even with box lid closed. That's one of his all-time favorites.
