Play, Games, and the Joy of Being a Cat

Watching cats play is one of the great joys of living with them. Even serious scholars have been charmed by it.

In the second century, the Roman historian Lucius Coelius wrote that he wasn’t ashamed to play with his cat when he had free time. In the seventeenth century, Edward Topsel wrote a lyrical description of a cat playing: begging, jumping, catching, throwing, standing on its hind legs to hook a string, creeping, lying on its back, playing with one paw, biting, scratching. Then he worried he sounded shallow. He called it “the recreation of a idle person.” He even criticized cat lovers for loving beasts too much.

The French writer Montaigne was more honest. He wrote: “When I play with my cat, who knows whether she is amusing herself with me, or I with her? We entertain each other with mutual follies. If I begin to refuse, she begins too.” Even in a time when cats were feared and persecuted, their play was irresistible.

Some people worried that cat play was violent. In the eighteenth century, the French naturalist Buffon wrote that kittens are playful and funny, but their games soon become malicious. That’s a human moral judgment. Darwin changed that. Once we accepted evolution, we stopped judging animals by human ethics. A cat killing a mouse is not evil. It’s just being a cat. We can enjoy kitten play without feeling guilty.

Cats have four basic games. The first is the wrestling game. Kittens start wrestling at about three weeks old. They jump on each other and roll around. They don’t hurt each other because they’re too weak at first. As they get stronger, they learn to hold back. By four weeks, the wrestling gets more complex—chasing, pouncing, grabbing with the front paws, kicking with the back legs.

The other three games are based on hunting. The “mouse pounce” game involves hiding, crouching, creeping, then rushing and pouncing on a toy. The “bird swat” game involves the same approach, but ends with a jump and a swat with the front paws. The “fish scoop” game happens when the toy is still. The kitten suddenly scoops it up and throws it over its shoulder, then turns and pounces on it, as if it were a fish flying out of the water.

Kittens have endless imagination. Anything that moves can become prey. Wind-up mice, bells, catnip balls—all work. But the best toys are simple. They should be light enough to fly far with a small bat, and soft enough for claws and teeth to sink in. A crumpled ball of silver paper or a traditional ball of yarn often beats expensive toys.

Every cat also develops its own personal games. One of Thomas Huxley’s cats used to jump onto the shoulders of dinner guests and refuse to get down unless they fed it. It wasn’t hungry. It just enjoyed the drama.