When “Bad” Cats Are Just Misunderstood

Story of the day.
A video from Jackson Galaxy, well-known feline behaviorist, highlighted how often a cat’s aggression is demonized instead of being understood as communication of distress. It brought back the memory of an intense consultation I once had with a mother and daughter. They spoke about their adult cat as if he were a villain in their home—aggressor, mean, bad, scary. Every word they used painted him as a creature of ill intent.

Yet the cat sitting in their living room was none of those things. He was simply large, powerful, highly energetic, and deeply territorial. His “crime”? The family had added a second cat to the household without any proper introduction, without considering whether the two personalities matched, and without understanding what such a change means in a cat’s world.

This story is not unique. It repeats itself in countless homes.

The Trap of Human Thinking

Most cat owners carry an image of who their cat is, but that image is often built on human ideas rather than feline reality. We describe cats as jealous, spiteful, grateful, or naughty—concepts that belong to human psychology, not to animal behavior. Researchers such as John W. S. Bradshaw, Rachel Casey, and Sarah Brown have shown how misleading this anthropomorphic lens can be.

Cats do not live according to our social rules. They live according to instincts shaped over thousands of years. We, however, expect them to adapt effortlessly to modern apartments, busy schedules, new pets, loud visitors, and constant handling—simply because we provide food, warmth, and toys.

But survival is not only about calories and comfort. It is also about inner drives.

Instincts Don’t Disappear with a Roof Overhead

From an objective point of view, a house cat no longer needs to hunt to survive. He does not need to defend a territory to secure access to food or mates. A female cat like Smilla will never raise kittens, yet she may still feel an intense need to guard her space from imagined threats.

Evolutionary psychology teaches a simple but powerful truth:

A need shaped in the wild continues to be felt subjectively, even when it is no longer necessary for survival.

Your sofa does not erase thousands of years of evolution.

When these ancient urges—territory control, stalking, chasing, choosing safe resting spots—are ignored, the cat does not become “grateful” for the easy life. Instead, he becomes frustrated, anxious, sometimes aggressive. He may spray urine, attack hands, bully the other cat, or withdraw into chronic stress.

These are not acts of revenge. They are symptoms of unmet needs.

The Tragedy of Good Intentions

Modern society is excellent at caring for objective needs. Our cats receive premium food, vaccinations, heated beds, stylish bowls, and colorful toys. We congratulate ourselves on being responsible guardians.

Yet we often neglect their subjective needs—the emotional and instinctive world that actually defines how a cat experiences life.

We expect love because we give comfort.
We expect obedience because we give safety.
We expect calm because we give luxury.

But a bored hunter with no prey, a territorial animal forced to share space, a sensitive creature surrounded by chaos—these cats do not feel lucky. They feel unheard.

A Different Way to See Our Cats

Living with a cat means entering a relationship with another species, not with a furry human. It requires curiosity and humility. Before labeling a cat as “bad,” we must ask better questions:

• Does this cat have enough outlets for hunting and play?
• Was a new pet introduced in a way that respects feline social rules?
• Does the cat have enough room and freedom to move, enjoy fresh air on a secure balcony, soak up the sun, and find safe hiding spots?
• Are we interpreting behavior through human emotions instead of feline logic?

Every cat owner owes it to their companion to learn the language of cats—through good books, reliable experts, and careful observation.

We invited these animals into our homes. The least we can do is try to see the world through their eyes.

Not as spoiled decorations.
Not as grateful recipients of our generosity.
But as living beings shaped by evolution, carrying ancient needs inside modern walls.

When we understand that, the “bad cat” often disappears—and in his place stands a creature who was simply asking, in the only way he could, to be understood.