Cats vs. Dogs: What I Learned About Feline Communication

When people talk about pets, cats and dogs are almost always grouped together. After all, they’re the most popular household companions. We often hear them referred to as "just pets" or "fur babies," as if they’re interchangeable in personality or behavior. But in my experience, they couldn’t be more different.

Growing up, we always had a dog. Cats weren’t an option due to my mom’s allergies, so my childhood memories are filled with wagging tails, sloppy kisses, and loyal eyes. Communication with our dogs felt effortless. They rushed to greet me at the door, wagged their tails when they were happy, whimpered when they were hurt or scared, and barked to alert us to strangers or to tell us they wanted out. If I called their name, they came running—no questions asked. It felt like we spoke the same language.

So naturally, when I got older and finally had the chance to get a cat, I assumed it would be similar. How different could it be, really?

Wow. I was wrong.

At first, I thought my cat was aloof, maybe even a little cold. A tail wag didn’t seem to mean “happy” anymore. Sometimes they’d come when I called, and other times they’d look at me like I had just interrupted something far more important. They hid when they were sick or stressed. I couldn’t read them the way I could read a dog. It made me wonder if I was more of a “dog person” after all.

But then I discovered something that completely changed my perspective: the slow blink.

Here’s the fascinating thing—cats don’t blink unless they really trust you. In the wild, a cat hunting prey won’t blink. A cat sensing danger? Eyes wide open. Blinking can be a vulnerability. So when a cat slowly closes and opens their eyes at you, they’re not just relaxing—they’re telling you they trust you. They don’t feel the need to be on guard. They feel safe. It’s their way of saying, “I love you, and I’m not afraid of you.”

That one gesture changed everything for me.

I started learning more about feline communication, and the more I learned, the more I realized just how expressive cats really are—just in a more subtle, complex way.

For example:

• A tail tucked under the body? That’s a sign of nervousness.

• A partially upright tail? Cautious, possibly defensive.

• A fully upright tail? That’s a happy, confident cat coming to greet you—unless it’s puffed up or quivering, which can signal fear or high excitement.

• A tail with a little curl at the tip, like a question mark? They’re curious and ready for interaction.

It reminded me of how dogs show excitement with a wagging tail and a hanging tongue. With cats, you just have to look a little closer. The signs are there, just a bit quieter.

I used to think cats were mysterious or distant, but I’ve come to see that they’re just protective by nature. Every behavior is rooted in self-preservation—and once you earn their trust, the bond can be just as strong, if not stronger, than the one you share with a dog.

So here’s what I’ve learned: cats aren’t less emotional or less communicative. They’re just different. Once you start speaking their language—even just a little—you’ll discover a depth of affection and connection you never expected.

You might even find yourself slow-blinking back.