On a recent morning in Westminster, Larry the Downing Street tabby strutted past the famous black door, seemingly indifferent to yet another change of prime minister. Earlier that week he had embarked on a successful hunting expedition, leaving a dead mouse on the pavement as a matter of routine. To the casual observer, the scene confirmed every prejudice about feline aloofness. But according to a growing body of veterinary and behavioural research, the signals cats send are more complex—and more affectionate—than their reputation suggests.

Much of this communication is invisible without close attention. When a cat rubs its head or flank against a human leg, it is not merely asking for food; it is depositing scent from glands around the ears and sides, effectively marking that person as a trusted member of its social group. A tail held upright like a flagpole signals a friendly intention, while an interrogative-shaped tail can be an invitation to play. The slow blink, documented by researchers, functions as a feline smile, conveying contentment and trust. And the habit of waiting until an owner returns home before eating, noted by veterinarian Katrina Warren, is not capriciousness: “If your cat waits for you to eat, it is not because it wasn’t hungry before, but because it needs the security of its companions,” she explains. Eating in company lowers vigilance and offers a sense of protection that felines, descended from solitary hunters, still seek.

That evolutionary inheritance shapes every interaction. Domesticated tens of thousands of years after dogs, cats retain a streak of wild independence. Their ancestors did not live in large social packs, so modern house cats are not obligate social animals; they can form bonds with humans and other cats, but these attachments are heavily influenced by early experience. Kittens handled gently in their first weeks grow into adults that seek out human contact, while those with less positive exposure may remain distant. This explains why one cat will melt into a lap while another will tolerate only a chin scratch—and only on its own terms. As veterinary specialists emphasise, the belly, paws, and tail are sensitive zones that, when touched, can provoke a defensive reaction even in a relaxed animal.

When those boundaries are ignored, or when the environment becomes unpredictable, cats may exhibit signs of distress that owners misinterpret. Jessica Pierce, a bioethicist who studies human-animal relations, notes that boredom arises when cats cannot express natural hunting behaviours or face no daily challenge. The result can be excessive sleeping, over-grooming, destructive scratching, or even pica—eating non-food objects. Such behaviours are not naughtiness but an expression of unmet instinct. Conversely, a cat that rubs against your legs, chirrups a greeting, or exposes its belly while keeping claws sheathed is not being fickle; it is demonstrating, in the grammar of its species, a profound attachment.

Larry, who has lived through seven prime ministers and accepts pats from civil servants but keeps his hunting grounds, embodies this duality. The research suggests that, far from being indifferent, he has simply learned that his environment is safe and his routines stable. For the millions of domestic cats that share human homes, the lesson is clear: attention to the small gestures—the slow blink, the upright tail, the patient wait by the food bowl—uncovers a quiet but real capacity for companionship. What looks like indifference is often a language waiting to be understood.