Cat Rules: What Felines Teach Us About Building Believable Monsters

I love cats because they are tiny, judgmental anarchists wrapped in fur. But as any storyteller knows, those tiny anarchists are also perfect teachers for species design.

Look at these rules — “If there’s a box, we must sits in it,” “No one potties alone,” “If it moves, it should die” — and you’ve already got a species primer.

Why? Because when you give a creature 2–4 hard rules (not airy personality notes, but rules), it behaves consistently across scenes. That consistency is what convinces your readers the world is real. In real life I have observed the following in feline behavior:

• “Sometimes the floor IS lava.”→ Species Rule: movement preferences are situational and ritualized. (e.g., avoids open ground when prey is nearby; uses vaulting/parkour as normal travel.)

• “If there’s a box, we must sits in it.”→ Species Rule: objects that afford concealment/containment become sacred/comforting. (They hoard, nest, or mark containers.)

• “No one is allowed to potty alone. Ever.”→ Species Rule: elimination and private acts are social cues — defecation, grooming, or nesting are communal status rituals.

• “Few games are better than Ambushes or Obstacles.”→ Species Rule: play = training. Games simulate predation or territory defense; adults continue the practice.

• “We must take turns.”→ Species Rule: turn-taking enforces hierarchy or mating rights; it’s ritualized and policed.

• “If it moves, it should die.”→ Species Rule: predatory reflex is hyper stimulus-driven — movement is a trigger, not a moral choice.

• “If clumsy, pretend it was intentional.”→ Species Rule: social face-saving is hardwired; signaling and posturing maintain reputation.

  
  

Here’s the trick I use in the ISSQ lab: take a single cat rule, translate it into a species behavior rule, and then spin one tiny cultural consequence. Example:

• Cat rule: “If it moves, it should die.”

• Species rule: Movement triggers predation; stillness is safety.

• Consequence: The village builds motionless festivals where everyone freezes for an hour to placate the predators. (Also—great scene.)

So, grab your own “cat rules.” Turn them into firm species rules. Then watch your side-characters and plots bend around these small obsessions until the whole world starts feeling lived-in and weirdly believable.

What’s the strangest animal rule you obey at your house? Drop it—I'll turn it into a Monster Lab entry.