Loki is extremely intelligent. I mean smart in the worst possible way: the evil, manipulative, controlling, self-centered, self-serving, demanding, scheming, calculating, unscrupulous, cunning way that demands respect and fear. He is, after all, The Great Satan (just “Satan” to those of us who know him personally). As a kitten, however, he was not smart at all. Reduced to its simplest: at minimum, he was demonstrably obtuse.
The laughing was perpetual when considering his intelligence as a child. Doorstops were of particular interest to him. Where I lived at the time, they were springs with rubber stoppers on the ends. Loki would “discover” the doorstops on a daily basis, sometimes several times per day, and his accomplishment would be heralded by hearing those springs making repeated noises as he batted at them. He would normally abuse one for several minutes before walking away. The running joke was that he was relearning over and over again precisely why they were boring toys. That is: “Oh, okay, now I remember. I don’t like these. They’re not really fun at all, and they’re stuck to the wall which makes them hard to play with.” Regrettably, everyone assumed this repetitive demonstration of learning incapacity was an indication he would grow up to be an exceptionally dimwitted cat.
Only later did it become evident he was either a late bloomer when it came to smarts or was expertly manipulative even as a kitten. While the latter is painfully obvious and quite true now, I have long believed he truly was an imbecile when he was young. The contrast between that fluff ball and the abomination that now lives with me is so entirely perceptible that one cannot fathom the journey from one to the other. And yet it is all quite true.
Now, of course, he is the smartest cat in the house. He learns words and their meanings with ease. When he suddenly became willing to give kisses in the last few months, it took him less than a week to learn the word and to respond accordingly. He has no questions regarding how to get the other cats in trouble, something he does with finesse and regularity. When the mood strikes him, he will pester someone until he goads them into playing, and then he pushes their buttons until they explode and are disciplined for trying to hurt him. He knows all the tricks for dislocating someone who happens to be in the spot where he wants to be. For example, to get someone off my lap, he will politely but firmly insert himself into the mix and slowly push the other cat off until they get angry or frustrated, at which point they leave and he gets the spot he wanted (again, sometimes they will respond with violence and get in trouble for being unduly rude, at which point they leave and he still wins). I could go on, but you surely see my point.
In the scheme of living creatures, he is the worst kind of smart, the Dr. Evil mixed with Dr. No kind of smart. Yet, when I see him demonstrate the sharp intellect that hides behind the beautiful exterior, I cannot help but remember that kitten who never remembered that he did not like playing with the doorstops until he sat and piddled with them for several minutes, and that on a daily basis, and often more than once per day. It is somewhat difficult to believe the dirty family secret grew up to become a very different kind of dirty family secret. You know: “Why, no, officer, my cat doesn’t go steal souls at night and didn’t burn down that church and would absolutely not have tripped that old lady trying to cross the street. You must be looking for a different cat.”
