something really interesting about animals that I never realized before, but that makes perfect sense, is that. Not every animal will be one you get along with well, and this on its own doesn't necessarily reflect negatively on you. It feels like it does because of how systems often make our animals utterly dependent on us and unable to negotiate their own relationships, but more than anything, this indicates a failure in how our society approaches behavioral difficulties in animals— with punishment and depersoning. Which also happens to be exactly the same as how kids are treated.
I know one cat, the one I currently live with, whom I struggle to get to eat, struggle to keep stimulated, and who has a tendency to bite me on little but whims I have no control over. At the same time, he chooses to sit with me, knead with me, consistently sleep close to me. I'm told his eating difficulties started shortly after I moved in, though in the absence of his primary caretaker i can often get him to eat more consistently. I also tend to pick him up at a whim and get scratched often, and I probably have one or two scars from him. The communication between me and this cat has long been a difficult process, prone to failure and violations of bodily autonomy that I trivialize and that he clearly despises. At the same time, when I first moved in, fresh from the mental hospital, he was there watching over me when I woke up, and he keeps me company— not always when I need it, but I do appreciate it regardless. It should also be noted that my relationship with his primary caretaker is similarly strained on the communication side, and that it seems like she saw something in him from the moment she met him.
I met my girlfriend's cat today. My girlfriend is quite timid and takes time to open up— even with people he used to live with. So does her cat. I decided that I would introduce myself to him, but from a carefully negotiated distance. I wanted him to know that I want to establish a respect for his space and his comfort. After a few hours he came up to me, and I'm told that the process is usually more gradual. He's constantly vocalizing, often for no apparent reason at all, in contrast to my roommate's cat who only vocalizes when in distress. My girlfriend tells me that he often just likes talking to her, and he often uses his meows to urge her to get to bed at an appropriate time. He eats consistently. Though I'm told he has his problems, from where I'm coming from, it seems like he feels fairly secure and well-supported, and as an extension of my relationship with my girlfriend, far more comfortable with me— I don't have to worry about him biting me like I do with my roommate's cat.
"Anthropomorphizing" is a funny word. With caveats, I think seeking to understand what's common about us and other beings, human and extrahuman, can often be the quickest path to understanding them— repurposing your own experiences and using that as a basis to let the more alien ones creep into your understandings, and your relationships with them. I kiss my girlfriend's cat, and he, not quite understanding, licks my eyebrow. I choose to believe he knows I want to establish a connection and returns it in kind. I slow blink at him. I don't really know if it'll do anything, but I want to signal that I'm seeking a connection and mean no harm, so I try it. Surely I'm making mistakes. I anthropomorphize even humans and even then it can be a mistake. I anthropomorphize why they said that. And at the end of the day I end up with ones who love me— for whatever "love" fills their mouths.