Why Cats Might Be the Perfect Companion for Autistic Adults: Understanding a Beautiful Parallel

By Jillian Matyjevich RN, NBC-HWC, LSSC

During a recent coaching session, a client shared an observation that stopped me in my tracks: “I believe all cats are on the autism spectrum.”

At first, it sounded quirky. But as he unpacked the idea, I realized he was onto something profound. Not that cats are literally autistic, but that the behavioral patterns, sensory needs, and social preferences of cats mirror the lived experience of many autistic adults in ways that create an almost perfect companionship.

This client wasn’t diagnosed with autism until his mid-thirties. Before that, he cycled through mental health diagnoses and medications that never quite fit. Depression. Anxiety. Mood disorders. The treatments made him feel worse: sluggish, disconnected, trapped in a fog that wasn’t him.

Then came the autism diagnosis. Everything clicked into place.

He discontinued all his medications. He started approaching life through the lens of autism rather than trying to fix what was “wrong” with him. And his cats (his two beloved companions) became mirrors that reflected back what he’d always known but couldn’t name: that his way of being in the world wasn’t broken. It was just different.

Several years into this journey, his life has improved dramatically. His work is stable. His relationships are healthier. His sense of self is solid. He credits the diagnosis for giving him a framework, but he credits his cats for helping him feel seen and supported while he processed what it all meant.

This isn’t just a story about one person and his pets. It’s a window into how profoundly lonely it can be to spend decades feeling misunderstood, and how transformative it is to finally be met where you are, even if that understanding first comes from a cat.

The Overlap No One Talks About

Change Is Hard

“Cats do not like change. They do not like change in their environment. Autistic people have a hard time, actually most of the time, with changes.”

For many autistic adults, predictability isn’t just comforting. It’s essential for regulation. When the environment is stable, the brain can predict what comes next. That predictability creates a foundation of security. Cats live by the same principle. Move their litter box six inches to the left, and you’ll hear about it. Switch their food brand, and they might stage a hunger strike.

Both cats and autistic individuals thrive on patterns and routines because unpredictability triggers anxiety. When the brain constantly asks “what if,” having an environment you can count on becomes a lifeline.

Eye Contact Feels Like Pressure

“If you stare at a cat long, sooner or later, they’re going to attack. Because they see it as a threat and as a challenge. Autistic people have a terrible time with eye contact. And that’s one thing that cats don’t really like either.”

Neurotypical social norms insist that eye contact equals engagement, respect, and honesty. But for many autistic people, forced eye contact is uncomfortable, draining, or even painful. It’s not about disinterest. It’s about processing and sensory load.

Cats understand this. Direct, sustained eye contact in the cat world is confrontational. A slow blink is trust. A look away is respect. There’s no judgment in that dynamic, no expectation to perform connection in a way that doesn’t feel natural.

Let Me Come to You

“The biggest thing with a cat: you have to let the cat make the first move. Autistic people hate being forced into social situations. It has to happen on our terms.”

Cats don’t do well with being grabbed, cornered, or forced into interaction. Neither do many autistic adults. The need to assess the environment, observe the situation, and approach on your own timeline isn’t avoidance. It’s how safety and comfort are built.

A cat will come sit next to you when they’re ready. An autistic person will engage in conversation when they’ve had a moment to orient. Forcing either before they’re ready breaks trust.

Boundaries Are Non-Negotiable

“Cats, a lot of the time, do not like to be touched. There are times when a cat does not like to be held. There are times when I do not want to be hugged or touched.”

Touch is complicated. For some autistic adults, physical affection is welcome and regulating. For others, it’s overwhelming or even painful, depending on sensory sensitivity, mood, or context. The same is true for cats. One moment they want to be petted. The next, they’re done, and they’ll let you know.

The magic is in the mutual respect. A cat doesn’t apologize for setting a boundary. An autistic person shouldn’t have to either. When both parties understand that “not right now” doesn’t mean “I don’t care about you,” the relationship becomes easier.

What Cats Can Teach Us: Lessons in Engagement and Compassion

If we pay attention to how cats naturally interact with the world, they offer a masterclass in how to engage with autistic adults in ways that feel respectful, safe, and genuinely connecting.

Lesson 1: Never Engage, Redirect

When a cat is stressed or overstimulated, cornering them or trying to “talk them down” usually makes things worse. The same is true for autistic adults experiencing overwhelm.

My client put it perfectly: “Never engage us. Redirect our brain. Talk to us about our passions. Because nine times out of ten, what’s going to happen is we’re just going to go off on a complete happy tangent. And we’ll forget about the whole thing.”

When someone is melting down or shutting down, asking “What’s wrong?” or “Why are you acting this way?” adds pressure. Instead, try redirecting attention to something they love: music, a special interest, a comforting topic. It shifts the brain from threat mode to something familiar and safe.

Lesson 2: Respect the Need for a Safe Place

Cats have their hiding spots: under the bed, in a closet, on top of the fridge. When they retreat there, they’re not being antisocial. They’re regulating.

Autistic adults need the same. Home is often “the safe place” because it’s predictable, controlled, and familiar. When overstimulation happens outside that space (when the lights are too bright, the sounds too loud, the social demands too much), the brain goes into crisis mode.

The compassionate response isn’t to force engagement. It’s to respect the retreat. Let them go to their room. Give them space to regulate. Trust that they’ll reengage when they’re ready.

As my client said: “When I get like that, I look around and it’s like, okay, I still have my guitars. I still have my books. I still have this. So everything, this is going to pass and then everything’s going to be cool.”

Safe spaces aren’t avoidance. They’re survival tools.

Lesson 3: Let Them Make the First Move

You don’t grab a cat and force them into your lap. You sit nearby, stay calm, and let them come to you when they’re ready. The same principle applies to social engagement with autistic adults.

Forcing someone into conversation, demanding eye contact, or insisting on immediate responses creates anxiety, not connection. Instead, create space for approach on their terms.

This might look like:

• Sitting in parallel rather than face-to-face

• Giving time to process before expecting a response

• Not taking silence or brief answers personally

• Letting them initiate physical contact rather than assuming a hug is welcome

When you respect someone’s pace, you build trust. When you build trust, real connection becomes possible.

Lesson 4: Stop Expecting Performance

Cats don’t fake enthusiasm. If they’re not interested, they’re not interested. If they’re tired, they sleep. If they want attention, they’ll let you know. There’s no pretense, no masking.

Many autistic adults spend enormous energy masking: performing neurotypical social behaviors that don’t come naturally. Smiling when they’re not happy. Making eye contact when it’s uncomfortable. Engaging in small talk when their brain is screaming to stop.

Compassion means releasing the expectation of performance. It means understanding that:

• Not making eye contact doesn’t mean they’re not listening

• Short responses don’t mean they’re rude or uninterested

• Lack of facial expression doesn’t mean lack of feeling

• Needing time alone doesn’t mean they don’t care about you

Let people show up as they are, not as you think they should be.

Lesson 5: Understand That Sensory Needs Aren’t Optional

Cats will refuse to eat food that’s been changed. They’ll avoid rooms with certain smells. They’ll hide from loud noises. These aren’t preferences. They’re needs.

Autistic adults experience sensory input differently. What’s background noise to you might be physically painful to them. What’s a “normal” level of light might be overwhelming. What’s a comfortable temperature to you might feel unbearable.

When someone says “I can’t go to that restaurant, it’s too loud,” believe them. When they say “I need to leave this store, the lights are bothering me,” respect it. These aren’t excuses or overreactions. They’re real experiences of a nervous system processing input differently.

Compassion means adjusting the environment when possible, and respecting the need to leave when it’s not.

Lesson 6: Routine Is Care, Not Rigidity

Cats want to be fed at the same time every day. They have preferred sleeping spots. They like their litter box in a specific place. To an outsider, this might seem inflexible. But to a cat, routine is comfort.

For autistic adults, routine isn’t about being controlling or inflexible. It’s about reducing cognitive load so there’s energy left for everything else. When you know what to expect, your brain doesn’t have to work as hard to process the world.

Supporting someone means respecting their routines rather than pushing spontaneity as inherently better. If someone needs to eat at the same time, shop at the same store, or follow the same morning sequence, that’s not something to fix. It’s something to honor.

Lesson 7: Boundaries Are Healthy, Not Rejection

When a cat walks away mid-petting session, they’re not being mean. They’re communicating: “I’m done now.” And if you respect that, they’ll come back later.

Autistic adults set boundaries too. “I can’t talk right now.” “I need to go home.” “I don’t want to be touched.” These aren’t personal rejections. They’re acts of self-preservation.

The compassionate response is to accept the boundary without guilt-tripping, questioning, or taking it personally. When someone knows their boundaries will be respected, they’re more likely to engage in the first place.

Lesson 8: Connection Doesn’t Always Look Like Conversation

Cats show love by sitting near you. By bringing you their toys. By slow blinking from across the room. They don’t need constant interaction to feel connected.

Autistic adults often connect in parallel rather than through direct interaction. Sitting in the same room while doing separate activities. Sharing an interest without needing to talk about it. Being present without needing to perform social engagement.

This is real connection. It just doesn’t look like the neurotypical script of eye contact, constant conversation, and mirrored enthusiasm. And that’s okay.

The Neurotypical Experience: We’re More Alike Than Different

These needs aren’t unique to autistic individuals. Neurotypical people experience them too, just at different thresholds and frequencies. Think about the last time you had a terrible day and wanted distraction instead of interrogation. Or when you came home from a crowded event and needed absolute silence to recharge. Or that morning your coffee routine was disrupted and your whole day felt off. Consider the dripping faucet that kept you awake, the too-loud movie theater, the forced smile at work, or the moment you just needed someone to stop talking. Everyone has sensory limits, needs boundaries, benefits from routine, and sometimes prefers parallel presence over conversation. The difference is that neurotypical people typically reach these limits less often, can push through more easily, and recover faster. Autistic individuals experience these same human needs more intensely, more frequently, and with less ability to override them without serious consequences. Understanding this shifts the perspective from “that person is so difficult” to “that person has a different threshold for experiences we all share.” It builds empathy. It reduces judgment. It creates space for real connection.

What Misdiagnosis Costs

My client spent years being treated for conditions he didn’t have. The medications made him feel worse, not better. He was told his struggles were about depression, anxiety, mood instability: problems to be fixed with pharmaceuticals and willpower.

But the real issue wasn’t a chemical imbalance or a character flaw. It was that he was autistic in a world designed for neurotypical brains, and no one (including him) understood that.

The autism diagnosis changed everything. Not because autism is easier than depression (it’s not). But because the framework was accurate. Once he understood what he was actually dealing with, he could stop trying to force himself into a neurotypical mold and start building a life that worked with his brain instead of against it.

He stopped taking all his medications. He started honoring his need for routine, for quiet, for predictability. He stopped masking as much. He gave himself permission to be who he actually was.

And his life improved. Dramatically. In every domain.

Work became sustainable because he found a role that played to his strengths and accommodated his needs. Relationships became healthier because he stopped pretending to be someone he wasn’t. His mental health stabilized because he wasn’t constantly fighting against his own nervous system.

This is what proper understanding makes possible. And this is what his cats helped him see.

Why the Cats Mattered

When you’ve spent your whole life feeling like you’re doing everything wrong (like everyone else got a manual for how to be human and you missed the distribution day), finding a companion who just gets you is profound.

His cats didn’t care that he needed routine. They thrived on it too.

His cats didn’t judge him for needing space. They needed it too.

His cats didn’t demand eye contact or force conversation. They just existed alongside him, content in parallel.

For the first time, he had companionship that didn’t require performance. That didn’t make him feel broken. That reflected back to him that his way of being was not only acceptable. It was natural.

The cats became a bridge. If they could be exactly who they were and still be loved, maybe he could too.

This is why I’m writing this. Because if you have an autistic person in your life (a partner, a child, a friend, a coworker), they need what those cats provided: to be met where they are. To have their needs respected, not dismissed. To be allowed to exist without constant pressure to conform.

The Bottom Line

Cats teach us that connection doesn’t require conformity. That boundaries are healthy. That overwhelm is real and needs to be respected. That routine is grounding, not limiting. That sometimes the most loving thing you can do is give space.

If we approached autistic adults the way we approach cats (with patience, respect for autonomy, acceptance of different communication styles, and recognition that their needs are valid), we’d create a world where neurodivergent people could stop masking and start living.

My client spent decades being misdiagnosed and mistreated because the people around him (including well-meaning doctors) didn’t understand what they were looking at. The autism diagnosis gave him a framework. But the cats gave him permission to be himself.

Now, years later, he’s thriving. Not because he changed who he fundamentally is, but because he stopped trying to.

If you’re neurotypical and you love someone who’s autistic, your job isn’t to fix them. It’s to see them. To respect their thresholds. To stop demanding they meet you where you are, and start meeting them where they are.

That’s what his cats did. And that’s what changed everything.

About the Author: I’m a coach who works with adults navigating neurodivergence, life transitions, and personal growth. This post was inspired by a conversation with a client who gave me explicit permission to share this portion of our session. It was too important not to. Since his diagnosis and adoption of his two cats, Nala and Ripley, my client has been able to build a life that honors his needs rather than fighting against them. His cats were instrumental in that journey. If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your story.

Important note: This was an Individuals unique personal journey and all health decisions were made in consultation with his healthcare providers. If you’re currently taking medication, never discontinue it without discussing with your doctor. Everyone’s situation is different, and what worked for one person may not be appropriate for another.