Note: Yuki passed away in 2023, but her impact on my understanding of sound—and life—continues to resonate.
One of my cats, Yuki, was a tiny tabby with the spirit of a lion and meow that sounded like she’d been chain-smoking for years. As a kitten, Yuki could hear fine. We started noticing changes when she was 5 years old. The signs were subtle at first, like not responding to her name — but many cats are blasé about that even when their hearing is fine. I knew something was wrong when I vacuumed all around Yuki as she calmly slept through it. A vet visit confirmed Yuki had lost most of her hearing.
Adjusting to a Deaf Pet
In the months that followed, we saw more changes. Yuki stopped turning her ears toward sounds—something I hadn’t realized was so endearing until it was gone. Cat ears are constantly shifting, reacting to every small noise. She startled easily and hesitated around our other cats.
Yuki also meowed at full volume even just to say hello. If something in the house had moved—a chair out of place, an object where it didn’t belong—she would loudly meow, as if alerting us to a change.
But the hardest part of Yuki losing her hearing wasn’t how she adjusted—it was how we adjusted.
Since Yuki no longer responded to calls for dinner, we had to check under furniture and wake her up to eat. If she scratched the carpet or jumped on the counter, we couldn’t clap or say “no” to get her attention. I hadn’t realized how much I relied on tone—excited encouragement to get her to play, a soothing voice to calm her.
We found new ways to communicate. Waving to get her attention. Stomping on the floor so she could feel vibrations. Holding food near her nose so the smell would wake her.
I expected this adjustment period. What I didn’t expect was what came next.
Yuki had always been skittish—sensitive to loud noises, quick to run at the first unexpected sound. I assumed losing a sense would make her more anxious. Instead, the opposite happened. She stopped reacting to things that used to scare her. She didn’t mind a crying baby or yelling toddler in her space. Instead of being fearful, she seemed… curious.
I thought losing a sense would create uncertainty and fear. But Yuki’s world became calmer.That left me wondering: Why wasn’t this what I expected?
The Role of Sensory Contrast
As an audio engineer, I had always thought of silence as unsettling—an absence, a void. But Yuki’s experience made me rethink that assumption.
Most cats react instinctively to sudden noises—a doorbell, a vacuum, an unfamiliar voice. They don’t even process what scared them before they’re already running for cover. Humans react the same way. A loud, unexpected sound triggers an automatic fight-or-flight response. In film and sound design, we rely on this instinct constantly. A horror movie without carefully timed sound cues wouldn’t be nearly as intense.
Watching Yuki, I realized something I hadn’t considered before: it’s not silence itself that creates unease—it’s the sudden contrast.
When Yuki could hear, she knew from her sense of sound that someone was coming closer. Without that sense of sound, having someone appear in front of you can be jarring or scary. A jump scare works because it interrupts stillness. That disorientation isn’t caused by silence itself. It’s caused by the brain recalibrating to a new sensory state.
That’s when I recognized something deeper: sound is a sensory experience, but not just in the way we normally think about it.
Sound Beyond Sound Waves
When I studied sound recording, I learned that sound isn’t just about capturing an audio signal—it’s about shaping an experience. The way we mix, EQ, or use reverb isn’t just about making something “better” or “good”—it’s about influencing how the listener understands what they hear, and how they feel in the experience.
When I transitioned into post-production sound (for tv and film), my initial instinct was to simply add realism—to make the media’s world sound as natural as possible. But limiting sound to just “realism” is like limiting vision to only what you see through binoculars. The environment and context of what you see or hear matters, too. A thick blanket is cozy in the winter but unbearable in summer heat. A spicy meal could be comfort food or a painful experience. The same sonic element can carry entirely different meanings depending on how it is conveyed.
This is where psychoacoustics—the study of how sound is perceived by the brain—comes in. The effectiveness of sound isn’t just in its clarity or realism, but in how the brain interprets it within the full sensory context.
Take a simple moment: a glass of water tips over on a counter. The camera follows the water up close, then pans upward, revealing the main character. How do you make that spill mean something? The sounds needed—a glass tipping over, water splashing—are simple. But to make it a pointed moment in the story you have to think beyond realism. Should the spill feel abrupt and jarring? Or should it feel muted and distant, as if time slows down? Is the peak moment of the scene the spill, or the reveal of the main character?
And that’s where Yuki’s experience tied into my own.
Silence wasn’t simply the absence of sound for her—it was a shift in perception. She adjusted to a world where movement, vibration, and sight allowed her to understand the same messages.
Tips for Living with a Deaf Cat
Adapting to a deaf pet isn’t difficult, but it does require some adjustments. Here are a few things we learned along the way:
- Avoid startling them (unintended “jump scares”). If they’re asleep or unaware of you, try tapping the surface they’re on, stomping lightly on the floor, or using food or familiar scents to get their attention.
- All senses are available to communicate. How can you get their attention through vibrations, light, movement, or scent?
- Create predictable routines. Schedules help all cats, but especially those adjusting to deafness.
- Be cautious outdoors. Never leave a deaf pet unsupervised outside. They rely on hearing caretakers for approaching dangers like cars or other animals. Yuki loved spending time in our enclosed patio, and we made sure to keep that part of her routine (while supervised) even after she lost her hearing.