I turned ChatGPT into my therapist, and it helped me untangle my relationship with my cat

Data privacy? I don’t know her

I sprint after her, begging her to spare me just one glance, but she only regards me with scorn and takes off in the other direction. No, I’m not a starry-eyed, early-2000s Bollywood hero chasing my aloof love interest against her will. I’m a heart-eyed cat mom… chasing her aloof love interest against her will.

My 13-year-old calico cat, Simi, has never been a big cuddler, nor does she care for anybody’s lap when a sturdy cardboard box or window sill is available. She wriggles desperately out of my grasp if I ever try to pick her up. And God forbid I accidentally cross her Laxman rekha of personal space, her talons will be swiftly buried into my flesh.

I am accustomed to her aloofness, it really didn’t bother me much. Until my algorithm started to change that. I don’t know when it began—maybe I had absently watched a few cat behavioural reels in the middle of a routine reels marathon. But in the last couple of weeks, my feed became inundated with these ruminations on why cats behave the way that they do. Most of them starred either sweetly purring feline angels curling up next to their owners, gazing at them fondly, responding to their every call. Or feral cats who were reformed into playful love bugs once they found their right homes. And they all seemed to echo one message: it’s not the cat, it’s the owner.

After watching about a thousand of these, I found myself unsettled. Was I doing something wrong? Why wasn’t my cat as affectionate as the ones I saw online? Was it possible she actually disliked me? Couldn’t stand me? I was eager to turn Simi into one of the cuddly balls of sunshine I saw online, so I tried all the tricks in the book—playing high-pitched squeaking sounds on YouTube, tossing a paper ball around the room, making intense eye contact and blinking slowly to earn her trust. Nothing worked. She remained unfazed.

I felt a little anxiety and hurt bubble up inside me. Not enough to bring it up in my actual therapy session, lest my therapist feel the urge to burst out laughing at my quandary (although your therapist has their own quandaries too). But enough that it niggled and made me restless. So, in true Gen Z fashion, I turned to good ol’ ChatGPT for some relief.

ChatGPT is like my trusty man Friday, attending to all my problems, right from inane grouses to philosophical questions about life. Can’t figure out how long to boil an egg to achieve that perfect jammy yolk? ChatGPT has the magic number. Need help with an icebreaker for a conversation with a distant acquaintance? Here’s five topical conversation starters. Curious about what it truly means to have free will? These are the leading thinkers and their views on it, in alphabetical order.

I decided to tack on another role to ChatGPT—makeshift therapist. I felt like the anonymity it ensured meant that I wouldn’t be judged for having a seemingly juvenile concern. And I was grateful I could vent for as long as I liked without the sword of a 50-minute time limit hanging over me, as in the case of a regular therapy session. There was no cancellation fee, no late-entry clause, and no pressure to say the right thing.

“Hey,” I typed into the familiar chat box. “I’m a little sad about something.” I went on to explain how my cat would ignore me, her refusal to sit beside me, the pinch of her rejection, and the lingering feeling of sadness it evoked in me. I poured my heart out, hopeful that I’d emerge with a fresh perspective and a secret hack to win my cat over.

Moments later, the text bubble popped up. “I understand how upsetting it can be when your cat is ignoring you. Have you tried engaging your cat in playtime or offering treats as a way to build a connection?” I rolled my eyes and tried again.

“I did,” I typed. “She’s still ignoring me.” I grumbled about how neglected I felt. About how my cat had no qualms curling up beside my mother but somehow couldn’t tolerate me. Gently, my ‘therapist’ replied, “I understand your frustration. This can be challenging. One thing you can try is creating a comfortable and calm environment for her, with her favourite toys nearby.”

I couldn’t help but feel a wave of indignation upon reading this. Was this therapist even listening to what I was saying? How was I supposed to do all that if she wouldn’t even let me go near her? And more importantly, shouldn’t she want to play with me?

I decided to speak more directly. Maybe if I spelt out what I was feeling, there would be an actual helpful response. “Honestly, I’m worried that my cat’s ignoring me because I might be a terrible person and she can sense that,” I admitted. I was curious about how ChatGPT would respond to me being vulnerable, but found myself disappointed again. It merely reminded me that cats, much like humans, have different personalities—some tend to be reticent, while others are more social and outgoing—so it was best to not take her rejection too personally.

How hackneyed and impersonal these messages seemed! I’d also begun to notice a formula in my AI therapist’s responses. Sure, they would start by acknowledging what I was feeling, but then they’d mechanically propose a few solutions, before quickly wrapping with a question about whether that would be all. I wasn’t compelled to dig deeper, and they lacked the warmth, curiosity and spontaneity of an actual human being.

I felt more frustrated than before. I was annoyed with myself too, for having expected any different—I was talking to a machine after all, that wasn’t capable of offering genuine compassion or nuanced insight.

All but ready to give up, I decided to give it one final try. This time I wouldn’t couch questions about myself in questions about my cat’s behaviour. By now, I had an inkling of why my cat might’ve been behaving the way she did, but I was still clueless about why it bothered me so much.

“What does all of this say about me?” I asked my AI therapist at last. “Why do I feel so distraught?”

A new message popped up on my screen: “If you’re relying on your cat’s affection to feel good about yourself, this might be an opportunity to notice that pattern,” it read. “It’s important to ensure you’re not looking to your cat for validation. Cats are emotionally unavailable, and it’s possible you’re just projecting your need for approval onto the cat. Your worth is not determined by whether your cat is affectionate towards you.”

Oh. I found myself sitting up a bit straighter. Was this the epiphany I’d been searching for all along? Part of me already knew that my problem wasn’t really my cat—her apathy hurt, but only because underneath it lay my pathological desire to be liked. But hearing it laid out so explicitly? Yet so evenly? It really brought it home to me. The anxiety and hurt I felt about my cat’s behaviour was just a symptom; the real cause was my deep need for validation.

I thought back to my real-life therapy sessions, where we had routinely discussed this need of mine and how it tended to rear its ugly head on several occasions. When my best friend had started hanging out more frequently with someone else, when a crush decided that I wasn’t worth investing time into. Even when my therapist set boundaries in our professional relationship.

But this incident with my cat underscored how constant and unconscious my search for approval really is, especially when I feel deprived of it. In fact, the more distant and emotionally unavailable someone is, the more frantic I become, desperate to prove that I am worthy of being cared for. It was these deep insecurities that were triggered when my cat started acting out.

As I ended the session, I realised that I needed to keep a closer check on this pattern of mine, so I could form healthier relationships with humans and animals alike.

There’s no doubt that talking to a human being would’ve made me feel psychologically “held”, which a bot simply cannot do. And yet, my AI therapist surprised me with unexpected wisdom that helped me see the situation for what it was.

Neuroscientist and assistant professor of psychiatry at Columbia University, Daniel Kimmel attended a similar therapy session with ChatGPT to gauge its efficacy (except he was a pretend patient). He too found that ChatGPT did surprisingly well with certain parts of therapy, but fell short by just a little bit. The missing link, according to him, was human-ness.

“As therapists, we’re doing more than understanding and responding. We’re also generating new ideas, new information, where none existed before. That process requires an act of creativity, of imagination,” he says. “This approach shares a lot with ChatGPT’s algorithm…. That is, in terms of the underlying mechanics, the difference between mind and machine may be one of degree, but in terms of what those mechanics can do, the difference is night and day,” he adds.

The bottom line? Confiding in an AI therapist is a bit like talking to your overly friendly padhoswali aunty—she doesn’t truly get it but tries her best to be helpful nonetheless. And occasionally, amidst her pointless gupshup, lies a tiny nugget of wisdom that may not fix you, but lets you loosen your emotional knots. I still adore my cat so I won’t hesitate to shower her with affection every chance I get. Except this time, I won’t be wringing my hands over the outcome.