My cat does not understand why I get into that big torrent of water to clean myself. She does just fine with tongue and paw, and it’s much lighter on resource use.
My cat thinks that if I had only had the good sense to obtain a decent coat of primary fur, I would have no need to waste all that time every day applying secondary fur.
My cat pities me for how bad at hunting I am, and for having to resort to the use of artificial aids like those shiny fork-things in order to present her with food. She used to tease me about this by presenting me with food she got using only her own claws & teeth. Until the mice got the hint that ours had become a very unhealthy environment to enter, and should be avoided from now on.
My cat gets generally annoyed with me for how poor an example of the cat kingdom I offer. But she’s still willing to accept belly-rubs.
My cat can generally not conceive of the fact that some creatures, like my wife and me, are neither cats nor cat-food, and that our bizarre ways and looks are quite appropriate for our species. She thinks we are cats who are simply not very good at it. She is, however, quite generously willing to instruct us on how to be better cats.
It is, after all, the grey cat’s burden, to instruct the lesser ones among whom she has gone to live as to how best to fulfill whatever limited potential we may have.