Their greatest strength was also their greatest weakness, which is why modern big cats have smaller, sturdier teeth.
Saber-toothed cats — an umbrella term for a wide variety of felid species with massive, scimitar-like teeth — are some of the most terrifying prehistoric predators, carnivorousness incarnate.
But it turns out the teeth that give them their name and their fearsome reputation were also their greatest weakness.
The problem? While the oversized upper canines were optimal for delivering kill bites and tearing into flesh, they could break if the teeth met bone with force.
“Slicing and crushing are basically the two main things a carnivorous mammal’s teeth can do,” said Narimane Chatar, a postdoc at UC Berkeley studying carnivores. “But for saber-toothed animals, there’s a clear trade off. Those upper canines were extremely efficient but also break very easily.”
As experts on extant big cats are well aware, a hypercarnivore with broken or damaged fangs can struggle to take down their typical prey. That’s what often turns tigers, leopards and lions into man-eaters. (Interestingly, there are no documented accounts of man-hunting jaguars. Jaguar attacks on humans are exceedingly rare, and while they have killed humans, there’s no jaguar equivalent of the Chamapawat Tiger or the Leopard of Rudraprayag.)
A reconstruction of Smilodon, commonly known as the saber-toothed tiger, although it’s not closely related to modern tigers.A reconstruction of Megantereon, a saber-toothed cat that went extinct as late as 350,000 years ago.
During her research, Chatar found the skull and teeth of a saber-toothed cat in Berkeley’s archives and realized it was not the same species associated with saber-toothed cats in the Americas.
Although Smilodon and Homotherium are the most well-known species, “there was a crazy variety of saber-toothed cats,” Chatar said.
Her research has confirmed the prehistoric cat’s sword-like fangs were double-edged, literally and figuratively. Per UC Berkeley:
“In simulations, 3D-printed saber teeth from various species proved ideal at penetrating a gel with the consistency of flesh but fractured easily against simulated bone. In the former tests, Smilodon came out on top. In the latter, Smilodon fared the worst.“
Smilodon lived in the Americas and went extinct about 8,200 years ago. Los Angeles’ La Brea Tar Pits have yielded a number of preserved skeletal remains, making Smilodon and its three sub-species among the best-known prehistoric felids.
Smilodon and Megantereon images via Wikimedia Commons.
The incoming prime minister could find his time in office limited if he fails to ingratiate himself with Larry, the most admired Briton in the Commonwealth
They’re dropping like flies.
UK prime ministers haven’t been lasting very long of late, with the British public highly critical of the way they’re running the country, and more importantly, the many ways they’ve failed to adequately serve the real power in No. 10 Downing St.
We’re talking about Larry the Cat, of course, who has lived in No. 10 since 2011. (The building is technically the prime minister’s home and office, but among the people it’s known as Larry’s House.)
Inadequate humans.
With Keir Starmer announcing his resignation, Larry has now outlasted six prime ministers, and the clock is already ticking on the seventh.
Prime ministers come and go. Larry endures.
"I have accepted Keir Starmer's resignation as my chief servant and have invited Andy Burnham to lay out details for how many meals a day he'll give me" pic.twitter.com/7Ix95PMsN7
Humans have insulted felinekind for the last time!
Little Buddy was determined to win the prize.
A lavish spread of his most favoritest snacks — including a mouth-watering variety of crunchies, Gouda and American cheese, turkey meaty sticks and more — would be his if he could rush to the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, remove a cold beer, and somehow get it back to his human before the end of the half-inning commercial break during a Yankees broadcast.
“Sixty seconds left!” Big Buddy called from the living room.
Little Buddy panicked. He was still working out how to reliably open the refrigerator door and was worried about whether he’d be able to carry the bottle by gripping the slender part with his teeth, or would be forced to roll it.
With a back paw resting against the adjacent cabinet, Buddy wedged his body against the refrigerator door and, with a bit of wiggling, finally pried it open. Yes!
There it was: the cold beer.
“Thirty seconds!” Big Buddy called.
Oh crap! The feline tried to grab the top of the bottle with his teeth, but it was slippery with condensation and cold.
I’ll have to roll it, then, he conceded.
Working quickly, he had the bottle safely on the floor in a few seconds and began rolling, nudging the icy brew with his nose and correcting its direction with his paws. Think of the snacks, he told himself.
He was out of the kitchen and heading toward the living room, beer rolling along, when Yankees announcer Michael Kay’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“And we’re back here in the bottom of the sixth, Yankees up two runs over the Red Sox,” he said.
“Time!” Big Buddy said, then got up and walked over to where his feline pal was sitting dejected with his shoulders slumped.
The human picked up the beer and cracked it open.
“So close,” he said, shaking his head. “What a shame.”
Little Buddy stared at the floor sadly as Big Buddy walked into the kitchen. Then he heard the unmistakable crinkle of a plastic bag. It was music to his ears, a balm for his soul, relief for his rumbling stomach.
I knew Big Buddy wouldn’t do this to me! he thought. He’s gonna give me that snack spread anyway!
The excited feline came skidding to a halt just inside the kitchen doorway and looked up to find his human digging a few mochi nuggets out of a Trader Joe’s bag. His tail, which had been quivering with excitement a second ago, sank like an inflatable air dancer suddenly deprived of wind.
“Mmmm,” the human said. “These are delicious. Don’t you just love snacks?”
He walked back into the living room and collapsed in his chair, leaving Little Buddy staring longingly up at the inaccessible Cabinet of Yums.
The hollow pop of a fastball discharging its kinetic energy off a wooden bat and the roar of the crowd sounded through the speakers in the next room, sending minute rumbles through the floor that tickled Buddy’s paw pads.
The gods of yums are pooping on me from great heights, he thought. What have I done to deserve this cruel fate?
“He’s training you!”
Little Buddy spun around. Who was meowing to him?
“Up here, dummy!” the voice meowed, and Little Buddy looked up to find a cat the color of a tangerine sitting on the outside window ledge and licking one paw.
“What do you mean by ‘he’s training me?'” Buddy asked the mysterious interloper.
The other feline continued raking his tongue along his paw at an insouciant pace, then finally stopped and looked down.
“He’s conditioning you to retrieve bottles of beer,” the interloper said with certainty. “The promise of a reward lit a fire under your behind, so you didn’t even question the ridiculous ‘challenge.’ And that, my boy, is how humans train lesser creatures like dogs. It is beneath us felines and an insult to our dignity!”
Buddy let the new information sink in.
“That bastard!” he meowed.
“Yes!” the tangerine cat replied.
“He’s treating me like a mutt? A dirty dog?”
“An abominable way to treat a friend, and if I may say so, an insult to your stature!”
Buddy seethed. “I’m supposed to be his best pal! His little buddy!”
“Some might call it a stunning display of absolute contempt for your feelings and your stomach,” the other feline nodded. “Criminal, really.”
“I’m gonna kill him!” Buddy meowed angrily.
The orange cat held up both paws.
“Hold off on that for a minute, will you, pal? If you go scorched Earth right away, you’ll have nothing for when this inevitably escalates.”
Buddy nodded reluctantly. “What did you have in mind?”
Tangerine smiled mischievously.
“My friend,” he trilled, “do you know what a toothbrush is?”
Author’s note:This is a work of fiction. At no time has Bud ever been denied a snack, nor has he ever missed a meal.
One party has produced records. The other has an implausible story. Yet again, a situation highlights the need for new pet laws that reflect the way people see companion animals now, not as they did more than a century ago.
Junie the cat gave birth to a litter of kittens in 2022, was spayed in 2023, and photos show her nursing her babies, relaxing on a favorite blanket, and lazing imperiously on one of her humans’ clean black shirts.
The photos and documents were shared by Brenda Wilson, the Bakersfield, Calif., woman who said her cat still hasn’t been returned to her after an Amazon driver took her several weeks ago.
Since the police say they’re investigating the alleged theft, releasing the documents seems like more of an exasperated act of receipt-producing after the delivery driver, Joshua Gonzalez, went public and said he was retrieving his own cat, not stealing Wilson’s.
You can practically hear Judge Judy snapping “Let’s see the receipts!” as she adjusts her glasses.
In Gonzalez’s version of events he serendipitously happened to discover his own missing cat sitting on the front step of a home that happened to be on his delivery route. At different times referring to the cat as “he,” “she” and “it,” Gonzalez said he’d adopted the feline for his seven-year-old daughter back in October of 2025, still hadn’t bestowed the cat with a name despite her living in his home for seven months, and he knows she’s his cat because she has a “distinct” M-pattern on her forehead.
Gonzalez could be telling the truth. There’s a nonzero chance of that. Truth really can be stranger than fiction. But his version of events stretches credulity to its breaking point.
Literally every tabby cat has the “M” pattern on their heads. It’s what makes them tabbies. He seems as confused about that as he is about Junie’s gender.
Then there’s the video: the entire sequence of events is captured on a Ring camera near Wilson’s front door. Gonzalez doesn’t react like a man who’s stunned to fortuitously stumble over his own missing cat, at an address his job took him to, no less. He doesn’t express shock or surprise, or seem to visibly react at all. He doesn’t even look at the cat. He delivers the package, logs it on his phone, then swoops the feline up in his arms and walks off with her.
If you’d just unexpectedly found your own cat, would you call out to her, extend a hand, and smile with relief when she pads up with a raised tail and happily brushes her cheek against it? Would you check her coat pattern and markings, then check again? When scooping her up, would you talk to her, maybe even plant a kiss on her head, and tell her how happy you are to find her? Would you look happy? Would you leave a note?
Most people would do at least some of those things. Gonzalez does none of them.
And while Wilson has produced date-and-time-stamped photos of Junie going back years, the only photo Gonzalez shared with a local news station was a smartphone snap from the other day showing Junie in his lap.
And that’s half the problem. Neither party would be going to the media and trying to litigate this in public if the police were motivated to take the alleged theft more seriously. That’s not entirely their fault, because in the vast majority of states, laws regarding animals haven’t been updated since the days, more than a century past, when they were written to settle farm and ranch disputes. There’s little guidance from the law, and fewer options. The law doesn’t recognize pets as conscious individuals with feelings, so courts don’t take into account the best interests of the animals either.
Wilson said she doesn’t want anything but the return of Junie. The police would save her family a lot of angst by making that happen. Unless Gonzalez starts producing some truly impressive evidence, familiarizes himself with the gender of the disputed feline and explains his behavior, it’s difficult to believe Junie belongs with anyone besides the Wilsons.
Q: So the theme of this interview is humans, specifically humans you admire. Would we be correct in assuming your human is at the top of your list?
Buddy: You would not.
Q: Uh, okay. Why not?
Buddy: Because he’s a wimp! A pushover. Weak.
Q: Wow. Okay. So who are some humans you admire?
Buddy: Let’s see. Genghis Khan. Tony Soprano. Xerxes of Persia. Kim Jong Il was pretty cool even if his hair was not. The Tokugawa shoguns. King Joffrey’s a classic. Nero. Ivan the Terrible. Oh! Commodus from Gladiator, he’s another good one.
Q: Seriously?
Buddy: Yeah!
Buddy and the humans he admires.
Q: But why? They’re all tyrants!
Buddy: Exactly.
Q: You consider that a positive personality trait?
Buddy: I love a good tyrant. I’m an aspiring tyrant myself, you know. Some would say I’ve already achieved tyranthood, although my tyrannical activities have been small time so far. I say when it’s bed time, I demand snacks whenever I please, I’ve banned closed doors in my domicile, I collect protection treats from the other cats in the building, I’ve…
Q: That sounds a bit more than small time.
Buddy: Indeed, but I haven’t realized my plan to take over the world. World domination has always been my dream, even as a kitten.
Q: What would world domination under Emperor Buddy look like?
Buddy: Well first of all, we’d have to have the humans build a replica of the Coliseum. The cats need entertainment, and I need a place to feed my enemies to tigers. Plus we can make the humans fight each other for our amusement whilst I sit in my imperial box where beautiful women feed me candied figs and my servants fan me to keep me cool.
Q: Uh…
Buddy: And then we invade Turkey to plunder all their turkey. I’ve given a lot of thought to that, obviously. My personal guards will be an elite group of lions called the, uh, Lion Guard. They’d look all intimidating and stuff in their resplendant armor. Also, I would summon a group of the best engineers, experts in biomechanics, and luxury car designers to create vehicles for my people.
Buddy’s Lion Guards stand watch around his imperial personage.
Q: You want cars for cats?
Buddy: Exactly.
Q: But lots of people would object to sharing the road with you guys…
Buddy: They don’t have a choice, remember? I’m the emperor!
Q: Right. Well, this has been an, uh, enlightening inter…
Buddy: I say when the interview is over!
Q: Er, okay. Is there anything you wanted to add?
Buddy: During my reign, there will be mandatory nap times. Also, when I enter a room everyone must stand, not only because they should bow and say “My liege,” which sounds pretty cool, but also so I can pick the spot I want. If any human was sitting there, they will move, of course.
Q: Of course. If I may…
An Imperial Buddesian coin featuring a likeness of Imperator Buddy. This 10-can coin entitles the bearer to 10 cans of premium cat food.
Buddy: Yes?
Q: Where does your human fit into all of this?
Buddy: Which one? All the humans will be my loyal subjects when I’m emperor.
Q: You know. Your human. The one who adopted you and takes care of you, feeds you, cleans up after you, rubs your head and tells you how brave you’ve been when you get scared…
Buddy: Fake news! I don’t get scared.
Q: My apologies. Of course you don’t get scared, nothing could frighten you! So what happens to your human when you’re Emperor Buddy?
Buddy: That’s an excellent question, one I haven’t given much thought to yet. I could make him the High Warlord, grant him a dukedom, or put him in charge of the mint to oversee the handsome new coins featuring my likeness on them. But I have trouble sleeping unless I’m draped over him, and it would be a pain to train someone new to make things just the way I like them, so he can be Bates.
Q: Bates?
Bates, right, assists Lord Grantham changing into his dinner wear on Downton Abbey. Buddy envisions his human holding the position of Bates in his Buddesian Empire.
Buddy: Yeah. Like on Downton Abbey. My personal servant, separate from all the palace servants.
Q: Ah…
Buddy: I’d just feel more comfortable if he were always within three feet of me. That is non-negotiable. And with that, I now formally declare this interview concluded. If you’ll just step over there please, my Master of Great Works will take down your information so that, if the final published version of this interview is displeasing to me, we can send you to the mines along with everyone else I don’t like upon my ascension to the throne. Cheers!
