Cat-human communication is a bit different from cat-cat communication, and while I mostly rely on the former I do intentionally include a few bits of the latter (I'm not as fluent in cat-cat as I am in cat-human, but like many (most?) cat owners, I've picked up a few useful phrases). Sometimes a cat, when faced with a human attempting to speak the cat's language, will look confused, as though thinking, "I know what it means when a cat does that, but what does it mean when a human does it? Is this human okay?" Other cats simply react as though to another cat, without being troubled by seeing the wrong species giving the signals.
One of the cat-things I do is the friendly "let's smell each other's breath" approach. I'm not sure exactly what it means to cats, but it does seem to reassure them (and can help to convince an unfamiliar cat that I'm friendly, if I'm allowed to get my face that close in the first place). This is, of course, done in the cat "I want to analyze this smell" fashion, with the lips slightly apart and very gentle, shallow, short breaths. (This is apparently related to "flehming", and aids delivery of the inhaled sample to the vomeronasal organ. I was about to add that although I thought this was a special feline organ, I did notice that I get different information when smelling things in this way -- but I paused to google it, and discovered that the vomeronasal organ (or Jacobson's organ) is present in several species, including humams, though it's apparently not connected to the nervous system in adult humans (I wonder how much of the change in food preferences between infancy and adulthood are explained by the shrinking and disconnection of this organ). Wikipedia says that "some researchers argue" that it's functional in some adult humans; this might explain my acting like a "supertaster" in some regards and not in others, or may be completely unrelated to how I perceive taste and why breathing with my lips parted and my tongue positioned to direct air across the roof of my mouth sometimes gives me more information than smelling things in other ways -- it could simply be the pattern of airflow across my tongue that matters, rather than flow to the spot where my vomeronasal organ may or may not still be, that matters. Ah, but I digress...)
Anyhow, one approaches the cat slowly and smoothly, head way forward, lips parted as though one's sense of smell/taste works the same as a cat's, and there's a good chance the cat will react in kind. If you're not sure how to perform this maneuver from my description, just watch two cats sniff each other's breath, or pay attention to how your cat does it to you -- even if you never initiate this, most cats will occasionally try to sniff your breath in this way if they're comfortable with you (and all the more so if you've just eaten something yummy, though very litle of what I eat is yummy to cats). Some cats do it more often than others.
But here's the thing: I suck a lot of cough drops, often containing menthol, to deal with airway irritation not quite severe enough that I want to use my albuterol inhaler but too annoying to ignore (especially when I'm trying to get to sleep, or on high-pollen-count days). I do not initiate the mutual breath smelling thing when I'm sucking on a cough drop, or have just done so, but sometimes Perrine chooses such a moment to initiate it.
And then she flinches back, eyes narrowed and ears back, as if to say, "Yeowch! What did you just do to my smeller?"
Apparently, menthol-breath is worse, from a cat's perspective, than the smell of hot coffee (which in turn is much worse than coffee-breath), but not as bad as the smell of a tissue soaked in rubbing alcohol.
(So, uh, yeah, the whole point of this long entry was the image of a cat trying to be friendly and getting a snoot full of menthol, and looking startled and confused by it. But I'm curious about other folks' sense of smell and how involving different parts of the mouth affects the amount or quality of information extracted from the air being sampled. And, of course, always welcome feline communication insights, and certainly don't mind providing yet another excuse for friends to post random cute cat anecdotes.)
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In what ways are you like a supertaster? I am one, and neither I nor any I've ever met has anywhere near your tolerance for spiciness or nightshades (tomato, eggplant, etc.)
Oddly enough, even though I'm definitely a supertaster (confirmed by a lab specializing in research into the 5 senses, even), due to sinus issues my sense of smell varies from little to none. Which makes me more than skeptical about the idea that if you can't smell, you can't really taste. If that were true, I'd be a whole lot thinner.
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Apparently there's a really simple test for supertaste, involving blue food colouring, a mirror, a magnifying glass, and a loose leaf reinforcing ring, but I haven't gotten around to doing that yet. If it turns out that I am a supertaster, then my fondness for nightshades and for SpIcY food in general will present rather a bit of a puzzle. But I have other hypotheses to explain my taste sensitivity if I'm not a supertaster (not that I have any idea how likely any of the hypotheses are to be correct).
For one thing, there's that whole "dominant sense" meme: according to that model, different people have different senses dominate, and this tends to be reflected in how they think and their choices of idioms and metaphors. IIRC, sight and sound are the most common. I'm not really sure which sense is my dominant one, but both touch and taste seem pretty important (and I do occasionally get puzzled looks when I say things like "her mind tastes nice"). For another, there are the experiences which may count as a form of synaesthesia (I do not experience the phenomena almost always given as examples of synaesthesia in magazine articles, but I do have cross-sensory perceptions -- something may "sound pink" or "feel prickly in my eyes" when I look at it or "taste bright"; I usually perceive the sensation as being "in" the correct sensory organ for the sense I'm objectively using, but the "wrong" sense for that organ (or rather, a combination of the expected sense and another) ... except that when a taste tickles, I feel it inside my head, not on my tongue). Or perhaps, despite how oblivious I can be about many things, I simply pay more attention to other things than most people do, and thus notice more of what I taste while others taste the same things and notice less of what they're tasting. (Consider Feynman's scent experiment, for example.) I don't know.
Have I described what happened when Perrine tasted palak paneer?
And oh yeah, frequent sinus issues here, too, with the corresponding variability in olfactory acuity. Yup. (For me it ranges from normal[**] to none, so I've got a wider variation of sensitivity than you do, but I'm familiar with the "can't smell what folks around me do" thing.)
[**] Er ... I guess. Though come to think of it, I don't really know for sure what normal olfaction is.
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It seems to have partially worked, as he could function in most circumstances after that, but he could still tell you every ingredient in a dish, along with the proportions, even while smoking 2+ packs a day! Only now, at 75yo and with the lung- and other problems from the smoking so far advanced that he is barely able to walk, has it slacked off some.
Thankfully, mine is not That intense. And my sinus issues (badly deviated septum from a car accident when I was ten, gradually getting worse, etc.) cause my sensitivity to vary from about 100% down to a few percent, although almost never Quite none.
It may be relevent that, in my teens at least, I could tolerate levels of ammonia (and a few other solvents) in the air that would make most people pass out. I worked in a theater and was the only one who could keep breathing and stay conscious long enough to mop down a particularly ill-ventilated storeroom, at least without vomiting repeatedly (not helpful to the mopping process ... ;-) ).