I don’t know how we could tell.
I’m pretty sure that least some non-human animals – including IME at least some cats – do understand death in the sense that they know the difference between a live cat, even if ill or sleeping soundly, and a dead one. They don’t IME behave the same way around their friend’s body as they did around their friend.
Do they move from ‘my friend is dead’ to ‘and I might die too’? How would we know?
Do they move from ‘I might die too’, even if that’s a possible thought in their heads, to ‘I certainly will die sometime’? I’m inclined to doubt it – even an awful lot of humans have trouble with that one, and refuse in one way or another to recognize it. But again, how could we know?
Does an animal fighting for its life know that it’s in mortal danger, or is it only afraid of immediate pain? I don’t see how we can know that one either.
– Humans who have a lot of adrenaline going sometimes don’t realize they’re hurt, and don’t feel pain, until the danger’s over; sometimes even when they’re seriously injured. We can know this because people can report it. We also know, in the same fashion, that this doesn’t always happen; often, for whatever reason, this defense doesn’t kick in. Whether a non-human animal being eaten sometimes doesn’t feel pain due to a similar mechanism, again, I don’t think there’s any way of telling. But I wouldn’t assume that going limp means not feeling pain – it might, the creature might for instance have lost consciousness; but it might be a different sort of defense mechanism – the predator might assume the limp creature is dead or disabled and might drop it meaning to get a better grip or to eat it later, allowing a chance to get away.
– I’ve had several cats die at home, when it seemed likely they’d be less distressed than they would be by being taken to the vet. I’m remembering right now one in particular, who didn’t seem to be in any obvious distress on his last day – as long as I was in the room. If I left the room, he’d cry until I came back. When I came back into the room, he’d relax and lie quietly. He didn’t seem to want me to do anything – he didn’t want anything to eat or drink, he didn’t show signs of being cold or hot, he didn’t look like he was in pain, and he didn’t keep meowing at me as long as I was in his sight. He just wanted me to be there with him – and only on that last day; he hadn’t complained about being left alone in a room ordinarily, even the day before. He thought, clearly, that there was something going on, that particular day, that he didn’t want to be alone for. Did he know that he was dying? Again, how could we tell?