My cat was just the beneficiary of an extraspecific intervention. I don't mean to be overly mysterious; Wheatley was outside on a rope which he had literally tied in knots (or hitches, still more precisely). His owner and benefactor untied the knot and allowed Wheatley to roam with a renewed measure of liberty.
I, the owner, am not of the same species as Wheatley, the cat.
Species do exist, I claim with some rational justification. Species are a creation of human imagination, I believe equally. The qualitative differences between me and my cat are easy to identify. The problem comes with determining which of those differences are significant enough to be discriminants of kind. (I've read that a serious debate about whether species is a meaningful concept for plants has now been largely settled by a statistical argument in favor of the existence of plant species.)
One of the more stark differences between humans and cats is that cats would never delimit another creature's liberty by means of a rope. Therefore, there would never be cause for a cat to untangle another's rope. Indeed, my cats never showed the slightest propensity for confining the distal range of another carnivore. At first meeting, they did show remarkably strong inclinations to restrict each other's proximal range by means of hissing, scratching, posturing, and malodorous secretion. Contrariwise, the cats showed little inclination to restrict the proximal range and some inclination to limit the distal liberty of small rodents and some birds.
Which returns me to the topic of extraspecific interventions, not all of which are beneficent from the recipient's viewpoint. I've seen several extraspecific interventions conducted by the cat which the mouse perceived as malevolent. The cat, I believe, thought of the same intervention as beneficent, but with itself as the beneficiary.
It is unlikely that the cat, or the mouse, has a "theory of mind" (the technical term for the ability to put yourself in another's place). So I overstate the case when I said the mouse perceived the cat's act as "malevolent"; only I, as a human, would so qualify the cat's mind.
The cat himself is unlikely to feel in any way malevolent -- or beneficent, either. But there are occasions when he does appear to find himself at peace with his own nature and with the environment in which he is living at the moment. Such moments, however they may be perceived internally by the cat, transcend the barriers of kind. Then I may become the beneficiary of an extraspecific intervention by my cat, who "comes between" my awareness of my self and my awareness of discordant aspects of my understanding of the world.
In actual reality the game involves plays by non-human players