My cat Charlotte doesn't talk much. She's gentle and affectionate, but overwhelmingly silent. Except when I'm standing at the kitchen counter. For there, tucked beside the microwave, are the Whisker Lickins. She does love those tender treats.
First, no matter where she is, she will sense I am standing at the counter and will suddenly appear by my side, gazing up at me meaningfully. If I don't get what she telepathically is trying to tell me, she will stretch herself to her full length and touch my leg. Finally, if that doesn't work, SHE SPEAKS! Her rare meow is surprisingly deep and throaty for a cat so small. It's as if Miss Thing is the feline Lauren Bacall.
These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 65!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live just outside Chicago, the best city in the world. I'm an aunt and a friend. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
My friend's one cat only "talks" at meal times. Her other cat on the other hand "talks" all the time. I'm amazed sometimes by their communication skills.
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