They’re not much on actual meows – they chirp and buzz, mostly. They really only meow in two instances, when they’re waiting for me to put their food down and when I get home in the afternoon and they want pettings.
Rather than meow back, which doesn’t really get a response from them, I react as if they’re talking. When it’s food I’ll say stuff like “I know, you’ve never had food in your life” or “It’s coming, the magic box has to make it warm first!” and when they’re rolling around demanding pets I’ll pretend they’re telling me about their day. “Did she really? And what did YOU say?”
I really do think responding to your cat as if they’re talking is a good thing. (For one, I know they meow to talk to humans, to try and communicate with them, and meowing back vaguely feels like mocking their accent.) But I think it does encourage them to meow more.
Which you may or may not want, I suppose, but I live with Nimitz, who becomes invisible on a regular basis. She’s learned to meow whenever a person is approaching just so they know she’s there. Sometimes, if I’m out at night and I think I see a moving shadow, I’ll yell “Use your sonar!” and it will generally start meowing as it approaches.
There are certain stories told around the campfire that transcend
from whispered words to pure legend. There are also tales retold in the
veterinary sphere, obscuring confidential client details of course,
which seem unbelievable at first but certainly happened somewhere, some
time.
This is one of them.
Once upon a time, a young family had a black and white cat named Sox. They had absolutely been planing to desex and microchip Sox, but life unfortunately got busy and Sox went missing before they could get this done.
After a week of searching, they very luckily found Sox at the pound. Sox was desexed and microchipped before being released, and they gladly took their cat home.
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