My cats speak fluent Felinese with an alley-cat accent, except Miss Hissy Slashy. She speaks Feralese.
She’s doing great though. I can pet her for two or three minutes before she bites me, and she doesn’t even draw blood anymore, the softy.
We just took in a feral kitty, to the tune of about $500 for vet services, but it was worth it. I figure she’s grateful to be inside after the horrid Tennessee winter, and is a shameless cuddlebug. She hasn’t tried to bite even once. Another of our cats was also feral and it’s taken two years to make her not bite. You can tell she wants to sometimes, but cogitates for a couple of seconds, and then licks.
I’m going to record Malcolm’s yowling one of these days.
He’ll tromp into the bedroom in the middle of the night
and set up the most pitiable loud repetitive racket you ever heard.
Gets multiple syllables into his yowls.
The messages vary:
“Get up and put some bites in my bowl”
“Get up and let me the hell out”
“Get up and come watch me eat some of the bites in my bowl”
“Get up and come see the new spot I found”
Any time you note that I’ve posted something a 3:00 AM,
it’s a Malcolm related incident that’s gotten me up.