Grey is a strangely silent cat. In the month that I’ve known him I haven’t heard him meow once. He’s hissed at me twice- both times when I inadvertently rubbed a place on his hind flank where he seems tender, either from his rabies shot or a bruise from being stuffed in a bag and toppled about on airport floors en route to his new home. Either way, I blame myself.
Abby says he yowled one time during his first night and otherwise, the only sound that comes out of him is a loud purr. That is happening more and more often; he usually begins to rumble if you say nice things to him. As he settles in, he seems to want to be near people but not interfered with in any fashion. He’s eating, drinking, using the box. He is no longer spending time under the bed but he’s finding his way on his own terms. He is the one doing the petting, by means of a rub along a leg or a nose-to-nose but he is clearly cautious about being “person handled.” This is a change from his attitude when he was busy trying to buy his way out of homelessness; then he was slathering and falling all over himself to be affectionate. Ah well, who can blame him for working things to his advantage? After all, he is a cat.
My grandmother always said that once a cat settles down to bathe, he considers himself home. I took this picture of Grey last night after he spent a good hour grooming himself. When I suggested Abby hold him and pose, Grey politely got up and walked into the next room.