Ying is a talker. She starts talking a few rooms away. I hear a meow or just a meh before seeing her.
We do a call and response until she sees me, and then our eyes get to talking.
Vocalization increases with touch. I dream of understanding the feline language. I know she responds after I make an attempt to copy her sounds.
Coming from a feral cat, Ying and Yang didn’t get the physical mothering until I took them in, and they treated me like their mom, especially Ying.
I try to wear clothes that keep me from being a pin cushion. She’ll find a part of my shirt and suck on it. I call it being Yinged or Yinged. Throw in some purring and a sweet whistle is sung.
Slowly, as I stroked Ying this evening, I could feel her relax, making me feel as if I were tuning her. No, the image of cat gut strings didn’t come to mind until this very second. Tuning a cat into tranquility is a better image.