The Sounds of a Sausage

Since Kola has left for his permanent home, Tucker has changed somewhat. He’s still the same sausage-shaped furry baby in many ways, but I’ve seen an alteration in a couple of his traits.

For one thing he has become more affectionate, or, rather, asks me to be more affectionate. He frequently would amble over to me, especially when I was in the kitchen, washing the dishes, or putting items away in the cupboards, and rub his fuzzy melon-head against me. Now he does it even more often. He will roll over on the floor and beg for attention, which it is difficult to resist giving. One of his favourite spots is the cat-hammock by the dining table, and when I pass him as he’s lying in that, he will sometimes look up and give a squeal, then revolve on the hammock to tell me it’s head-stroking time.

That leads me into the second change. Tucker is more vocal than was once the case. He will talk to me more than he had, and talk just in general. At soft-food meal-times, I will hear little peeps coming from him, as if there is a tiny factory whistle in him that is announcing that it’s time for dinner. He wanders about discussing things with himself in abrupt cries.

Then there is his singing, which he usually does when I am out of the room. This sounds like a high-pitched version of what I imagine a hippo’s call to his friends sounds like. The ropy poly one almost always ceases this loopy sound when I enter the room, or look at him around a corner, as if it was not meant for me to hear.

That this new - or perhaps ‘increased’ would be a better word - characteristic began with Kola’s departure, makes me think that Tucker is trying to tell me something. Either he is letting me know that the household didn’t need the Floof King (“See? I can make all the noise that long-haired guy did.”) or he is celebrating Kola’s absence. Tucker never shared my fondness for that foster-cat.

Whatever the cause, Tucker has added another, not unpleasant, element to my life. As if I needed my cats to do more odd things.