Mostly she hid. For a long-time I didn’t hear her voice except when relaxed, there were soft rumblings.
During the first week, my new chunky, grey and white moggie would often runaway as I approached, even hesitant to step forward at mealtimes, her green eyes focused on my movements. She resided behind the TV table or on the bottom shelf of the hall cupboard, body close to the wall. If I moved my hand quickly, she would cower and spring away. I didn’t appreciate her hisses.
I tried to calm her… She had been at a shelter for four months. My previous, old moggie was the opposite to her—dog-like, naughty, with heaps of attitude.
The fluffball allowed me to pat her on her terms, then progress—something small each day—appearing when called, snuggling and not hiding as often.
Stretched out on my lap, she was due for a flea treatment. I squirted the liquid onto her neck. Immediately, she leapt onto the rug and raced off. She didn’t sit long after that, and it took time to gain her trust again.
Currently, she grooms herself several times a day and forms small mounds with her litter covering-up her business.
Her purr, accompanied with some dribble has a bass tone then changes pitch to soprano. For two months, I hadn’t heard her miaow, and was surprised to her her speak, and nicknamed her ‘Squeaky’. It’s weird, as she is a deep snorer, (like me). We’ve bonded.
The Human (CD)