A not so silent meow

Fig usually communicates in a series of near silent "hahs" and a lot of body language - ear movements, tail swishing, and other meaning-laden gestures. Occasionally, when he is really desperate to be fed, he will emit a soft meow. Having lived with other cats who could have singlehandedly put the word "caterwaul" in the dictionary, I have always appreciated Fig's more considerate approach to communication. Still, once in a while, it's nice to be reminded that he does have a voice.

There is a very vocal orange tabby in our neighborhood that loudly demands attention whenever he sees me. Mango, as I've chosen to call him, is quite affectionate and will jump up on the hood of my car to more readily reach my hand, all the while meowing at full volume. One evening I introduced Fig to Mango. Fig immediately began calling out in a full-throated meow. Mango responded in kind, and the two of them had quite a conversation. Were they establishing/defending boundaries? Introducing themselves? Complaining about the state of the weather? I'll never know, but it was an impressive display.

It was interesting that Fig found his voice in the presence of another cat. He has a history of being a pretty solitary beast by preference when it comes to his own kind, but he certainly had a lot to say to his new neighbor. It made me think about people, and the rhythm of our own conversations - how some people tend to listen quietly, others prefer to dominate the conversation (sometimes, whether or not they have something to say), and some speak up only in certain situations. Sharing our thoughts, our words, can be a way of making ourselves known and of knowing, of reaching out and connecting with each other. Yet we can also draw our lines in the sand, push people away, or hit them over the head with a barrage of words. The former purpose requires engagement by both parties; the latter may be unilateral. It takes at least two people to build, but only one to aggress or destroy - a disturbing thought.