Odie is a talkative cat. While his sister, Nibbler, only meows in warning (“get away from me, Odie, or I’ll sink a claw in your face!”) or to invite people to watch her play (generally in the middle of the night and sounding like the loneliest thing you ever did hear), Odie is constantly making noise.
Odie will crawl into your lap and begin to tell one of his epic stories. Meep. Meep. Meep!
“Oh really, Odie?” we say, “then what happened?” He’ll keep meeping until he’s said all he came to say.
Odie has also perfected some meow variations.
First, there’s the Me-Yawn. Odie begins to greet you but then realizes, midway through, that he’s just too tired to continue. Squeak melts into yawn. I’ve only been able to capture a few of these such events:
Odie’s second favorite form of meow-variant is silent. It’s for when he’s all cuddled up somewhere and wants to acknowledge you but he’s just too comfy to move enough to add vocal oomph to his cries. We call this, appropriately, the Silent Meow. Mouth opens, chest swells with purpose, but no sound emerges. It’s just as pathetic as it sounds.