Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah) came to the room’s door. Sitting down, he composed his tail and then looked at me. Then, very deliberately, in a deadpan voice, he enunciated, “Me. Ow. Me. Ow.”

It was so weird. He never says “me. ow.” He says, Mrrrmpf,” and variations of that, like a grumbling old man too bored to bother with a whole meow. Or very loudly, sharply, “Mmrrrrowl.” But “me. ow”? No.

It was like he was doing some offbeat feline impression of Bob Newhart or Steven Wright as a cat. “Me. Ow.”