Theo lives on my street, with the family that occupies house number thirteen, which is only a few houses away from where I live. Soon after the “life-saving” incident, Theo and I met often. Our meetings initially happened in my garden. There, Theo would typically first tiptoe on the fence and pretend to examine something or the other, and then, almost without me even realising it, I would find him sitting next to me on the garden bench.
Theo later explained that it was important that such meetings took place without attracting much attention, as that was the nature of cats. Theo told me, “We cats do things quietly, unlike dogs, who do the opposite, making a show of everything.” Over time, we now meet all over the place, including streets, parks, etc., and even on my sofa. I, however, make sure that the family at number 13 do not see him enter my house.
It is easy to be discreet when communicating with Theo, as it happens silently. An imperfect way to describe how I communicate with Theo is to compare it with the internal voice one hears when reading a book. When Theo “says” something to me, the words do not come out of his mouth. Instead, I would just “hear” his voice in my head, just as one would hear a voice when one reads a book. Similarly, when I want to say something to Theo, I would just “think it”, and he would understand what I mean to say. There are certainly no “meow, meow” sounds during our conversations, except when Theo gets very excited, when an occasional “meow” can sometimes be heard.