To believe this, you should know a couple of things.
I have known this cat, Tashi, for 16 years, and can tell you that she is sound-oriented. Years ago I used to practice Irish music with a whistle-playing friend, Mike, who was not very keen on cats. Tashi would annoy him by climbing onto his lap. It turned out that the object of her fascination wasn’t Mike, but was the sound of the whistle. Since then, her fascination has been very useful. If ever I would like her to come in from outside for whatever reason, I need only go out with a whistle (she prefers the sound of a Susato) and start to play a tune. Almost invariably she will be at my feet within 30 seconds or a minute.
She is also capable of mimicking sound. Some years ago she had to spend four weeks in quarantine near Sydney, in a facility largely occupied by expensive fancy breeds, the Siamese, Burmese and other Orientals with their eloquent voices. Once she was back home, her call had turned loud, expressive, and you would really have thought it came from a Siamese. The effect wore off within a few weeks, and she was back to a usual mog’s meow.
Now as it happens, over the last few months she has been nearby much more than in the past when I have been practising. And in recent weeks she started making this sound:
Worrying, at first, but she shows no other signs of distress. It became clear that she typically gives this performance after eating, as she faces the need to decide between going back to bed, to the litter tray or outside. Coincidence? Possible, of course, but I do believe that she is simply making the sound that she hears me making. She is singing the blues.