Jack is a cat of our aquaintance. (He lives here, in the house, and we're responsible for him. For the record his full name is Dr. Isaac Ezekiel "Jack" Jones. Our cats get names. But I digress.)

We're not sure of his specific provenance, except that he came from the cat rescue. He's a brown tabby of middling size with a few notches out of his ears and a slash on his nose. His colouration is different than other tabbies, though -- he has brown "points", like a Siamese. His ear tips are dark, his feet are dark, his tail is dark. I suspect, but don't know, that he's half Siamese.

I don't know all of the attributes of Siamese cats; I've never made their acquaintance in person that I can recall. But the rumours are that they're very talkative. Vocal. You know. Saying cat words and cat phrases. A lot. And repeatedly. But I think because Jack has some Siamese in him, that he is also predisposed to being vocal. Although not to excess. Except sometimes.

What it comes down to this: Jack mutters. 

He wanders through the house at times, asking questions of doors, of shadows, of doorways, of shafts of light, of furniture, of stairs, of landings, of the middle of rooms, of hallways, of closets, of foyers, of bathrooms, of bedrooms, of clutter, of dust bunnies, of the absence of dust bunnies, of almost everything.

Which is why sometimes you might hear me say "Jack, shut up!"  Because sometimes he will go on, and on, and on, and on. And talking to the muttering cat usually works to stop him muttering, at least for a while.

Because the question he seems to be asking, when he's muttering, is "am I alone? Where is everyone?"  

And sometimes, when we can say it truthfully, we'll answer him, "We're upstairs, Jack, in the bed!" 

And then he'll trot up the stairs and jump up on the bed and purr.