O, Zen. She wanders through the flat at night and cries and cries. I scuttle after her, attempting to figure out what’s wrong. Food? No, you’ve eaten already. Water? Bowls are full. Litter? Just scooped.
Then I pick her up and cuddle her, and she immediately stops crying and starts purring. She used to hate being cuddled, fiercely independent thing that she is, but in her older age she gets lonely and needs to be held.