Lil wound her way, following the trail formed by feet trampling through the snow.
He was waiting for her, pacing, watching, calling. At her approach, the cat rubbed its body against the fencing, then stood, bracing his fore paws against it. And purred.
Six months since he’d seen her—scented her, Lil thought. But he hadn’t forgotten her. “Hello, Baby.”
She reached through to stroke the tawny fur, and he bumped his head affectionately to hers.
“I missed you, too.”
He was four now, full-grown, lithe and magnificent. He hadn’t been fully weaned when she’d found him, and his two litter mates, orphaned and half starved. She’d hand-fed them, tended them, guarded them. And when they’d been old enough, strong enough, had reintroduced them to the wild.
But he’d kept coming back.
She’d named him Ramses, for power and dignity, but he was Baby.
And her one true love.
“Have you been good? Of course, you have. You’re the best. Keeping everybody in line? I knew I could count on you.”
As she spoke and stroked, Baby purred, hummed in his throat, and looked at her with golden eyes full of love.
She heard movement behind her, glanced back. The one Tansy had called Eric stood staring. “They said he was like that with you, but . . . I didn’t believe it.”
Black Hills
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Other animals have 'human' emotions, too
Emotions are like organs: vital and universal, and not just
for our species, primatologist Frans de Waal argues in a new book.