It’s a rough brogue of a purr but I find myself pleasantly warmed by the irregular beating lilt of the subjects’ speech. their tones to me often take on a particular flavor as if they were mewing to draw a kit-stump from the hole where she was born with her litter, stumbling blind on a roly-poly belly and tiny nearly bare legs and soft claws. It takes me back to my first litter to hear the tone.