The thing I love most about Alexander is his confidence. He reminds me of Brando. When Brando was about 4 weeks old, I sat and petted him and told him several episodes from the long saga of Wonderful Brando the most excellent heroic kitten. He listened intently and I believe he understood and believed me. Certainly he was always brave and confident, as Alexander was (even though some pretty scary things happened to him). (It's of course quite brave to be flinching a bit on the inside
as you confidently tackle the challenges before you.)
The great thing about Le Guin's cats is they have real cat-personalities and aren't little humans dressed up in fur suits as so many fantasy animal characters are. Her perfect touch, her Tao, is in saying without saying. A writer can really only express the deepest truths in this way. When she mentioned in passing that a human didn't understand something a cat said "because humans and cats talk in different ways", the explanation pierced my heart. Why? I don't know. It seemed a simple acknowledgment of a great sad gulf between us, something that should not be, but is. Something so real, so like life, so sorrowful but also just the way things are. I don't know. If I could describe this at all well it wouldn't be a plain miracle, and it is. Her books are the empty vessel, the cupped hand. The best things she says are those things left unsaid.