She got my attention by trotting along on the side of the road next to me as I jogged down the park road, meowing away in short bursts, then trotting along to catch up, then meowing some more. A young black kitty with white feet, she insisted that I stop and pay attention, so I did. She looked cleanish and healthy, like maybe she was once a house pet but was now lost, abandoned. And if she was one of the feral cats, well, we wouldn't be having this conversation, because I would have only caught sight of her fleeing rosebud.
She soooo wanted to get her back scratched. I sat down in the middle of the road in an empty Cadwallader Park and tried to look nonthreatening. Circling around and around me, she'd close to within a foot, lie down on the warm pavement, and knit knit knit with her paws like kitties do when they're purring loudly and in a lovin' mood. So I'd reach out and wiggle my fingers in the universal "c'mere kitty!" sign, and she'd get this look like all she wanted to do in the whole world was connect, but then she'd get scared and freeze and quick hop up and step off to a safer (2 foot) distance. So I'd pull away and talk soothingly in universal "'tso kay kitty" tones, and she'd edge back to within a foot, so I'd reach out, but she'd scoot away--you get the picture.
The picture is me.