Intrepid Street

When I met our cat she wanted nothing to do with me. She also wanted nothing to do with anyone. I would walk into the room, she would leave with all due haste. Read that as run from the room. Should she decide not to run, if there was any suspicion I might approach to scratch her, the Flash moves slower. The doorbell ring and she’s lounging in the living room? Woosh, gone upstairs to the back of some closet.

Except in the middle of the night. She would wander close to the bed. If I draped my arm over the side she would sniff at my hand. Eventually, she would let me scratch her until she realized what was happening and then she would move off into the dark. Over time she would hang out for a bit longer and longer.

After a while, we placed ottomans at the head of the bed. She gradually decided it was okay to hop onto them and lay down there. Scratches occurred there. She was hooked and didn’t know it.

Years pass.

Tonight, after getting home from work, guess who has been following me around the house meowing for scratches at each stop?