In the past, my encounters with Victoria have always involved her staring at me with enormous fearful eyes, tensed to bolt at my slightest movement.
On Monday, Victoria and I connected.
I was sitting at the kitchen table with my aunt and my grandmother when I noticed Victoria walking underneath my chair, circling the table, and then walking under my chair again. I ran my hand across her back twice, and she seemed to like it.
I got to discussing coffee with my aunt, and in the meantime, I glimpsed Victoria timidly stepping into my room, a place the animals have thus far dreaded to go.
I thought this was kinna nice, and it made me smile.
I didn't remember the incident until much later when, listening to Aimee Mann's new album very loudly, I paused from typing away at something to turn and glance around the room, and I noticed Victoria anxiously staring at me from in front of my closed bedroom door--trapping her in my room with me--opening and closing her mouth to produce the plaintive meows I couldn't hear over Aimee Mann.
I laughed and released her from the confinement of my chamber. And it might be my imagination, but I could swear she looked back at me with a newfound respect . . .