During the last hurrah before bed, Evelyn shuffles out of her bedroom, interrupting a stretch of time Dave and I having time to ourselves. She’s pretty good these days, in and out, needing a cup of ice or, like last night, a writing book and pencil.
As she grabbed her things, her arms filled with other items that would otherwise uncomfortably be strewn around her bed until morning. She also football-carried a cat in the mix.
The same cat that is like a wild stallion with anyone else. Her skittish and never-quite-certain ways are worrisome. Will she scratch or bite or knock something over?
The wild in her says “Oh hell yes!”
But as Evelyn talked to us, telling us how the sirens in the movie we are watching were signaling that there was something bad happening, she needed us to keep it down. She didn’t like that. And as she talked, and as she shared, she paced and threw her arms around a little, as a little head popped out.
A little head that seemed resigned to its state. That almost seemed to like it.
Her ears were perked up. Her eyes were looking out at us. She wasn’t kicking. She wasn’t flailing.
She just laid limp as Evelyn continued to talk.
I wondered how long that beast would have in her to be able to tolerate it.
But Evelyn didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even concern herself with how the cat might feel. But her book and her pencils and her toys, and this cat’s head that popped out, I…
I just sat there.
Entranced.
By this relationship that no other person has with her.
And that cute dang head that popped out made me so unbelievably happy.
Love, Jaclynn
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