islands of normalcy

From the beginning, Koa has had what I call islands of normalcy. She started with minute glimpses into the possibilities of being a normal cat. For example, when we'd climb up to the bathroom counter to visit her on her shelf, she'd sometimes rub our hand or accept a snack offering from us.

Now she hasn't visited her shelf for a long time, and I don't think she's been hanging out in the closet much, except for when the vacuum cleaner lady comes (the horror).

Her safe spot is now under the bed. And her islands are growing. She will usually get on the bed on command, and once there, she loves to be petted, scratched, and brushed. She purrs easily. She'll snuggle up to my stomach sometimes, and she is finally realizing that she is entitled to sleep on the bed.

With her growing comfort, she's developing quite a vocabulary. Originally, she squeaked out a tiny mew. That word is still in her repertoire, but she also chirrups and browts and speaks several tones of meow. One of my favorites is a little squeal of joy that I'm occasionally privileged to hear.

Another of her islands is downstairs. She'll often just hang around while we're having dinner. She'll walk from open door to open door and supervise whatever's going on outside. And lately, she's been lying under the rocking chair or on top of the stereo cabinet while we sit across the room from her in our chairs. She's even been playing downstairs a bit and nibbles on cat crunchies. Very occasionally, she'll consent to be petted downstairs, though more often by Robert than by me.

She hates coming in the upstairs bathroom when I'm in there. Recently, she's been peeking in at me. And last night, while I was brushing my teeth, she came in to use the litter box.

I'm so delighted with each little victory, and I am eager for each island to continue to grow.