Emerging from the Chrysalis

I rarely write about our cat Miss Tommie, who turned eleven recently. It’s not because I do not love her dearly. It’s because I have never been able to get too close to her, both literally and figuratively.

But something apparently happened when 2012 was ushered in this past Sunday. As fireworks filled the air, Miss Tommie must have made a new year’s resolution because she emerged from her chrysalis. And I’ve got the love bites on my neck to prove it.

What prompts a painfully shy and introverted cat—the runt of Lillie’s first litter—to step out and claim her place in the sun? For almost every day of the eight years that Miss Tommie has lived in our garage apartment with her mother, sister, and brother, she has sat placidly underneath a wooden breakfast tray, above which is a plastic stool positioned near a windowsill. Despite the barriers, I could always pet her, and I would always talk to her, but I could never hold her.

Now, Miss Tommie runs to me eagerly at her morning and evening feedings. She wants me to pick her up and cuddle her tightly. I don’t want to let go, although I may need to ask this previously gentle creature to stay clear of my neck.

I take Miss Tommie’s emergence as a positive sign for 2012, as an affirmation that old-fashioned patience can still be a virtue. As the saying goes, “All good things come to those who wait.”

Query of the Day: How do you cover up love bites?