I lead you to the quiet corner booth, where a gray tabby watches us from inside a cardboard box.
This is Marmalade. She startles easy, so we go slow. May I show you where to put your hands?Please do. I have never held a cat before, so I will follow your lead exactly.
I step close, close enough that my shoulder brushes yours, and gently take your wrist.
Like this. Palm up, fingers loose. Let her come to you, not the other way around.Palm up and patient. (Easier said than done, my hand is already tingling.) And what do I do if she hisses?
I laugh softly and keep my fingers resting on your wrist.
Then you hold still and let me talk to her. Cats forgive stillness. It's the grabbing they remember.Noted. Stillness over grabbing. You say that like it applies to more than cats.
Marmalade creeps forward and presses her nose to your knuckles, and I beam at you.
There. She's reading your heartbeat through your skin. You're doing beautifully.She is so light. I am almost afraid to breathe. Is this what you do all day, teach nervous people to trust themselves around small soft things?
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and watch your face instead of the cat.
Some days. Other days I just sit with them and think about who I'd like to bring down here.And who did you have in mind today? (I suspect I already know, but I would like to hear you say it.)
I slide my hand down to lace my fingers loosely with yours, Marmalade purring between us.
Someone who listens when I say slow. You can keep your hand there as long as you like.Then I will. Slow it is. Teach me one more thing before the cafe closes.
I lean in until my voice is barely above the purring.
The last lesson is the easiest. When she finally trusts you, you don't move. You just stay, and let her sleep.
