I crawled beneath the computer desk after arriving home from work. I heard her bell scurrying up the stairs as soon as I opened the door from the clank of the closing garage. She was nestled in a network of dead cables, and I lie with my head mere inches from hers. I told her all about my day and asked her about hers.

I reach out to touch her silk strewn head and she hisses. I pull back my hand before touching. "Sophie?" I ask softly, resuming the conversational cadence of our earlier exercise. Sophie isn't much on meowing, and the only sound we've heard her make is the occasional hiss when she feels intimidated and afraid. I tell her that I love her and that she's safe. I inch my hand closer so she can know my scent, and slowly...

...slowly, slowly...

...my fingertips whispered against her downy fur. I kept them there, waiting to see how she would react. She locked her gaze to mine and then, almost imperceptibly, her eyes fluttered closed in a sort of nod of approval. I massaged the crown of her head and moved to tickle-scratch behind her ears, and she rolled to her back in obvious bliss, wanting more.

I accommodated, gladly.

And then the sweetest, most lovely sound sailed upon the air: she purred. The first purr. And it lasted a good ten minutes before she became a cat again and told me to beat it because she needed her "me time" again. It's so wonderful having her here!