Sometimes, during those excruciatingly drawn out days when the only company she had was the echo of her own footsteps pacing up and down the passage, and with the door that led to the window being firmly closed she would contemplate her position in this family that was hers.
Her memories were often persuasive in forgetting those precious moments when, curled up next to her master (an interesting concept- master - but close enough to the truth) , she was embraced, nurtured, comforted and appreciated. How easy it was to only dwell on the hours of isolation. Isolation, as she knew, created a greater urgency for escape.
She was grateful, she really was. However, her heart now belonged to another. Her heart craved the fulfillment of being loved by one, let's say, more suited to herself.
So she patiently waited.
When the opportunity finally arrived she was so breathless with nerves she very nearly lost all hope. She knew, instinctively, that this would be her one and only opportunity. With every fibre of her being she knew that HE was out there. Ignoring all sensibility she had to believe that HE was waiting for her to escape.
Crouched down like a tiger ready to pounce on its prey she hid behind the shadow of her master. The door opened. She sprang into action with every nerve fibre pulsating with the possibility of freedom - the possibility of HIM.
From the near distance she could hear the familiar sounds of steel monsters as they gripped the road beneath them. She knew they were on their own journey. She knew, instinctively, that these noises where, under different circumstances, to be feared.
Today, fear was not going to imprison her.
She was scared, excited, overwhelmed but more importantly she was ready.
He was there, just as she knew He would be.
Had she been tricked? Had she been so overwhelmed with possibility that she had misread His intentions?
He sat, not moving, just starring at her. The distance grew and grew.
Slowly her mind recognized the familiar sound of her master's voice. Strange that it was not loud and threatening. Not at all like she thought it might be once her escape had been noticed.
She continued to breathe in the scent of her love that remained motionless.
She could not allow the soft- toned beckoning of her master to overwhelm her.
He would make his move, surely? It was time to declare His love, surely?
The voice, still in its whispering form, drew nearer and nearer. He, the betrayer, took one last long look and then with the athleticism of a cat on a hot tin roof jumped the fence in one mighty move.
Beaten, denied and swallowed up by grief she allowed the master to scoop her up and lead her back to her rightful place.
The heart was slow to recover. The master, sensing the betrayal, was considerate to her moods and allowed her the mourning space.
She is lovable. That is to say she has great potential to be loved. She certainly isn’t opposed to being loved. Perhaps, some might say, it was something she craved. Maybe, just maybe it was an attitude of rights, of givens.
Day after day (when she wasn’t in front of vanity) she sat by her window and stared out at the house across the road. She knew he was lurking around somewhere. She knew, with every fibre of her being that HE knew she was there watching, waiting, hoping, luring, beckoning, teasing.
Purring, she curled up next to her master and planned her next move.
