Queenie and I had met eyes a couple of times through a glass door, and, with each interaction, I said to myself, “never going in there.” That was a complete lie. This week I found myself trapped under Queenie sleeping on my lap. This would be a cute scene if Queenie wasn’t labeled the Queen of the SPCA on her door. I went in as a testament to myself to see how far and how comfortable I could get with the cats 3 weeks in; this was a mistake. Queenie had conquered not only my lap but also my pride. Being forced to sit for two hours because you thought Queenie would end your life in one swipe of the paw, was not the best way to go out. My legs have never recovered, but at least I went in.