I visited during early winter, nearly nine months after she had arrived at the shelter. Lila met me beside the living-room window. Her white paw rested on the rug, and the small notch in her left ear remained visible when she turned toward my footsteps.
She did not rush forward. She studied my coat, smelled the air, and looked toward Eleanor. Then she approached in a shallow curve and stopped beside my chair.
I lowered my hand, palm down.
Lila smelled my knuckles and stepped away. A minute later, she returned and lay beside the window with her back near the wall. The difference was easy to miss. She was not pressing her face into the corner or hiding her eyes. She had chosen a place where afternoon light crossed the floor and where she could see every person in the room.
When a delivery cart rattled outside, her ears moved back. Eleanor left her hand open on the rug. Lila looked at it, then rested her white paw beside the fingers.
The wall had not disappeared. It simply no longer held all of her attention. Beyond it were a window, a quiet room, and a person willing to wait until Lila turned around on her own.
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