I first felt certainty at my masanÃ’s (grandmother’s) farm. I felt safe in her hogan, curled up with blankets, the stove fire hot on my cheeks, side-by-side with my younger siblings. I’d listen to their breathing, a steady rhythm accompanied by soft crackles from the burning wood. Through her living room window, I’d watch as the wild cats slept in the old pine tree. I was so sure they’d come around one day, and accept my love for their scraggly, matted selves.