I am seated in an easy chair and a small, deformed baby girl is trying to move around near me. I reach out to touch her lovingly and encouragingly. She doesn't want to be touched. Her eyes are puffy, wrinkled small like a burn victim, and lots of burn scars on her tender, hurting body. She pulls back and I say gently to her "It's all right. I won't touch you if you don't want." I smile. She keeps close and wiggles around so that she is actually permitting us to be nearly touching, shyly letting me be close. I keep talking lovingly and then she reaches out and pulls herself on to me. I must touch her to keep her from falling and only do it gently and with intent to support her own movements, never as a holding or a restriction. I am very happy she lets me do this. Then she sees another baby, a newborn, laying on the chair near me. It too looks oddly deformed, sharp, pointed head, elfin ears. She wants to touch the baby. I help her move over there, at one point needing to pick her up and adjust her position so she can get where she obviously wants to go. I apologize to her encouragingly so she knows I'm only doing what she will permit. Then she opens her mouth and tries to swallow the baby's head, out of curiosity, only now it's not a baby but some tiny toy yellow plastic shoes like for a doll. I am a bit concerned she'll swallow them and get hur, but she's all right. Then Ginny is seated to my right and she says, "I can't ever hear your American Woman play without only hearing you. I laugh and say, "I understand. Mirabelle can't either. Both of you know me so well you can't hear the universality of it." She agrees. I laugh suddenly as I am now aware that there are a number of cute fuzzy cats with beautiful eyes all looking right at me as I am speaking. I say to Ginny, "Oh, this is so great. Look, there are..." and I count up to thirteen, then add fourteen so it won't be an unlucky number. I repeat, "There are fourteen cats staring at me right now." I laugh richly at the beauty and fun of it.