They don’t want to hear how Octavia is different from us. They want to know how we’re the same. They know what it’s like to have an itch. They can imagine what it’s like to be a mother. This brief encounter has changed them. Now they can identify with an octopus. They all take pictures on their cell phones. They thank me before they leave. “Take care of that little momma,” one says to me gently.
