Feet tucked underneath, her muscles fan tempting filaments. Thick, anticipating winter, whiteness like snow on a sunny hillside beckons where she lies, and I can’t go to bed. My eyes close for a second’s slumber after days of missing the miracle of falling before dawn, but I am prisoner to warmth that binds me to sofa without care that lack of sleep feels like dying. She doesn’t seek me out this way. This is new.
I would love her black or ginger, but she is snowy with patches of deepest gray, becoming mine after years of resistance to all I have to offer but sustenance and comfort. Her eyes find mine before slitting closed, head leaned into my cupped palm and resting for a moment as though there is no time or empty dish or need, save this. She lowers her head to my lap and sleeps. Will not be coaxed away by offers she recognizes in tone. Won’t follow my gaze to the kitchen with promises of Kitty dessert– will not be moved by incantations of what she’s craved in days past.
I won’t rouse her until I have drunk and saved this moment where I have nothing she wants but me.
If she were human, I would be pathetic and sadder than what I do. But she is feline and we who understand that, know our paths together shine in ways that don’t light reason. We are understood or we are not.
I will find solace under my covers later. In this moment I am tired, sleepy and falling, but in this moment, I am not sad. That’s what you need to know to understand.