A River of Stones, Day Eleven: Companionable Cat

Sleeping Ginger

He lies beside me as I type, Snuggled against my hip; eyes closed; head nestled in the cushion. For once, his whiskers are straight, not curled forward walrus fashion. When I stroke him, he purrs. I stop and watch his little chest move up and down, the fur pushed into a ridge along his sternum, and I wonder at bond between human and pet, and how this ginger boy has come to trust and want to be with me, and how I have come to love him.