Gray clouds, wet pavement outside; I sit on the couch with my usually chaotic and playful cat at rest, snoring away behind me. His tiny breath, being drawn in heavily with a whistle then gently exhaled out; he drapes across the back of the couch, like a big cat in a tree, one white paw touching my shoulder. Another beloved, a soft and aged, wise old fellow who has mastered sleep, is curled up in a nook of the cat tree that sits in the corner of this peaceful scene. His breath is rhythmic, a somnifacient meditation. I feel a deep, maternal tug at my heart, when I hear these sounds. Adding to my comforts, my late-morning breakfast still fills the house with the sweet smell of toasted coconut pancakes, as I sip chai and type away, an armchair-philosopher and -activist on this drizzly day, posting lengthy comments and responses across my friends’ Facebook pages.
I am content.

Sam Sleeping

2015-06-07 00.50.10 (3)