Dreaming of You, Beloved

Today tastes like the perfect meatloaf, rapini in olive oil with garlic, and truffled creme brulee. A little bittersweet, but satisfying.

I dreamed of Rodentia last night.

We were at the house she'd spent just over half her life in, but she was a kitten again. We were playing a wrestling petting game in the doorway of the master bedroom. I would gently sweep her off her feet and rub her belly and ears while she made horribly fierce faces and batted at my hand with velvet paws, nuzzled my fingers with bared teeth. Complete trust on both sides.

Every so often I would stop to check in with her. I'd put my hand in my lap, to geve her a chance to end the game by walking away. She'd sit up, blink, and put a paw on my knee to let me know to go on.

One of the last things we said to her was to come back and visit whenever she could. It's good to see her again, even for just a little while in the still quiet of the night.

Sleep you sound, little cat, little cat.