Coffee: Sumatra Medium-Dark, Trader Joe’s Brand; the last brew of the batch, kind of sad, kind of frustrating, kind of capitalist – grocery store, here I come.
There’s specific calm to petting a cat’s fur on cold mornings. He rolls around. He’s been hunting bees and birds before they hide away in Winter. His paws have gotten fatter. He’ll lick you now and then.
Here’s this thing with energy – crisp, static – while you huddle in your coat.
You lose your fingers in his coat. Both your breaths are fogging. A patch of sun, the night that froze the concrete, nowhere else you need to be. Cold friction of a life. You take a bit of him with you. He’s hair on black trousers.
Suddenly, you like the cold.
Novel Count: 7,500 words
Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith; Cherry, Nico Walker
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“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.” – Jean Cocteau