The cat and I have a routine.
Sometime between three and four in the morning we meet at the writing desk.
I pull the chain on the banker’s lamp, slide my Cabela’s mug onto the warmer, and open the baggie to air-thaw my donut.
The cat leaps on the desk, collects a few pets and sprawls out to sleep.
Thirty minutes in is our favorite time. She’s deep in slumber, I’m deep in flow. Once I capture the bones of my post, I slide 30% back to earth. And notice the cat has become a she-bear.
I kiss her cheek and whisper a few sweet nothings into her ear. Her toes curl.
My thumb rubs the side of her jaw and she rolls back, exposing her belly. My fingers lightly knead this space from tummy to chest, chest to tummy. Totally pliable, she melts into that ether between two worlds, announcing her arrival with deep purrs.
It’s that quiet, magic moment when I’m the writer and she’s the writher. She gets petted while my post gets vetted.
You’ve done something special when a she-bear grants this level of trust. Cats are not an easy crowd.
Neither are readers. Until you develop a relationship and routine. And meet in solitude, together. If you’re this deep into my material, perhaps we have all three.
I hope so. I deeply appreciate you reading.
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