An Ode to My Cat

When I collapse on the couch ready to rest, my cat comes with his tail held high.

A cloud of black fur with a squeaky meow and loud purr.

He settles by my side, unaware of the joy and comfort he brings.

I wrap my arms around his round middle and

bury my face in soft fur while he makes biscuits

out of the side of the brown, weathered couch.

Like a stuffed animal that can love you back.

A friend who will never leave.

A weighted blanket that chooses to be there.

Each purr calms the storm inside me.

He lays his head on my arm,

and the sun itself cannot compete with the warmth I feel.

When he has had his fill, he goes on his way,

never knowing the cold hole he leaves between my arms and my heart.

My cat is a coward, I will not deny it,

and does not seem to have ever been capable of hunting.

He eats grass like a cow and his dinner like a pig, but why should that matter?

My cat is the best snuggler this anxiety-ridden girl could ask for.

Every day, he is excited when I come home.

His joyous meows ring through the house and his tail

waves a flag to celebrate the return of his human.

My spirits rise in turn as I see my fluffy bannerman,

excited to begin our daily cuddle session.

For many years, he has been my stalwart companion.

I would not replace him with another.

My knight in cuddly armor.