Misha, you are loved…

Sunrise stretched under the curtains across the carpet, and my cat Misha pawed at it knowing it was Saturday and I wanted to doze late. Every afternoon, Misha battles the shadows of tree leaves fluttering on the carpet. She always wins for the shadows go away. And Misha is fatigued because vanquishing is a particularly demanding art. Today was a supreme success. The leaves didn’t come at all – thinking better of it, I feel. I didn’t tell Misha about the clouds and the storm approaching. But she took her place under the bed where no storm has ever appeared. Forever wise, Misha knew. Just as she knows the best place to protect me from intruders in the night is my vulnerable abdomen. From this perch, Misha stays awake watching darkness. Ready to attack. Ready for Armageddon. And if imperative, ready to take command from under the bed.

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