Gingerly She Came

When our world plunges into darkness and all seems quiet, she lies on the top of the couch set against the window. That allows her gaze to roam the territory beyond the confines of the dwelling. I stand at the entrance to the hallway, silently watching her ears twitch at the slightest rustle of the wind blowing through the trees, the creak and groaning of the house settling in for the night, or the neighbors arriving loudly, entering their home, unaware of the hour. I shift ever so gently to lean against the wall, and ever so slowly, she turns her head to regard me, comfortable and sure in her domain.

"Are you coming?" I ask her.

Though no words passed her lips, she had a way of expressing her thoughts through her eyes. The phrase "eyes are windows to the soul" describes this moment perfectly.

"I'll be there soon," she seems to say.

I turn, leaving her to her watchful vigil. Although the hour is late, I take the time to read a few chapters of a book I'd discovered. With my blackout curtains drawn to escape the constant blazing light that saturates the area, my eyes eventually lose the battle and fall shut. Unbeknownst to me, gingerly, she creeps into my room through the crack in the door I left just for her. No, squeaking hinges or rough shoves to the door to impact the wall behind. It's a smooth glide, just a brush against her furred side.

On padded, undetected steps, not a click of her nails or a chuff of breath to announce her entrance, she nimbly vaults upon the bed. Only then am I aware of her presence. Within the cradle I create while sleeping in my preferred fetal position, she molds her body perfectly, nestling tightly along my stomach. The warm press of her body, the delicate weight of her snout, and the point of her whiskers fluttering feather soft against my inner arm, moved by her inhale and exhales.

Sleepily, I take the time to stroke the silk-like fur of her head, traveling the length of her spine, lulling us both to sleep with the repetitive motion.

***

Sometime during the night, mother nature calls. Reluctantly, I nudge her awake, extracting myself from the warm cocoon of our shared heat. Icy pinpricks raced along my feet, the tiles giving no quarter. Envious, I watch her pad lightly from the room, oblivious to the cold underfoot as she monitors every turn and dark corner. I return the courtesy she extended by keeping watch, my breath dissolving in the air as she tiptoes in the dewy grass to her spot. Her legs tuck close to her body with each step as she returns to the warmth of the house.

As I make my way back to my room, she glances back once, then the dark interior of the house swallows her like a potbelly man consumes his liquor. Unconcern, I slide under the thick quilt but unable to sleep. The wakeful anticipation of her small form aligning with mine keeps me suspended between reality and dream. But as sure as the sun rises in the morning, she springs onto the mattress, just when I'm about to call her name. With her pressed against me, sleep comes quickly and easily.

***

Every night this routine played between her and me. Sometimes I met her waiting for me. At other moments when the hour grew late, she sat at my feet, communicating in her silent way that it was time for bed. These are the moments I hold close, never allowing the void of forgetfulness to whisk them away. Our time together during the dark early morning hours came to an end. Now, at night and every night, I lay alone and have trouble sleeping because she won't enter gingerly again.