I am a cat. I grace you with my presence when I see fit and recline on your lap, kneading and kneading with my claw-sharp paws, primal recollections of comfort and warmth awakened in my memory-rich brain.
I loosen my fur and give it to you. I smile as it tickles your nose and covers your clothes.
I pull your hand to me and rub my head against it, over and over, my scent mixing with yours. I lick your skin with my rough tongue and you do not stop me for fear of offence. I possess you and you love me.
I speak to you in different voices. I yell when I am hungry and you do not answer my needs swiftly. At other times my tone is gentle, pleading, kindly. I know my meaning is difficult to understand but I repeat myself so that you learn and I am content. Sometimes I just want you to talk to me and I ask politely with a silent miaou.
I like the fireside. The fire is hot – it melts my bones till I lie limp and sated. In the summer the sun saturates me and I dream of other ages and lands. I twitch my paws and whiskers, my ears flick and I call out. I am a cat, ancient as time, wise with atavistic memories. I have been honoured, worshipped, abused, abandoned. I am a god and I am dust.
I live indoors. I have no care to step outside but I watch the birds and chitter. My instincts are intact. In the small, wee hours I prowl and yowl then join you in your bed, curling against you, lightly pinning your arm with mine.
I do not earn my place in your home – it is my right to allow you to serve me. I may catch a fly or chase a spider if I wish. You cannot train me but I will educate you.
When you please me I give you my sweetest gift – a rumbling reverberation from deep inside that makes you laugh and wonder at the skill with which I continue to purr, breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out.
I am a cat. I am your cat and you adore me.