In velvet hush of morning light,
She knows your scent, your steps, your might.
Not by name or mirror’s grace,
But by the rhythm of your pace.
Your voice—a current, soft and low,
A lullaby she’s come to know.
She reads your mood, your silent song,
Knows where you’ve been, knows right from wrong.
You are the sun that warms her day,
The hand that feeds, the place to stay.
A giant cat? Perhaps it’s true—
Who brings the feast and smells like you.
She watches close, she learns your ways,
Your rituals, your nights and days.
A glance, a jar, the jingle sound—
She knows when tuna will abound.
Yet not for duty, not for praise,
She lives her life in catlike haze.
She’ll heed your call, if so inclined,
But only if it suits her mind.
To her, you’re kin—a chosen few,
A creature kind, familiar, true.
She trusts you with her silent grace,
And marks her love upon your face.
So when she purrs or steals your chair,
It means she sees you truly there—
Not just as master, friend, or guide,
But part of her, by her side.
-Mani