Soft golden fur with swirls of orange
Basking in the warm summers glow
He tosses and rolls on the raggy carpet
Until his fur is no longer smooth
His fur as soft as fleece
And he nuzzles my neck
The feeling of love and caring emerges me
And his little head burrowing into the ness of my hair
His voices like the high pitch strum of a violin
As he announces what he’s feeling, it echoes, never ending
And when he hums, it’s like a thousand angels playing their harps
It’s so magnificent in its way, it’s almost impossible to describe
When he relives himself, it doesn’t smell like flowers and sunshine
It has a very fowl smell, one that will make you cry
But even though the smell is death, I don’t mind it
But I do not care for this, for he is my love, pride, and joy
