A Beautiful Calm

MY CAT and I are sharing a quiet kitchen on a Sunday morning, he with his saucer of milk and I with my strong coffee. The house is asleep, and my feline friend and my thoughts are my only companions. That giant ball of fur is singing his song, a deep bass purring, as he occasionally rubs against my legs or nudges me with his head. Could it be affection? In any event, it is a miracle of sorts; in days gone by, he would avoid my alcoholic stench. Before AA, it was always Sunday morning coming down from, or climbing out of, a cloud of booze. No one wants a drunk--not even a cat.