My Midnight Caller.
I sit in the dark and wait for him under blinking stars. Time ticks by and I wonder if he will even show. I’m about to retire for the night when I see a slight movement beyond the garden wall.
He knows to use the back entrance.
I watch him slip into the darkness of the shadows along the fence, his silhouette brushing against the small ivory flowers that climb the wood, the scent of milky jasmine floating into the air.
Swaggering behind me, he takes a seat to my left, my stare met with his own emerald gaze. He looks at me intently, gracefully pausing before he starts to lick at his right paw. The white of his whiskers stands out against the jet-black of his silky coat; his shorter and tagged ear only adds to his boyish charm. The stripe on his chest puffs out like a linen napkin tucked into the crisp collar of a dinner shirt.
I reach out and scratch him under the chin lovingly, inviting him with a pat into the warmth of my lap. His huge paws knead at my thighs as he head-butts me with pure feline affection.
Maestro, my Midnight Caller,
How I love you so.