Somewhere, the moon.

Walking the twilight village and the sky is like the under belly of a fish. As I rest in Her arms She is reminded that a year has passed and I am still here. As She feels the weight of me, the warmth of me, the great purring life in me, She is glad. A whole year of time, and in that year She has spent too much time painting and not enough time walking with me. Now the weight of my tail resting wrapped around Her cold arm shows Her that I forgive Her the time She has wasted in not being with a cat.
Bats fly. The growing darkness is lit by flickers of moth flit.
I purr. She walks. Somewhere the moon watches.