The Most Perfect Thing

The most perfect thing in the world
Is my cat in the bed
Under the cover
Taking the form
Of a soft furry ball
In the crook of my arm
Breathing in and out together
On a cold winter's morn
On a Saturday with damp gray weather

We linger in this moment
With no cares at all
And nowhere to be
Except the here and now
This creature and me
Brought together
Out of the rest of the world somehow

I lift the cover to see her perfect face
Awaken then sleep again
And close my eyes
And drift away
To that inner space
Of dreams
As the clock ticks a quarter to ten