for Sherrill
That damned male cat has been circling my house for three nights, yowling his pitiful hopeless desire for my altered and apathetic Lady Jessica. I've been woken, once again, by his fruitless, tortured wail. The first thing I see is blue, the watercolor haze of dawn being painted on my white window sill. The first thing I smell is the coffee I have yet to make. The first thing I remember is last night; the first thing I think about is you.
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