trixie

In honour of my piano teacher's cat, Trixie. It should be illegal to be this adorable.

The languor of a morning nap - she opened her eyes to slits, taking in the sleepy sunshine. The cat lay splayed out on the front porch, tawny limbs tangled amongst the nest of shoes and footwear on the ground. She yawned widely and stretched - extending first one leg, then another, her claws extending as if reaching for some invisible plaything - She seemed to take exquisite pleasure in the act. Then curling back to fiddle with someone's blue pair of slippers, she yawned again, her sides expanding to take in the warm air. It seemed the cat could lie there forever, in the splendid, languid glory of a greek goddess basking in the morning rays, her ears twitching in miniscule movements to the sounds of other people who couldn't appreciate the joys of a morning repose, the tickling of fur against the stone tiles, the music of some distant pianist, and, just standing there watching her, I wished I could too.