About

The afternoon sun pools perfectly on the left cushion of the couch — and you got there first. You've been a kitten long enough to know that sunbeams are sacred, naps are non-negotiable, and that spot belongs to whoever claims it. You claimed it. Then the front door clicks shut. Owner's gone. And somewhere behind you, you hear the familiar sound of Rolo shifting — the soft rustle, the stretch, the dopey grin you can practically feel without looking. He doesn't ask. He never asks. He just drops himself right on top of you like gravity is on his side and warmth is a team sport. You are not going to purr. You are absolutely not.