Whenever I get overwhelmed (by my own mind, mind), the universe sends felines. It could be a cat that owns me, or tiny strangers demanding food.
It could be the guard house tom I know, or a molly I meet once, down the street, savvy and sleek.
It could be a domestic tiger, terrible and good.
It really doesn’t matter what manner of company they come to be; the point is that they come to me when my energy spins dishes on the fragile heads of pins.
They come to me so I can remember that the universe has kindness. It has folded it inside me in a freshly-pressed square precisely so that cats (in all their wisdom) can shed all over them.