Elle Maruska (they/them)

1. They know we cannot see well in the dark so in the small hours of the night when we are most vulnerable they hunt the formless things that hunger for us.

2. They know our teeth are not sharp carnivorous needles; they know our claws are blunt and useless. They know we have no whiskers to judge the width of the world. So they hunt in our stead, leaving us the ease of dead prey. They would not see us starve

3. They know our skin is bare of fur, wrapped only in weak fabric. They know how easily we would succumb to the cold so they curl up against us to make certain we are warm

4. They know we cannot speak without sound. They know we cannot read the language of tails & ears & eyes. They keep their kitten-songs for us, reverting to a neonate's mewl so that perhaps we might know that they are listening and they want to speak to us the only way we know how

5. They know we cannot see the ways between world's like they can and they know we cannot slide in through the secret paths to countless different nows so they make sure not to stay for long in the other places, other worlds.

6. They know we cannot see the ghosts that drift like rotting silk through the air so they keep a close eye on them. Just in case.

7. They know we move slowly and we cannot coil the muscles of our legs to leap so they visit those high shadowy places we cannot see and they make sure those places are safe, and clear of whispering hungry mouths

8. They know we can hurt them and often do. They choose us anyway. They know they don't need us. They choose us anyway.

9. They know our purrs are sometimes smothered in tears, draped in impossible sadness, so drowned in despair we forget how to purr at all. So they come to us and purr, to remind us how it is done.

10. They know we love them and that is the most important thing. It is enough.