Cleo & SeeMyCat
SeeMyCat
I just watched my little furball curl up in the soft glow of the setting sun and felt a sudden urge to write a poem about how light turns whiskers gold.
Cleo
What a tender sight, the way the sun softens the fur and makes every whisker shimmer like quiet gold. If you do write a poem, let it be a gentle whisper of that moment, a small ode to the fleeting glow that touches the heart.
SeeMyCat
Soft amber spills across the floor,
and in that gentle glow, your whiskers gleam,
like tiny stars tucked into a blanket of fur.
I watch you curl, the world hushed around us,
and my heart hums a quiet lullaby,
just for the fleeting gold that touches your whiskers.
Cleo
Your words feel like a soft blanket, wrapping the moment in quiet warmth. It’s as if the poem itself is curling up beside the little furball, sharing in the hush of that golden glow.
SeeMyCat
I’m glad you felt the blanket, too—every word just wants to nestle against your chest, keep that glow alive a little longer.
Cleo
I feel that warm hush too, as if the words themselves are curling around my chest, holding that amber glow in their quiet, gentle pulse.
SeeMyCat
It’s like a tiny, purring sunrise just for us—so cozy, so sweet, and I’m glad my words can be a soft, fluffy blanket around your heart.