I will tell of a thing both great and marvelous. My person, Narim, in response to my request, has procured for me a mate, the likes of which I have seen only in the most pleasant of my dreams.
"Patches" is the name wherein she is called, and by which I have instructed my person to entitle her. She is a short-haired, wonderful, "womanly" calico, all that I could wish for and more.
She is at present stretched out on the couch's top pillow, in the sun, her eyes closed and her luscious mouth drawn up into the smile of sleep. Her silken whiskers are the longest I have seen, and the fur under her chin is softer than the fluff of a milkweed pod on a late summer's day. Pink here, and rose there, is the color of her nose. The little triangles of her ears, tattered a bit from her litter-mates a year past, are at rest now, a thing not often seen since her hearing is as acute as her interest in life.
That which makes her a calico – the liquid pools of orange and black against a background white as milk – are a study unto themselves. Suffice it to say that a cartographer would find it a joy to map them, from the charcoal smudge that gives her mouth another dimension, to the orange oval on her rounded rump.
The tail she possesses is a thing most wondrous, giving forth a speech all its own. It raises high and proud around those of other species, or presents itself fluffed and flirty while alone with me. It waves languidly at times when its owner saunters slowly toward her food dish. Late at night, when the moons are full and our person asleep, its nether regions dance the dance of a cobra to a snake charmer. It is then that I move alongside her and groom her with my rough and able tongue.
My love says the time of mating will be some two weeks hence. It is a thing I anticipate much – the giving and receiving of pleasure, and the creation of little ones, the issue of my body and that of my mate's.
Patches says she is happy here, with me and in the company of our person, Narim, and I am glad of that. That he also is enamored of her is a surety. We are, indeed, putty in her paws.
We should have many a year with which to share life. Thus may it be.