This is one of Jordan's kittens born two decades ago. Fast asleep in a patch of dead grass up against the sunny side of their farm house near Buffalo Rock on a bright December morning, it never stirred for the extended time I stood over it, hopelessly captivated by the sight of it for some strange reason. Living at the time in a high rise apartment dead center in downtown Dallas where noise was the norm around the clock, I suppose I was envying its serene sleeping environment, possibly considering curling up beside it for a real nap.
Everyone else was still asleep in the house. Careful not to cast my cold shadow over it, I squatted and started taking photos of the furry dreamer. Bo the giant farm dog came up for attention, snuffling and wuffing softly. Scratching behind his ears even though he smelled a lot like skunk, we stood near the sleeping kitten together. His muzzle was dotted with angry red spots from porcupine quills recently extracted by Londa wielding pliers with surgical precision. He was happy, somehow, despite his skunkiness and soreness.
Contentment of the two farm animals seeped into me and I silently thanked them both for it.
