Famished Writer

M y cat is huge. He’s actually lost weight, as have I, with all the recent moving around and changes in our lives.  He could be called a rescue, but he found me. When I look at his blockhead and rolled mane of grey, I think ‘animal’. He is a creature-not a domestic cat. We have come to know each other over the years. Our relationship grows stronger with every adaptation we must make together in order to survive. So far so good. He used to get into fights, it seems he has retired from keeping up his ‘street cred’. I would give him a saucer of warm milk when he came home limping with large open gashes, which used to happen all too often back then. He has wizened or become secure. He is mostly an “inside kitty” now and right now he is likely sprawled on my Queen bed positioned directly under the ceiling fan lying on his back with his belly hairs being gently blown in the circular breeze.  I have been allergic to milk since birth. I was forced to tolerate goats milk (which is blue