I’m standing in as special night watch gargoyle, to the north west side of the pillow so as not to cast a shadow across their Russian Blue moonlit faces.

I won’t disturb their sleep. I catch only snippets of their dreams, not enough to make sense of, even for dreams. My mind drifts as I note the comically cat-like way they jitter their limbs, in muted sleep movements and with garbled mutterings that climb the way through their vocal folds, most falling silent in the twitching of their thick tongues.

I note the one’s hair with a seeming skull cap of flat fur surrounded by Selkirk Rex kinky curls from having her hair bound in plaits and observe how it plays across the pillow. I look at the way the kits curl together for heat and companionship. Watching them makes me lonely for my colleague.

I take a break, cleaning her face as she loves. I’ll only curl up for a minute along her white-furred side, her hair more long than mine, but less soft, more prickly. I groom her forehead more and she stands and bows to receive it. The subjects’ll be fine without us for a while.