In the Key of Big G

Goliath is a sleeping beauty, stretched out along my arm and contoured against my body. He keeps me warm with his soft fur. If I listen closely, I can hear him purr, a small purr for a cat his size. I’m more likely to hear his breathing than to hear him purr.

Sometimes we’ll stay like this all night, with me waking periodically to the warmth of him against me. Other nights, he can’t seem to get comfortable. So he’ll toss and turn and eventually leave, perhaps to come back a time or two to repeat the process.

There will be night when we don’t quite fit right, and his tail or paws will cover my face, and I’ll struggle to breathe. Sometimes our slumber will be broken by his brother, who unknowingly — or perhaps knowingly — walks over Goliath as he tucked under the covers.

Goliath is a sweetheart, who lets me pet him when he just wants to sleep. He tilts his head just right so I can scratch his chin or touch his ears.

He is, in almost every way, my sweet baby boy, momma’s cuddle bug.