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The Underbelly of Trust

My sweet Miss Olive

Olive turns over her body to expose her belly -- a fluff of warm soft fur, a display of ultimate trust, and the wish -- the command -- to take my hand and gently rub that soft mane until she drifts into bliss, accompanied by a rhythmic purr that puts us both to sleep.

Her face and eyes reflect the warm glow of the room's party lights, as if she were staring into a fire as I massage this curious mush of flesh and softness. She is so happy, as am I. It is her and me now, together in love, facing a world of ever-increasing loss. She is my angel, my curious lover. There are moments where the sensuality of her warmth and fur take me someplace else, perhaps deep into the current moment of warm lights, warm sounds and warm being. She trusts me so deeply, every day depending on me to make today exactly like the day before.

There is the time for food, for play, for sleep, for petting, for love. There is the time to go to Ali's, her friend across the hall, where there is sometimes mice that she will catch and then let go. She is so proud in those moments -- the fierce hunter of the apartment building, the terror of rodents and bugs everywhere. Mighty Olive, until the bag of treats is shaken and all the world stops for the most important event of the day.

But now, it's her eyes -- staring into the soft light as I scratch this belly. I rest my head on the pillow she has now claimed as hers. There is a small spot for me. Sometimes she rests her paw on my face, particularly in the moments when I look away. If she is staring into my eyes and mine into hers, she doesn't want me to break the connection. I don't know what she's thinking in these moments, but I know if must be important. Her gaze is intense, focused, locked. It is now that we are entwined as beings together, one in the moment, one in love, and one lingering in the glow of the soft party lights.

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