good morning.

I stretch, with the weight of the world

pinned to my grimy graphic tee.

It is three in the morning,

and I am the awake-est I'll ever be.

A yawn, to swallow the doubt,

and I'm up with bare feet thudding along

the scratchy carpet.

"Hello,"

the cat meows,

so I stop,

curl my gangly fingers in the fluff on his chin.

I dump a bag into his feeder:

another week of selfish hands off pet care,

shovel his shit from one bin to the next.

"You chose me," I croak through the grog

caught in my throat.

He brushes past my leg,

wraps his tail around my ankles.

"I know. It's okay."

He shepherds me back to my bed,

leaps into the crook of my neck

as I sob into the pillows.