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📓 Thursday, February 19, 2026 — 4:42 p.m.
Simba is purring on my lap, on top of the blanket wrapped around my legs like a burrito—
and he’s kneading it with tenderness.
Tenderness.
Silence in the room, and him just kneading away.
Me—watching him.
It brings a smile to me. I’d say a smile on my face, but it’s more like an inner smile.
He’s my pet and my friend.
In past depressions, he was there.
He never asked for anything—
just food, and the chance to knead on me once in a while…
until he finally settles and lies on top of me.
We all need a friend.
Sometimes that friend ends up being an orange cat.
Reader question: Who (or what) gives you quiet comfort when your mind gets loud?
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