“As a priest will absently dip his fingertips into a stoup upon entering church, Chris would always pet any cat he happened to pass anywhere he roamed. To him, their presence was a benediction. An affirmation of goodness being silent, but everywhere.”

Chris S.
Anomalist, esperantist, cyclist, typist, dodecaphile, ailurophile, and oneiromancer. Chris lives near the shore with his wife, cats, and the Jersey Devil in his backyard.

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