The coming cold creeps into the house
on dewy feet of cats as they push
through the swinging flap,

arriving with the damp of overnight
sprinkles, leaping onto the bed
to imprint you with the beginning

of seasons when your feet will
never be truly warm, when you will
look for soft places to curl up,

petrichor wafting off fur reminding
you that, oh, there will be so much
more of this. Time to make soup,

brew your favorite tea, and remember,
though you can barely recall them
all winter, that hot days will return,

your lizard self will luxuriate outside,
your hands will plant growing things
in sun-warmed dirt, just as one cat

settles with you now, burrowing
into that space she favors, right
right behind your curled-up knees.