SPEAKER_00 0:00

Still in my warm place. My paws are warm. Oh hello. I've been here for a while, I think, on the window seat. The cafe's very quiet. The air's warm. It's not dark outside. It's not light either. It's the bit in between. Everything's still. My paws are really warm actually. Not just the tops, the pads too. That's what happens when you've been still for a while. You don't make them warm. They just go warm on their own. I wonder if yours are warm too. Your hands, maybe. My breathing's doing a thing. It's just going. I didn't start it. It was already happening when I noticed. Sort of funny that my body just doing it all by itself without being asked. Maybe yours is doing that as well. Just going all on its own. There's a warm bit where my chin is resting on my paws. That little warm bit where two parts of you are touching each other. It's small, but it's nice. I think that might be my favorite warm bit actually. I can feel the cushion underneath me, the shape of it sort of curving around me. Like it knows I'm here, just a small cat sitting on a soft thing. That's all this is. I don't know about yours. The cushion's warm where I am, cooler at the edges where I'm not. It's sort of my shape now. I quite like that. The air's warm and still. There's something cinnamon maybe or just warm wood not cooking just the memory of it. Yesterday's baking still sort of here. I can almost smell it almost. The glass is cold on the outside, warm on the inside. I'm on the warm side. Out there it's not dark, not light. The in between bit everything just where it is. Nothing needs to move yet. My paws are still warm. My breathing's still going. It didn't stop while I wasn't paying attention. It just kept doing that. The cushion's still here. I'm still here. You're still here. And that's enough.