Sitting a staring at the minimal skyline of my small town is simple and fulfilling. The low whoosh of cars passing by on a semi-major road pairs with occasional songs of birds and construction. This still landscape's only movement lies in those cars passing and the two teenage saplings leaning and breathing in the breeze.
Silently, my attention stirs to the fur passing by the corner of my eye. Brrrpp? says the girl, a triangle seated with its apex tilted left. She arcs her head from its rest to change sides, eyes following mine as we take a moment in the quiet. She extends her legs, her behind lifting, and with a second bend of her knees and the courage to look up, she leaps up on my lab. Four iron points dig into my skin, accompanied by slight sharp pokes. These weights change, as she finds her bearing at this novel altitude. She doesn't do this often, in fact, I think she's usually uncomfortable sitting on my lap. She likes to be splayed out on a flat surface but also partially supported. Maybe this time is different.
I place my hand at the base of her tail, encouraging her to sit downwards, but this sensation causes her tail to stick straight up, at attention. She ambles forward two steps of her front paws. Now, her feet touch the seat of my chair, and she looks at the floor. My heart falls with her center of gravity; she has graced me with some touch but is not inclined to sit very long. She leaves the room.
I turn back to my computer. Hands lifting to return to editing my paper on a complex astrophysical topic. My eyes lift up at the skyline once more, gazing steadily at the historic building, erect and proud. I sit a little taller in my chair, sigh deeply, and continue chipping away at my work, surrounded by serenity.