NeuroDivine

Brown Tabby

I take my post beside his chair,
moon silver on his hair;
the window breathes a colder air—
I taste it, sharp and spare.

He shifts beneath the blanket’s weight,
the cough begins to climb;
I fix my eyes upon the dark
and measure out the time.

White Cat

I rest beneath his blue-bright crown,
lamplight along his face;
his breathing lifts me up and down—
a slow and sacred pace.

If distant echoes stir the hall,
his fingers draw me near;
I press my purr against his chest
so sleep outgrows its fear.

Brown Tabby

The night is wide, but I am wake,
striped guard of window glass;
no creeping thing nor shapeless ache
shall from the shadows pass.

He thinks he strokes my back for me—
a kindness, soft and small;
but I am here to hold the line,
to answer should he call.

White Cat

My brother watches stars and frost;
I watch the fragile breath.
Between us runs a silent thread
that stitches back from death.

For when the cough invades the dark
and rattles bone and bone,
I feel the tremor through the walls—
no vigil stands alone.

Brown Tabby

I hear it too. I do not move.
My tail wraps tighter still.
The dark may press against his ribs—
it bends to stronger will.

White Cat

And I will warm the rising chest
until the storm has passed;
I guard the gate of dreaming hours
and hold it fast—hold fast.

Together

Two posts. Two rooms. One thinning night.
One house of breath and bone.
We keep the watch till morning light
makes silver into stone.

Let dawn come pale through parted glass,
let blue hair catch the day;
let dark-grey strands in sunlight burn
where moonlight used to stay.

We will not speak of what we kept,
nor name the fears undone.
A cat need only stay and breathe—
and love the chosen one.

Text copyright 2026 Michael McFarland Campbell.