Ode to Obi

Oh, silent shadow, soft-footed sentinel,
you weave through my days, a whisper of fur
and amber eyes that hold the weight
of forgotten jungles.

You are not mine, yet you stay,
a creature of freedom who chooses
to curl in the sun-warmed corners of my life.
Each purr, a hymn, each gaze, 
a question without answer.

What do you see in my rough hands,
or hear in my tired voice,
that you settle here,
like a guardian of calm,
or a thief of my weary thoughts?

You, small god of indifference,
pull me into your silence.
In the night, I hear you prowling
a labyrinth of dreams,
a shadow of your wilder self.

Yet here, in the stillness of morning,
you stretch beside me,
a quiet warmth,
teaching me the sacred art
of being.