Felix is no ordinary cat.
He is a quiet little therapist with a soft motor that hums like the sea.
Before he settles beside you, he always pauses — gentle, courteous — as if to ask, “May I?”
He knows where the ache lives in you, even when you do not.
And there he curls himself, soft as a bandage woven from warmth and fur.
Felix loves to wander the landscape of the body, like a doctor who listens with his paws.
He searches for the places that whisper of pain, and when he finds them, he stays —
a steady pulse of comfort, a living lullaby.
As a kitten, his eyes sometimes crossed — charmingly so, as if love itself blurred his vision.
Now, when happiness overflows, his gaze drifts inward again,
and one could swear his heart is smiling through them.
He purrs like sunlight on a winter day, flowing gently through the hours.
You fall asleep beside him as if wrapped in trust itself.
Those who know Felix understand: he brings stillness to the heart, and daylight to the soul.
Felix could reign happily as a solitary prince, content in the quiet kingdom of his own thoughts.
Yet he welcomes company with gentle grace.
He understands other cats easily, speaks kindly to dogs, and greets every living soul with that calm curiosity that seems to ask, “Who are you in this great, soft world we share?”
