He's the color of a good cortado. Warm tan and cream, striped like cinnamon through the foam, and the light coming in from the side is exactly the four o'clock glow my favorite cafe gets when the afternoon slows down. He's parked on the armrest like it's the last booth by the window. The cushion is the color of a plain scone. The sun is the color of honey in a jar. Everything here smells like afternoon. Like dust and warm fur and the last hour of a slow day. He blinks at me like I'm late for our order. I am. I always am. The good stuff takes time. The coffee takes four minutes. The cat took nine years to get this comfortable. Worth the wait. Worth every minute. I bring my cup over and sit close. He doesn't move, doesn't mind, doesn't charge rent. The room goes gold, then amber, then soft. We stay until the light runs out. Then I make another round, because nights like this deserve it. He supervises. He always supervises. Best barista in town. #catvibes #coffeeshop #goldenhour
