When the sun goes down
And the Moon is high
The padding of feet can be heard
Along we with a small scratch at my door
It would go unheard if I did not know to listen for it

In the dead of the night
A black, starless night
No other sounds are being made
Except for the croaking of frogs
Not yet the chirping of birds

He comes to my bedroom door
And expects to be let in
So I leave the warm embrace of my bed
And let him in so he can be a good friend

Tears streak down my face
Because of the sadness my body holds
I reach down and embrace him in my arms
His body warms mine with his soft fur and beating heart

Together we make our way back to the bed