They are the only ones who understand me. I am the only one who understands them. Four crazy cats with unique personalities and splotched colors on their fur. Four among the dozens of wild cats that cross my yard every now and then. Four lucky cats who were rescued from the wild. From my window, I watch for them, but my dad yells, “no more cats!”
Their power is secret. They send cuddly and cute vibes. They purr up and lay down and sprint around the house to play and never let you sleep at night and sink their claws into the poor mouse for dinner which ends up on the front porch for you as a token of their affection. This is how they love.
Let one forget his reason for being,  they’d love you all day like they love their little mice, each with their heads pressed right up to your chest. Love, love, love, they purr when I am sad. They heal.
When I am too sad and frustrated to keep going, when I am a rock who refuses to get out of bed in the morning, I look to them along my side. When there is nothing left to worry about. Four who purr despite how their day is going. Four who love and do not forget to love. Four whose only reason is to love and eat.