Cats and South African Coffee shops

In the quiet corners of coffee shops, where the steam dances with whispers,  
I find solace in the company of cats—those silent guardians of forgotten dreams.  
Their fur, a tapestry of midnight and moonlight, conceals stories etched in stardust.  

Trauma tiptoes through the door, a specter in worn-out sneakers,  
its footsteps echoing like raindrops on cobblestone.  
It curls up on the windowsill, tracing the cracks in the glass,  
and gazes out at a world that once felt safe.  

Grief sits across from me, sipping chamomile tea,  
its eyes the color of twilight.  
It wears a scarf made of memories, each thread a fragile connection  
to the ones who left too soon.  

And yet, in this cozy haven, hope flutters like a sparrow,  
perched on the edge of my saucer.  
It hums a melody of resilience,  
its feathers brushed by the warmth of freshly brewed promises.  

The barista, a wizard in a faded apron, conjures lattes and cappuccinos,  
each cup a potion for the weary soul.  
The cats stretch, arching their backs like question marks,  
seeking answers in the swirls of cinnamon foam.  

Outside, rain taps on the window,  
a gentle reminder that healing is a slow dance—  
one step forward, two steps back.  
But the cats nuzzle my hand, whispering secrets in whisker-kisses.  

And so, I sip my coffee,  
inhaling the scent of second chances.  
The ghosts of trauma and grief fade into mist,  
and hope unfurls its wings, ready to take flight.  

In this whimsical corner of the world,  
where cats and coffee blend like magic,  
I find solace,  
and the promise of dawn.

©️ adpm