The sun slips slowly beneath the curve of the earth. I sit in my room and watch the last rays of light splash gold and red over the trees by the garden. This is the time of day I love the most—the moments that reside between the day and night. This is when I feel the most grateful; humbly appreciative of God’s goodness.

The feral kittens I feed have pushed open the screen door, eager for their dinner. I hear them eating in the kitchen. I’ll not get up until they are finished, as I know they’d run if I walked towards them. So I sit in this stillness, watching the last bit of light fade away.

“Thank you, God, for another day,” I say softly.

“You’re welcome,” He answers and comes and sits down next to me so that I might rest my head on His shoulder. We sit there for a long time—until the kittens are done with their dinner, and it is time for me to cook my own. I rise and leave the room, knowing that He will rise and go with me—we never tire of each others company.

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