That night I dreamt that my boyfriend became a cat. I just woke up to a beautiful winter day, and I felt a cat was lying by my side, his head cuddled against the nape of my neck as we were spooning. He purred, and I knew it was Peter saying “good morning, love” to me, as he always does. So I turned around gently, so as not to hurt him with my elbows. “Good morning.” And then, we kissed. It was a frisky sort of kiss. But I woke up in the middle of it.
I felt Peter stroking my side from top to bottom. His hands were warm, and he didn’t have to say anything. At that moment, I knew that Santa doesn’t fulfill every (stupid) wish you have, and that Peter hasn’t become a cat this Christmas. I have sometimes wished he was a real, small, furry creature that would curl up on my laps and tickle my hands with his whiskers. But then, I know that Peter, in a way, is a cat. So I turned around gently and, as he tried to say good morning, I closed his mouth with a kiss.