Nights like these...

On nights when the praise of my patrons and bosses and colleagues seems faint;
on nights when my husband is remote and preoccupied
on nights when I wonder, yet again, how I ended up here,
on nights when it feels like I have never been further away from my kin,
on nights when I come close to learning just what regret tastes like...

My little cat Austen, my gentle-souled cat in a furry tuxedo, he perches up by my pillow or couch cushion, near to my head, and he purrs loudly, and he invites me to wearily lean my head in and remind myself that perhaps, after all, I have made a difference. That my presence, my sacrifices, my mistakes have benefitted someone, even if it's just a single domestic short-haired cat.

It's a strange sort of comfort, but on nights like these, I will take what I can get.