Damien reaches down and scratches her belly and is rewarded by the kitten grabbing hold and gnawing his hand. He grins at me, and my heart melts a little.
“I could have sworn you told me you didn’t want us to turn domestic,” I tease.
“Is that what this is?” he asks, taking the ribbon and wiggling it again. “Domesticity?”
I offer him a spoonful of ice cream. “Yeah. I think it is.”
He licks the spoon, then takes my finger and dips it into the ice cream. Then he offers my finger to the kitten, who runs her rough little tongue over it, making me laugh again. “In that case,” Damien says, “I’ve changed my mind. I like domesticity very much.”
“I like it, too,” I say, snuggling closer. “And I love you.”
He brushes a soft kiss across my lips and we lay together as the kitten climbs over us to find a spot on the pillow. And as the little ball of fluff settles in and starts to purr, I sigh with satisfaction.
This is us.
This is our life.
And it is exceptional.