I have hair on my chest. And it’s purring.

Love, you just know it when you feel it. I feel it now, and it’s furry and purring.

I am not the No Factory I yessed into existence. I love with an intensity that needs to be felt to be purred.

I would pull at my beard like a wise man, but I don’t have one—a beard (or a wise man). So instead I pull at my grandpa’s beard, as he purrs like a kitten.

I yell at yellow like I purr at pink. If they were more fluid, I’d pour meows in my morning coffee.

And metaphors like cats behind your smile,Each one wound up to purr,each one a pride,Each one a fine gold beast you’ve hid inside (…)

To err is human, to purr is feline.

No one has ever been able to discover how they make this subtle sound, and what is more, no one ever will. It is a secret that has endured from the very beginning of the...