my sleeping pet

My grandmother's ancient palm leaf manuscript rested beside her sleeping cat, both peacefully undisturbed. She'd been translating Tamil Brahmi script for decades, her weathered fingers tracing the same symbols Avvaiyar once wrote. The kitten stirred slightly, purring softly as morning light filtered through our ancestral home. My grandmother smiled, rewarding herself with strong coffee and quiet contemplation. These moments felt underhanded somehow—stealing peace while the world rushed past. She'd never sought recognition, yet her work had quietly inspired countless students. The cat stretched, and she resumed her translation, preserving words that connected us all to something timeless and true.