Kitchen Islands and Lie-Ins, for Rosie

This is Firstine, who is one of the softest and most snuggly of animals. It steps out onto sunlight or the smell of trees before sunrise. It sleeps in folded blinds and under underused bicycles. It licks you to greet things and it stands on your knees while you breathe out deeply and think about a small, colourful thing you forgot to do months ago. It assembles complex geometric patterns in the dust motes while you are out of the house on trips. Firstine claws into your pillow and t-shirts and hoodies and socks and beanies so that they look as loved and soaked with expenditure and work and rebuilding as they are. This animal sneaks into poster tubes to be surrounded by the ghosts you used to introduce you into the room, into sleep, in from the outdoors. Firstine is selective and, even, timid, sometimes. It will not curl around your lamps to warm itself. But it will be the faintest glow when you get up to pee in the middle of the night and just nearly don't trip over a bit of underwear on the floor.