I know.

Sometimes, it feels like He’s the only one who cares about me. The only one who talks to me, who really understands the ins and outs of my personality. I may seem superficial to others, barely worth a moment’s notice, but in His eyes I am of paramount importance. He takes me everywhere with Him; it is as natural to Him as breathing. And when I am tucked into His body, held protectively close, I feel whole, I feel true, I feel perfect.

He found me when I was very young, you see. I have heard – He is, after all, an intellectual, and He speaks of such things – that small birds of many kinds accept the first thing they see as their mother, and follow it everywhere until they are grown. Of course, I know that our circumstances are different – He is no mother to me, and I have no intention of ever leaving Him. Nor am I a small bird. Small, yes, but bird, no.

He is a very lonely soul. He may talk to others, but He can never reveal His heart. He hides His innermost self, so vulnerable, so……gentle……behind a smile, and never allows anyone to see what He truly thinks. Several have wondered how He can be so calm under any circumstances…but I know. He is driven by purpose, He is divinely inspired. And I, powerless to aid in any but the simplest ways, am caught up inexorably in His webs. All I can be to Him is a confidant. He can tell me things that He will never tell anyone else, since there is no risk that I would ever betray His secrets. He trusts me so much that it humbles me.

How well He understands me, I muse. How perfectly my thoughts and His reactions match. When He attributes an emotion to me, I thrill with pride when He is correct and am offended on the (rare) occasions when He is not. For I feel what He feels most of the time. And no matter how strangely others may regard our relationship, He knows – and I know – that I have feelings, emotions, thoughts. He can hear my subtle vibrations and interpret them with the uncanny accuracy that He interprets the body language of others. He is, after all, a very perceptive man. He even keeps others from attacking me. That nasty red-haired man tried once, I remember, clawing at me before He stopped the monster with a mere word, soft but firm. I admire His aura of command, His calmness in the face of anything.

He’s laying in bed now, one arm tucked behind His head, staring up at the ceiling. I know that He talks to Himself sometimes; usually, He addresses me. Not wanting to seem insane, I presume. Although how many would actually talk to a……pet……I cannot say.

He turns to me now, and I can see a flash of light glinting off glass as His face turns towards me. Uncharacteristically, He has forgotten to take them off before He drops off. He is already asleep, but He hasn’t let me go. He never lets me go. Gladly, I snuggle into Him, and His arm wraps protectively around me. He is my master, my friend, my love, my confidant, my all. In His sleep, He murmurs my name, and my heart leaps with joy.

‘Bunny…….’

And though I can never speak, I whisper in the silence of my heart: I know.