Dear Kissy,

You wake up every morning like the world is brand new — ears up, little nub wiggling, ready to go. You don't think about jumping off the couch. You just jump. Because I'm over there, and that's all that matters. You tell me when you're hungry. When you need to go out. When I've been gone too long. But you never tell me when something hurts. You just wag and carry on.

Your days are long. You fall asleep three times waiting for me to come home. Your days are also short — too short for me to have waited this long to do something about all those jumps. You've taken ninety-nine steps toward me every single day. You wait by the door. You lean your head on my knee. You trust me completely. I just need to take that one step for you.

So I made Cozy Kiss. The first thing I built was a set of stairs — wide, steady, with a gentle slope and a non-slip bottom. Not because you're weak. But because you deserve to climb up without hurting. Because you shouldn't have to jump just to sit next to me on the couch. And then I kept going. Blankets to curl into. Cooling mats for your hot little belly. Soft beds for your old bones.

I can't give you forever. But I can give you Easier. Safer. Happier.

You've given me ninety-nine steps of pure, unspoken love. This is my one step back.

Happy together, happy in love.

From your human,
who finally learned to build you a better way up.