Colors matter more than we admit. I line the roll of cohesive bandage for pet on the windowsill—sunset coral, lagoon teal, buttercup yellow—and let them glow like stained glass for no audience but the cat. She pads across the counter, tail high, choosing indigo today as if mood were something one could wear. I peel the wrap, it whispers against itself, and she purrs in syncopation. There is no agenda, no ticking clock, only the hush of fibers finding one another. When the strip is spent, we sit in the after-silence, fur and fabric sharing the same small shimmer of peace. Tomorrow she may choose rose; tomorrow I may need it more than she does.