A cat crouches low, paws folded beneath. The body is mostly grey, softened by white across its chest and face. The fur is short, close to the skin, neat against the rough ground. Its eyes shine green, clear and thoughtful, looking past the lens toward something unseen.
The ears stand tall, one slightly uneven, a small mark of experience. The nose is pink, the whiskers sharp. It sits in stillness, but not in weakness—there is strength in how it holds the pose, balanced, compact, aware.
The ground is stone and dust, uneven and warm in colour. That roughness frames the calm of the animal, makes the contrast stronger. No other detail pulls attention, only the cat itself. The moment feels ordinary, yet the gaze gives it weight. For a second, it seems more than a portrait—it is a glimpse into quiet patience, a creature resting but always aware.
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