How big are these small things?

How big are these small things?

How big are the small things?

Immeasurable, are they not? The small things, always so qualitative and not measurable.

I met a cat today. A dog a few days ago.

The dog was sleeping, well in shape, even though its masters were not so well off. It slept on the sewing table along with another which took little peeks at this random stranger, taking pictures of its sibling. It had a serene and happy atmosphere around it, in that tiny, makeshift, aluminium room. The small packets of joy, all bursting around it. 

The cat was a random entrance, mewing at the absent someone. I followed it, here and there, and i finally held it up, in my arms, embracing that thin, lean, tiny furball, covered in black with patches of white. It liked me. I could tell. It gripped me tight, its paws stuck in my shirt. It also rubbed itself against me once i put it down. Against my pants and shoes. 

Alas, maybe everything ends! I had to leave this beauty behind, to its constant mewing at the absent someone.

These are the tiny things in life that make memories and reflect your character, who you really are, what you are. The tiniest of appearances of the moon, still brings joy, for even in that tiny bit, she is smiling in the dark night sky. And every time, I ask myself, how big are these small things? They are immeasurable after all.