The memory of you changes when the moment ends.
When the moment ends, your fur rediscovers its shine and your call is louder than I've heard in months, and I wake up to your announcements.
When the moment ends, I hear you gallop around the house at speeds that rival even your "tiny horse" reputation, and you stop to drink until the bowl empties.
When the moment ends, the food caked around your lips, remnants of my overzealous love, is magicked into your stomach, where it is safe and you are full.
When the moment ends your heart beats loudly in my ear.
When the moment ends you are purring like your life depends on it, and in this new world it doesn't.
Your perk up the very moment after I tear my eyes from your frame, and I can see you take a deep breath, your tail flicking gently, forever, back and forth.