He made faint purring sounds when he slept, too quiet to be called snoring. Like a kitten. An orphaned kitten you found in the street, a famished little creature that would rub itself against your legs incessantly until you’d pick it up. If you’d feed it, it would lick your fingers with gratitude and sleep in the crook of your arm. And unless you locked it up, one day, it would be gone again.
