He curls up beside me, his head on the pillow. His powerful hind legs, kick gently against my chest, his front paws wrap around my wrist on lazily fall on the side of my face. His purr is so loud his whole body trembles, and I feel the vibrations through him.
He seems almost possessive. There's a dog now, and another cat I sometimes seem to favor, and he's maybe unsure of his place in the world. But this is our time now, and he relaxes, some comfort finally available to his troubled soul.
Still, this is Delmar, so as gentle as he tries to be, his claws are perpetually bared, piercing my skin as his paws slide across my arm or my face. I'll wake up with fresh scratches, with dried blood. I'm used to this by now.
After all, he's been in my life for ten years. Sometimes he can be a pain, quite literally, but hey, to live is to feel pain. And joy, which he also provides. Delmar is awesome and terrifying and sweet. His love is ferocious and absolute, and I can't imagine my world without him.
