The couch

He slid off the couch and sat at her feet. He lowered his cheek to her knee and rested there. She idly stroked his face, running her fingers through his hair, he almost imperceptibly rubbed his cheek against her leg as she stroked him. She could almost imagine him purring, but he was silent, his eyes closed as she petted him. Her hand left him to turn a page of her book, and she felt him sink down to the floor. He lay there, shifting, squirming, trying to find a position that would make him feel warm, safe, gently, silently trying to find a way to get closer to her. He squeezed himself behind her legs and wrapped his body around her, he pulled her legs into him, curled there on the floor. She shifted her feet, pulling him back against the couch, applying a little pressure to his stomach so he could feel her more strongly, bringing him closer. He was foetal around her feet and he held on to her legs as if she was going to float away. His fingers touched her feet and calves gently, not quite stroking, almost as if he was reassuring himself that she was still there. She turned another page in the silence.