“Sometimes I like her calm, unwild, gentle as a sleeping child,and wonder as she lies, a fur ring,curled upon my lap, unstirring -- is it me or Tibbles purring?”

“My mother had comforted me with tales ever since I was small. Sometimes they helped me peel a problem like an onion, or gave me ideas about what to do; other times, they calmed me so much that I would fall into a soothing sleep. My father used to say that her tales were better than the best medicine. Sighing, I burrowed into my mother's body like a child, knowing that the sound of her voice would be a balm on my heart.”

“But my pretty little Gwen…me and her daddy…” Then she purred. Seriously. Purred.”

“I wanted to curl up in her lap and stay there forever. I wanted to be her. She was raising me, cultivating me, molding me into a far better version of me than I could have ever dreamed up, let alone lived out, on my own. (149)”

“She’s aware of the changes, the ringing round her eyes, fur around her mouth. […] Dressed out like an animal, she thistles and fickles. She fawns in a murmur of milk. Grows feral.”

“When my grandmother touches my hair in my sleep, I feel like a lost child. There is never enough of her to comfort me.”