Harry jumped up and put his paws on the man’s shoulders so that he could lick his face. The man stumbled backwards, hitting the wall, but he didn’t seem frightened. He laughed.
“Easy,” he said. “Oh, you’re lovely. Oh, I think I like you better like this. May I pet you? Is that rude?”
Harry was starting to get sleepy. It seemed sooner than usual; he usually fought it off. But he felt safer with the man, felt sure that between the two of them, they would be able to protect themselves in the night. He dropped to the floor and walked away, searching for somewhere comfortable to curl up. He leapt up onto the soft bed, then looked at the man, head cocked.
“Yes, all right,” said the man, and came to sit next to him. Harry closed his eyes, and the man stroked his head, tentatively at first, and then, once he was sure that Harry liked it, more purposefully. His fingers felt around Harry’s ears. “So soft,” he said. “But your hair is quite soft, so I suppose that makes sense. Can you understand me?”
Harry was tired. He could feel himself drifting into sleep, calm and peaceful and safe.
Once, he heard a crack, and sat up, ready to pounce, but the man put one hand on his head and said, “it’s just the wind. Go back to sleep,” and Harry trusted him, and was so very tired. He lay back down. The man carried on stroking him. His body was warm, and Harry fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.
