She looks up to him, so high up there, so tall that she can barely see his eyes. She doesn't like him for his eyes any way. She likes him for his big feet and his gentle hands.
She turns round and round, hesitating, vigilant of any suspect noises, approaching, backing away. There is no disturbance, so she settles in and nestles cosily on his feet. She looks up to him again. That's where she likes to be. She likes to be right here, safe and protected, between the feet of the gentle giant.
He looks down on her from all his height. He smiles fondly at her. She is after all so cute. Her nose is so pink and her blue eyes so innocent. He gently bends so she wouldn't be frightened.
She is used to him now so she stays. Her eyes blinks all the same when she hears the rustle of a leave but it is alright.
He notices how bold she has become. She was so terrified before and now she demands his attention. It makes him smile. She has these long black eyeliners against a dramatic white greyness that makes her looks so significant. The lines extend about a quarter of an inch past her actual eyes ending with an upward flick. And she gets it right every time because that's who she is.
Cleopatra, the kitten.