The story of O

My friend O is an old white cat with a...sharp...way of showing his regard for people. Let's just say that our encounters have involved occasional bloodletting and none of it his. I've also awakened to find him purring on my pillow, a sense of sweet enjoyment combined with the thrill of impending disaster should I inadvertently move any of the wrong muscles.

And he is old and confused and in renal failure and seizuring. In the years I've known him he's gone from sullen to vulnerable, and in his little sphere of influence, a claw has hooked into my heart.