She's always looking into my eyes. When I meet her stare, her ears fold and she squints.
"Yes, mom. Hello! I love you!"
I love you too, Ponyo.
More than you will ever know.
I clean her eyes, wipe them with my giant hands. Look into her ears. Wipe everything away.
She cleans me, too. My tears. She even takes it upon herself to lick into my ears. She smells my eyes, licks my chin. Reciprocates.
When we lay down on the floor bed, I will give her the best fleece blanket. I'll fashion it into a nest, making sure there's high walls, nestling it into the corners of the furniture. I'll put the pillows around her, and place her right in the middle.
Then I feel a paw and hear a small, almost inperceptable whine.
She wants to be touching me.
No amount of pillows or blanket walls satisfy her.
She crawls over my giant frame and nestles into my breath, near my face, in my neck.
I meet her eyes, and she folds her ears and squints.
"I just want you, Mom. I want to be next to you."
"I want to be next to you, too, Ponyo."
And we settle.
And we feel safe.