Louder than red truck sirens is the rib spreading, content in simian as bedding throat to Mror mind clearing almighty rush of Purr. I can feel my burred rasp rattling off glass, boucing from the sharp and hard surfaces at various distances. I can feel it come back to me like an answered prayer satisfying the air. I can feel its sonic massage sinking through deep muscles of Hairless Tom, acting as a relaxant. I can sense it comes through me, resonate out to the canyons of neck hair right out to the rhythmically quivering tip.