He is every inch his mama's cat. He follows me up and down the stairs, curls up in the hollow of my belly when I watch TV, stretches out alongside when when I read, curls up on my lap when I type in my office. He's especially glued to my side when I'm not feeling well. I don't know how he knows, what tells him. But he presses his warm rumbly self against me, and I bury my cold hands in his thick soft musky fur, and I know it will be okay.
He is curled up next to me on the sofa as I type this. He just reached out his front paw and placed it on my leg, his gaze flickering up to me. It's something I do, too - like Piglet to Pooh. "I just wanted to be sure of you."
I don't know if he got it from me, or I got it from him.