Jim Butcher

Bridget swallowed hard. And then she did begin to cry. “I was so scared,” she said. “I thought I was going to die a long way from home.”
Rowl made a deep, pleased purring sound in his chest. “How could that happen,” he asked, “when you have me to protect you?”
She choked out a laugh. “You are impossible.”
“I am cat,” Rowl said smugly. “It is not of your doing, Littlemouse. It is natural that something so limited as a human finds me impossible. And you are squishing my fur.”