It feels Max shiver and moves closer, releasing his arm and staying warm, warmer.

It could speak, but it doesn't want to distract Watson.

It could speak, but it wants to allow Max time to process.

It could speak, but nothing seems right.

It could speak, but it doesn't know what to say.

It can't speak.

It purrs.

It purrs like a cat who knows its human is sick or hurt or upset, because its human is hurt and upset and perhaps sick as well, a sickness of the soul, of the heart and of the mind. It's sure that isn't enough, but that's what it has in this moment.