I keep up the litany of in and out and counting. I know it works. It's a good sign he's not fighting me, too. He's trying, I can see it. I can feel sympathetic panic in myself, but I know what it is and I can control it. I glance down when I feel something against my boots. The kittens, cats, are looking out at me, eyes wide. I don't stop my count, nor let go of A. They can be reassured when their master is calm again.