"It's not something you really forget how to do." Walter laughs, eyebrows raised at Caro - and then suddenly bolts back in his chair a bit. "Ow. Goddamit, Bourbon."

A second later, a familiar cat face is peering over the edge of the table from his lap. Stew. She mewls.

"No. No, fuck you, no. That's not your food and I'm not a tree." He just scowls down at the kitten, who just mews again even louder. "No. You can't get on the table, you little shit."

Then he realizes that he's arguing with a cat small enough to fit in the jars. And it had all been going so well.