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[mortemscintilla]

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[hissingfit]

[ She sits down and licks the pad of one paw snidely. She can do what she wants, Hei. ]

[mortemscintilla]

[ So can he, kitty. ]

[ So don't mind when he shuffles down the street. The lights make the sky invisible, but it seems very low; a fine mist of snow glitters in the bight slates of streetlamps. The area is occupied by the colorful awnings and rainbow fairylights of restaurants. At an Indian place, whose heated patio is thrown open to the pretty evening, he gets a seat. The rice is piping-hot and tangerine colored; the tandoori chicken a hot-red. Hei tucks in as if it's his first meal of the day. ]

[ If the Carla-cat's followed him, oh well. If not ... oh well to that, too. He's too absorbed by his one true love tasty meal. ]

[hissingfit]

[ She hangs back for a few steps, but then she is assuredly following along in graceful kitty footsteps. She knows pets aren't allowed at restaurants, so she sneaks. Dodges her way among feet until she's safely under his table, pawing at his pant leg. ]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He doesn't jerk in surprise. The prodding paw reminds him absurdly of Mao, padding into crime scenes under everyone's nose, making exotic attempts at conversation as he butts his head against Hei's calves. (Why is it always a black cat? Does the universe love its ironic jokes that much?) He huffs out an irritable sigh, though it's more of a quiet exhale to anyone who isn't used to it. Reaching under the table with a free hand, he nudges the cat off, its fur smooth as a muff and as warm as bread from the oven. ]

My money, my food, [ he says tonelessly, before shoveling another forkful of confetti-rice into his mouth. (Such a selfish bastard.) ]

[hissingfit]

[ Her claws hook on the fabric this time, pulling much more insistently. She will rip right through it, douche. ]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He hears the scritch-scritch of claws on denim. Part of him is tempted to let her try it; she'll get a sharp kick for her trouble. Instead, lifting the tablecloth, he regards her with a look of half-shuttered disdain. Reaching down, he strokes the cat from head to tail. The tips of his fingers crackle and pop with sparks. Nothing dangerous; just enough to make her fur bristle and her bones sing. A quiet warning: Behave. ]

[ Under his breath, he says, ]

Why don't you go chase rats?

[hissingfit]

[ Son of a bitch. She hisses, low and for his ears only. Her claws dehook, but she does not in fact go away, choosing instead to circle his feet once or twice before rubbing against his calf and laying down sullenly. Drop something already. ]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Ugh. His jeans are going to be sullied in fur. ]

[ He doesn't boot away the dawdling cat. Instead he sighs, his expression too subtle to be called annoyed. Forking a few wedges of dark meat into a small plate, he slips it under the table, scrupulously avoiding treating Carla too much like a human being, but also perhaps to soften the blow of her inevitable loss. ]

[ Beware, the morsels are spicy. And he's not sharing his water. ]

[hissingfit]

[ Kitty delight. She noms with relish before returning to her spot right up against his feet, purring contentedly. ]

[mortemscintilla]

[ To his credit, there's only the slightest twitch of an eyebrow, there then gone again. One free snack, and it's like they're BFFs. Clingy really is a new look in the City. But he can't wear it as well as the others. ]

[ His fork doesn't clink against the plate; he eats neatly and steadily, until the rice is gone, his mind fastened on the tasks ahead. Only then does he rise, sudden enough to send the cat tumbling off. Rude, but hey. So was intruding on his nice solitary meal. ]

[ Bye, kitty. Stay away from car hoods etc. ]