That's cool and all, but if I catch it my room it's getting tossed out by the nape of its scruffy little neck.
[Oh, and now he's in the kitchen, obviously, by the sound of him opening and shutting things loudly. Not a physical fit so much as a way to override any arguments about how cute it is or how terribly miserable a man he must be to have such an avid dislike of domesticated felines.]
[...well, she's not gonna raise her voice to be heard. Not at this distance.
But all the noise has obviously woken up the kitteh -- and because one of the first things cats learn is the reaction of OOOHH SOMEONE'S IN THE KITCHEN, he hops down and makes his way towards the kitchen--
where he'll be staring like this from the doorway.
Meanwhile, Jill waits for a break in the noise to throw out,] Do not tell me you're having an alpha male complex with a cat.
[Jill doesn't get a reply, because as soon as kitteh's come into the kitchen, there's nothing but the sound of water filling a large pot. John's going to try something, and if Jill just gives up and stays in her room or picks up the tablet to bitch about men on the network, it'll be easier.
...or, maybe, he can take kitteh to his room and lock the door.
While the pot's filling up a good deal, John's taking off his socks and shoes, and it seems kitteh likes the idea well enough, since it means he gets to tear at trouser socks and get his little kitteh claws stuck to give them runs.]
[Jill gives him a good half a minute to respond -- and when he doesn't, she gets up with a short sigh to make her way towards the kitchen and the cat and her idiot boyfriend.]
[By which time John's got the pot as full as it needs to be, is barefoot, and the tiny orange beast is wrapped up in said trouser socks, stuck to his claws. He clearly bit off more than he could chew.
He doesn't say anything when she appears, simply testing the heat of the water with his pale wrist. He does shoot her a glance, though, and the smallest of one as the kitten cutely falls all over itself, wrapped in socks.]
[She... pretty much knows not to question the odd thing that is his lifestyle. So assuming "it" refers to the pot or the kitchen or whatever, and figuring the kitten is content and fine where he is, Jill just shakes her head slightly before turning to retreat back to her room.]
It's a good fifteen minutes before John makes any noise or new appearance, this time slightly sweaty and undressed, clearly about to clean up. He's still barefoot, though, and the sound of the water being poured down the drain was a precursor to his appearance.
From his trouser socks hangs the orange abomination, mewing as it-yes, it, always it-clings to the unraveling things that they are and tries to climb higher. He simply walks into the room and drops him in a pile of Halloween colors before saying:]
[Jill promptly sets aside the book she was reading -- and frowns as she stands, glancing at the healthy kitten before giving John a more thorough once-over]
[And then, to keep from going into a lengthy, winding, in depth explanation that would probably end up with him getting some form of sympathy for all the times he ran around hell like a playground full of horror, he points a finger to the cat and adds:]
[She glances back at the kitten, turning back a second later with a mildly amused look. She reaches up to briefly brush a strand of damp hair from John's hairline -- yeah, she's not gonna push on her previous question.]
Tiger? [Said in a "really that's the best you could come up with?" tone.
I already said I don't do cats, so don't expect me to call it at all unless we're being attacked by giant mice and insects it'd have a ball batting around and eating.
I hate that guy.
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COUPLE FIGHT?]
That's cool and all, but if I catch it my room it's getting tossed out by the nape of its scruffy little neck.
[Oh, and now he's in the kitchen, obviously, by the sound of him opening and shutting things loudly. Not a physical fit so much as a way to override any arguments about how cute it is or how terribly miserable a man he must be to have such an avid dislike of domesticated felines.]
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But all the noise has obviously woken up the kitteh -- and because one of the first things cats learn is the reaction of OOOHH SOMEONE'S IN THE KITCHEN, he hops down and makes his way towards the kitchen--
where he'll be staring like this from the doorway.
Meanwhile, Jill waits for a break in the noise to throw out,] Do not tell me you're having an alpha male complex with a cat.
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...or, maybe, he can take kitteh to his room and lock the door.
While the pot's filling up a good deal, John's taking off his socks and shoes, and it seems kitteh likes the idea well enough, since it means he gets to tear at trouser socks and get his little kitteh claws stuck to give them runs.]
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Are you really going to be like this, John?
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He doesn't say anything when she appears, simply testing the heat of the water with his pale wrist. He does shoot her a glance, though, and the smallest of one as the kitten cutely falls all over itself, wrapped in socks.]
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Kitten, John. Kitten, pot. John.
And then an eyebrow goes up.]
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Now everyone knows everyone else, yay!]
It's a long story.
[Is all she gets before he moves past her with the pot, yanking a chair out from under the table.]
I just need it for a few minutes. Alone.
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[She... pretty much knows not to question the odd thing that is his lifestyle. So assuming "it" refers to the pot or the kitchen or whatever, and figuring the kitten is content and fine where he is, Jill just shakes her head slightly before turning to retreat back to her room.]
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It's a good fifteen minutes before John makes any noise or new appearance, this time slightly sweaty and undressed, clearly about to clean up. He's still barefoot, though, and the sound of the water being poured down the drain was a precursor to his appearance.
From his trouser socks hangs the orange abomination, mewing as it-yes, it, always it-clings to the unraveling things that they are and tries to climb higher. He simply walks into the room and drops him in a pile of Halloween colors before saying:]
I don't do cats.
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What did you do?
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[And then, to keep from going into a lengthy, winding, in depth explanation that would probably end up with him getting some form of sympathy for all the times he ran around hell like a playground full of horror, he points a finger to the cat and adds:]
Have fun with Tiger.
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Tiger? [Said in a "really that's the best you could come up with?" tone.
...although it's more than she came up with.]
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Fizbit the Magical Warrior sound better?
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Only if I got to hear you call him that every time you walked in the door.
[WHERE'S MISTER BARKY VON SCHNAUZER]
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