"Tybolt. Like most cats, he does not usually deign to answer to it, but he knows it around breakfast- and dinnertime, and he certainly knows when he is doing something he should not." She scritches him at the root of his tail, prompting him to stretch his tail high into the air, and curling his back impressively. "Perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised. You do leave quite the impression."

She does not point out that plenty of the people who have met Tybolt were not overly interested in petting the hairless cat to begin with, which she cannot understand. She would claim there is a grave dignity to him, whether he flops around on the floor where there's sunlight or scales the towering, castle-like cat-tree in the corner with all the grace of a mountaineer. "And here you said you were not so sure of cats."