"Who's this handsome devil then?" Eames asked, holding a cautious hand out to the oversized orange monster who had just leapt up on the kitchen island between himself and Arthur.

Arthur turned around and there was the tiniest hitch in his movements as his eyes landed on the cat; intriguing. . .

"He's not mine." Arthur said immediately, lips pressed in a thin line. "He just sneaks in the window sometimes."

Eames eyed the cat as he abandoned Eames after a perfunctory sniff, turning tail and proceeding to Arthur, rubbing against his leather jacket and purring loud enough to be mistaken for a passing motorbike even before Arthur began tickling beneath his chin.

"I can see that." Eames said diplomatically, making zero effort to hide his amusement or disbelief.