It's hard to stay scared when there's a purring cat in front of you. Or maybe it's just that no one else follows the cat, like the three of them really might be the only ones here. It's not something John's willing to believe so easily, but he is feeling a little better, and he takes a few deep breaths as he continues running his fingers down the cat's spine.

Martin's uncertainty surprises him a little — not that he can't tell, but that he's talking like it matters — and John blinks, thrown. It's sort of nice, though, to be handed a question that doesn't scare him. "Er." He tips his head, peering at the cat's backside with a little frown. "It might be a female, or a neutered male. It's hard to tell them apart when they're like that." Maybe a veterinarian could tell the difference at a glance, but John can't; most of the cats he's seen belong to the neighbors, and his grandmother doesn't like them in the garden, so he rarely sees them for long.

"The orange ones are usually male, though," he adds, remembering that detail from one of the random books his grandmother had bought him. "And calicos are usually female. Something to do with the genes." This cat is grey and white, so that's no help. John shrugs, small and a bit sheepish.