Martin, mercifully, doesn't ask him to elaborate. There's still something sort of awful in his silence, though — in the way he slowly picks his way across the room without any real direction, eventually settling on the floor as if it would be too presumptuous to use the furniture. John shifts a little, half scolding himself for not offering Martin a seat more explicitly, and half appalled by the sudden awareness that he might need to. But before he can say anything, The Bishop jumps down to give Martin his full attention.

John smiles faintly at the picture they make, even as part of him aches over the uncertainty that suffuses Martin's body language. "That's The Bishop," he says. "He was your cat first, actually." He watches as The Bishop plasters himself against Martin's side, then adds, "He's always like this after a shower. Probably thinks you don't smell enough like him."