"They don't tend to ask as much as dogs," she says with a small, wry smile. "At least, they don't ask to be walked, which can be a mercy when you're busy." There's plenty of nuisance a bored, lonely cat might cause, but it usually doesn't involve the sort of mess that requires special cleaners to get out.

She can't help a faint snort at his reference to John. It's sort of a relief that he makes it, really; she's still determined not to tease, but at least they're not pretending it didn't happen, or that there's no relation at all. "No," she replies with cautious good humor, "I s'pose he wasn't much of a one, besides the shape. You'll have to do some more shopping to get actual cat things." A litter box, for example. And a brush. And proper food. There are enough 'human' foods a cat can stomach that John never had to resort to kibble, but then, there'd been no expectation of his time as a cat lasting that long. He couldn't have kept it up for any real length of time without getting ill.

She hands him his tea before sitting down with her own cup pressed between her hands. "D'you know what you're looking for? Like, did you want a more playful cat, or one that just likes to relax, or...?" There are enough strays and shelter cats in the city that she's sure she can find him a good match irrespective of his answer, but it'd help if they could narrow things down. From what she knows of Martin, she's guessing not a kitten, or something young and active that'd bounce off the walls.

One of the sparrows flutters over to her shoulder, looking down at her cup curiously. "You wouldn't like it," she informs the little creature.