Then Tybalt did what no cat has ever done. He ran into the rain and right under Hawkes’s umbrella, arching his back as he meowed plaintively. Hawkes bent down and gave Tybalt’s ears an affectionate going over; then he lifted the cat with one hand and whispered something. Tybalt’s eyes went wide as he stilled. I realised that Hawkes was speaking in Irish Gaelic. I shivered. It reminded me of my father.
This is a whole lot of hinting at … something?
