“He talks now.” Gwyn blinked at her, then looked back to Sir Purrcival before giving a shriek of delight and clapping her hands. “He does?” Rushing into the room, she scooped up her cat, holding him in front of her face. “What did he say?” she asked. “Because I’ve always wanted a talking cat, and I think if any cat is going to be a stimulating conversationalist, it’s—” “Treeeeaaaaaats,” Sir Purrcival croaked again, and then began wiggling in Gwyn’s arms. “Treatstreatstreatstreatsfoodtreats.”
