“We’ve faced worse.” Mabon held up a container of premium tuna. “The Council tribunal in ’74, for example, or that feral pack in Aberdeen.”
“A twenty-pound tabby shouldn’t be our greatest challenge.” Rux produced a bag of salmon treats, shaking it hopefully. “We’re the apex predators in this room, not him.”
Basil yawned, displaying impressive fangs.
“He knows what you are,” Sam said from the kitchen doorway, armscrossed but smiling. “He just doesn’t care.”
They’d been at it for an hour. Mabon had arrived first, armed with research on feline behavior and organic catnip. Urien brought hand-carved wooden toys he’d spent three days making. Rux showed up with every treat variety available in town, as well as some imported versions, because that’s what he did.
Basil had rejected everything.
“Try the silvervine,” Sam suggested. “It’s in the back left pocket of your bag.”
Rux dug through his offerings, producing a small pouch. The moment he opened it, Basil’s ears pricked forward.
“Now we’re talking.” Rux sprinkled silvervine on the carpet.
Basil descended from his throne with regal slowness, sniffed the offering, then looked directly at Rux with unmistakable disdain before walking away.
“I’ve never been judged so thoroughly by something I could swallow in one bite,” Rux said flatly as he slumped back against the end of the couch.
“Don’t you dare.” Sam pointed at him. “That’s my baby.”
“Your baby tried to remove my spleen.”
“You stalked his human from the bushes. He had valid concerns.”
Urien’s feather toy twitched across the floor, skating past Basil’s paws. The cat watched it pass, unimpressed. But then, just as Urien started to lower the toy, Basil pounced - pinning it under both paws with the efficiency of a trained assassin.
“Progress!” Sam clapped.
“He’s murdering my peace offering,” Urien observed, but he was smiling.
Basil eviscerated the feather toy with his back claws, growling softly.
“That’s how he shows affection,” Sam lied, coming to sit beside Mabon onthe sofa, and Mabon immediately took Sam’s hand in his own. Sam was getting used to the affection.
“He hasn’t drawn blood today,” Mabon pointed out. “That’s an improvement.”
“I don’t know about that. He glared at me for twenty minutes without blinking.” Rux sat cross-legged on the floor, holding up another treat. “That’s psychological warfare.”
Basil finished destroying Urien’s toy, then - miracle of miracles - padded over to Rux, stopping three feet away before he sat down.
“Don’t move,” Sam whispered.
Rux froze, treat extended. Basil stared at the salmon morsel and then stared at Rux. He was clearly performing complex calculations behind those green eyes.
The treat won. Basil reached out one paw, batted the treat onto the floor, and ate it – still maintaining unblinking eye contact.
“I think that’s approval?” Mabon sounded uncertain.
“He ate it.” Urien shifted closer, moving with glacial slowness. “That’s practically a declaration of love.”
“He’s still plotting murder,” Rux said. “I can see it in his face.”
“But he’s not actively committing murder.” Sam squeezed Mabon’s hand. “See? Progress.”
Basil finished the treat, licked his whiskers, then stalked over to Urien, sniffing his offered hand. He permitted exactly three seconds of chin scratching before retreating to the bookshelf.
