Moon

"I swear, this cat always knows when I'm doing something shifty; she's there staring at me, like ... I SEE YOU," Kyle said with a laugh, and Danny laughed, too, sticking his tongue out at Moon (who looked up at him from the floor). "Well, let's give 'er somethin' to marvel at," he chortled, flinging the I-Don't-Even-Know-How-Many-Are-In-Here box of beers up on the coffee table and grabbing the remote. Moon left quietly and used the cat flap to rendezvous with Sweetness and Flora. "Another evening of stunning personal growth and ridiculous intellectual satisfaction," she purred as her friends nodded, "but it's all right - they should enjoy it while they can. From the look of it, the one who stuck his tongue out has throat cancer and His Royal Shiftiness smells like kidney failure. Are you guys happy with the kind of attention you're getting at the rescue?" They both nodded. "It's quality care, and it's consistent; the placements are smart," they replied. "Well, loop back tomorrow night," Moon whispered, cleaning her face with a silver grey paw, "I'm going to leave a glorious map of hairballs to remember me by and then I'll go back with you." Moon was supposed to be "Luna", but they couldn't be bothered to Google options when she was just a trusting tiny; the lack of effort had always bothered her. "Hairball in the sock drawer AND on the stamp collection," she whispered, ready to pack.