If someone had told Mao that one day he’d be petted as a cat, given ear scratchies and so on, and he’d actually like it, he’d probably laugh in their face then threaten to kick them in the balls for good measure. But, goddamnit, he really did like it. Who would have thought? It was sort of freeing, in a way, to be able to allow himself to enjoy affection. What a very unexpected side benefit to being a cat.
The little beast made a sound that was half purr, half kind of chirp. It was his way of saying, ‘Sounds good to me!’ They could talk later, and he’d sure as shit take advantage of the offer to visit.
With a parting headbutt, Mao jumped off the man’s shoulders. It was tempting to go back to the bucket, but he figured he had probably eaten enough. He kind of didn’t want his body to get used to a lot of people-meat because there was no telling how long this good luck streak would last. The guy might wise up to the fact that what he was doing was crazy, or, worse, get caught and arrested or something. If that happened then Mao could kiss free meals goodbye, and that would really suck.
He sat beside the man on the table and commenced casual grooming, licking his paw and rubbing leisurely at his muzzle. After a minute he stopped to give the man an expectant look. What was next on the agenda? Mao was sure he could find a way out of the hospital without being spotted on his own, but he didn’t want to. He was curious if the man would actually take him home.