Her own hunger combined with the cat's insatiable appetite for all things seafood, meant that Clare didn't hesitate overmuch in going to town on the tuna. One paw primly on the edge of the dish, the cat crouched in place facing Ric while she ate as if she wanted to keep an eye on him. She wasn't, however, excessively vigilant. Sure, she didn't know him, but damned if he didn't strike her as genuine - and she prided herself on an excellent ability to read people.
As he settled in to tap and mutter, all those little signs of life that Clare hadn't realized she missed, she ate in what felt like a companionable silence.
And then soon enough the tuna was gone, and she had a decision to make.
It was easy to stay when she had the excuse of eating, but then what? She knew it was stupid. Knew she should go the hell back to her own trailer and be a damn human instead of a damn coward. But then Alfred cursed the day under his breath and she looked him over, and instead of going to scratch at the door, Clare padded across the space.
It was just such a relief to have the silence broken.
The table he sat at was beside a padded bench seat and Clare, wary of a quick swat from someone who didn't appreciate a cat on the furniture but too opportunistic and fond of comfort not to try, nipped lightly onto that bench. The spot was near enough but not too near, and the cat circled once before curling into a tidy coil of ruddy fur and round eyes. She waited to see if he would shoo her out the door.