"I changed the mood, not the face," Conor countered. "As in all things, I did it backwards. Probably out of some deep-seated need to be contrary. Which is nothing new. Though I'll agree, it was starting to get depressing. Nothing ever really changed."
Conor hummed, thinking. "I'm not sure if you'd call him that? Though who really knows. He's always around when I want him, and he's basically me in cat form." He shrugged. "He came right up to me when I found him, so you're probably right, he chose me. And what are the odds I'd find a breed designed to tolerate a cold environment, you know?"
"Not usually, no," Conor replied, his tone darkening. "I mean, you sometimes have one or two people talking about how we're thieves and charlatans, out to rob them blind and corrupt their children. But never a targeted attack aimed at hunting our kind like that."