Spencer's face lit up when he smiled and once again, Jon felt more memories trying to surface. His smile slipped a little before he could stop it and he ruthlessly shoved them back, focusing instead on the rough scrape of a tongue across his fingers. Dylan. He curled his fingers in baby-fine fur and was rewarded a second later with a rumbling purr under his fingertips.
"Yes, yes. Dylan demands it. In fact," Jon gently pulled the kitten out of his pocket, holding him aloft. There's a disgruntled mewl in reaction, claws digging slightly into Jon's skin, "Dylan told me that that he's waited his whole life to meet a niffler. All eight weeks of it."
Jon looked back over at Spencer, smile firmly back in place, "Can you guarantee nifflers, Spence? For the sake of a small, helpless kitten?"