"Kittens talk too, huh?" Calvin grinned and stroked the little grey ball of fluff, watching as it attempted (only semi-successfully) to climb up his shirt with its tiny claws. He flinched a little as the claws bit into his skin, but they were only pinpricks, and it was amazing what he'd put up with for the happiness of a kitten, and he was inwardly pleased that Casey said the kitten liked him. "What do they say?"
Calvin knew intellectually that Casey couldn't really talk to ducks or kittens or any of the other various animals she'd pretended to talk to when he was little, but it was nice to pretend. He was too old, in one sense, but as an avid reader of books, Calvin liked to think that one was never too old for little forays into imagination. And Casey didn't seem to mind that he still played this little game. It felt special, in way. Like an inside joke.