Francis was well into scooping out the next pumpkin in line when Dietre broke the silence. He could tell the kid wanted something, but for the life of him he couldn't tell what. Dietre didn't seem to have brought anything to do while he hung around the kitchen, and Francis hadn't heard him moving around much so he figured the kid was still lingering in the same spot. If he wanted another pet the answer was no.
The topic of conversation brought up wasn't a request, however, not even close to one. He wanted to discuss cat names. Francis checked up on the island journal network frequently because he knew the scientists did (what he didn't know was that the scientists could see many things he could not), so he had seen Dietre's entry about his new cat and the various names he'd thought up for it. Apparently, the help from Dietre's friends hadn't sealed any deals on a name. They were better judges than Francis … because they actually cared.
"Doubt the cat would know the difference," Francis said, "but you'll have to wait for him to grow into that name." As it was, the kitten looked like nothing more than a fluff ball to Francis. It was tiny and had too much fur for its own good. 'Breve' seemed a name too big for such a small thing, but the cat would grow. Thus far he'd been calling it Sydney whenever he came in contact with it, but a switch to Breve wouldn't be such a big deal.
"Make sure you put his food on the grocery list when you see it getting low," Francis added, motioning vaguely with his knife toward a piece of paper that almost always sat on the island that separated the kitchen from the living room.