[ whenever they do happen upon the Pet Cafe, alois trancy is there, too. he's laying on his back on the floor, knees bent, in something frilly, laced, and skirted. mary-janes today, not boots.
well, at least, it looks to be alois trancy. there's a lot of white, black, cream, and chesnut colored fluff wiggling around all over him. he's wiggling, too. puppies. the teacup variations. pomeranians, yorkies, malteses. they're biting his shoes, licking his ears, and knuckles, or playing tug-of-war with the ribbon tied around the back of his dress. and, he's fawning—when he isn't giggling. they can't seem to get enough of him and he can't get enough of them, either. ]