He definitely had his reasons, though how the transition had happened, he wasn't sure, and they were all related to her being a very nurturing cat. She was the kind to give baths and guard over someone who was sleeping - basically a dog. Seriously.
Clint definitely had an interesting way of reacting to things. It was like the very idea of a dog with fireball powers was just an overstimulation of the mind. Alright then. Whatever he liked. "Hard to think that... He was a stag that would regularly fight a werewolf." James had been cool. Jamie... was a hot mess. God.
He didn't mind being watched - for one thing, he liked attention. For another, he understood the habits formed with hearing loss - or at least he was beginning to with the hospital. But he had to laugh at that, "No, calling things magic isn't racist. If you were using 'mudblood', then we'd have a problem. That's racist." He remembered his promise though and a quiet wave of his wand brought an extra glass over from his wet bar. The bottle of Scotch whisky was already in arm's reach. So he topped off his glass and poured one for Clint. "Bit stronger than coffee but less shampoo, yeah?"