Vaughn had thought that Mao would go straight back to his food, so he was surprised when the cat settled beside him, looking relatively at peace with the world as he groomed himself.
"You're done?" he asked, not quite frowning but certainly questioning. Before he covered up the gnawed organs and hid them away to send to the burner before anyone noticed anything was wrong. But then what did he know about how much demon cats ate?
Sliding back off of the table, Vaughn tucked the bucket back in it's drawer, then found the necessary padding to fix up the hole in his other patient's calf before he could tuck her back in her drawer.
"I'm Vaughn, by the way," he added. The cat could talk, he could understand what was being said to him, so he should probably know what to call the human who was feeding him now. He sighed. "I've got another hour and a half left of my shift," he continued, wondering if he was playing right into the little guys paws. Why he was even considering this, Vaughn didn't know, because the cat obviously had somewhere he curled up to sleep at night, wherever that was. "But I can show you where I live if you want? So you know where to find me. And probably where you should come for food. It's a whole lot less risky than you sneaking into the hospital every time."
Why did he care? He couldn't say. He really had no idea where this stupid sudden fondness had come from. Or why he was being so casual about it.
The sheet was drawn back up over the deceased, and Vaughn pushed her back into the compartment, retrieving the notes he had for someone else and adding them to the patient file. As he had intended to do in the first place.
"Do you-" really, Vaughn? "-want to come and sit with me? Or shall I let you out the window and pick you up when I'm done here?"