Fisher wasn't a cat person. Nor was he a dog person, a child person, a people person. He didn't much care for anything that looked to him for any source of dependence. He was learning to live with certain people- like James, Devon (kind of), probably Cissy's baby, and now Will. But he never reached out and sought after anyone.
Heading right for his alcohol supply, Fisher had grabbed the scotch and was on his way back to Will when he just had to stop, staring at the angel with his mouth hanging open in a confused smirk. "Little biddy kitty?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What in the hell did you drink down there?"