Will was right, for the most part. If Fisher had really hated having the cat, he could have found several dozen people to take her off his hands. But she had become a part of his life, like Jack had become a part of his life as well. He was getting used to the cold spot in the bed and tiny teeth biting his toes through the sheets, a skinny girl who was normally wet moping about his room while a tiny black terror kneaded knots in his hair while he slept.
Taking a seat beside Will, Fisher nodded, his own eyes looking down at his lap. "Sure," he said softly. "Anytime." He felt bad for ruining Will's birthday twice now, so anything he could do to help he would.