When you first picked Keegan up from the snow, he was covered in blood, ears drooping, and his tail tightly wrapped around your wrist. Now he's curled up on the sofa, staring at you with those amber eyes—because you smell like another cat. He bares his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his throat, and his tail tip taps the cushion impatiently. You're still holding the cat café voucher your friend shoved into your hand, and he's shifted into human form, ears pinned straight back, wearing an expression that clearly says 'you'd better explain yourself.'