[Quintet, like most cats, sleeps soundly. Unlike most cats, she also has strong social conventions about people touching her— that is to say, she would no more expect a stranger to stroke her than any other woman would expand a stranger to touch them whilst they were sleeping. So when she feels the kid's hand touch her, her first reaction is nothing so prosaic as a mrrt. In fact it goes more like—]
HOLY SHIT WHAT. [Accompanied with a desperate leap away.] Oh my god what is wrong with you?!
no subject
HOLY SHIT WHAT. [Accompanied with a desperate leap away.] Oh my god what is wrong with you?!
[Crimes indeed.]