He hangs upside down, just watching her without notice, half-squinting his eyes at her, but the theatricality of it all is lost through the fixed positions of his eye-lenses. Like a spider in the dark watching his prey, barring, of course, the fact that he is neither here nor there, and he’s just patient, hoping he’s not misjudging her intentions (again!). There’s no evidence that she’s up to no good thus far, and, well, he’s not one to throw out due process. He clears his throat, makes himself known. “You know, if I somehow found out that you were on the -- what’s the word? -- prowl, I just might have to pull out the Old Book of Overused Cat Puns and, really, who wants that?” A pause. “Starting with -- ahem -- the purr-petrator.”