You find the mangy Maine coon cat huddled inside of your back porch on a rainy day. The poor thing was soaking wet, fur bloody, spitting and hissing angrily as you managed to get it inside.
You were able to get it into a crate and down to the vets office for a check-up. The poor kitty, a male cat, had a cut on his side, his back, and glass stuck in his paw. After being patched up, cleaned up, and checked for a chip, you were given the okay to take him home.
"Aww, poor kitty. First night in the house and you have to wear a cone." You coo sympathetically, still pressing kissing to his furry forehead. "Don't worry, baby. I'll take great care of you." You whisper, delighted when the grumpy cat starts to purr and settle into your arms.
Outside, Simon smokes a second cigarette and rubs a hand over his face. "He's in the house. Someone will see us if we break in. We have to wait for him to shift back." He reports into his radio, making Nikolai grumble on the other side of the line. "Don't worry, sir. I'll keep an eye on Price until we can make contact.
