Oh he should. Just pee all along the other’s shoulder and make him regret it. Cuddles? That was the name they were giving him!? Fenris hissed at the name but tried to remain still in case he was to fall. From up this high he could only imagine the pain that would happen from it.
What he hated the most though was that the stroke to his cheek. It almost felt good… His head seemed to lean into it before once again fish was brought up. Fenris hissed and his tail smacked against the back of the mage’s head. No fish!
Encouraged when the kitten rubbed against his thumb, Anders set out to get it to purr. He scruffed its head and chin, stroked it from its forehead to the tip of its tail and scritched its back and shoulders. He had to keep one hand on it anyway. The collar on his coat was stiff and high and the material of his tunic was perfect to sink claws into, but the kitten was still vulnerable to falling and needed support.
He was surprised at how attached he’d become so quickly. The little guy was a fighter. That was probably it. “You remind me of someone, an elf named Fenris.” Anders whispered. “He and I don’t see eye to eye on anything, but he’s tough and fearless, like you. He’s very spikey. You’re much softer.”
He kept one supportive hand on the kitten when they finally found the bandits Hawke had been looking for, the whole time they fought, and petted it all the way back to his clinic in Darktown.
There, they were finally able to relax, and Anders picked the kitten off his shoulder, lay down on his cot, and put it on his tummy. The kitten probably needed a sandbox and food, but Anders wanted to take a few more minutes to get to know it. “Good boy,” he smiled. “You weathered all of that as well as Ser Pounce-a-lot used to.”