“Your cat,” says Jasper very, very calmly, which means that he’s either very, very pissed or very, very amused.
Phil raises an eyebrow as acknowledgement. “Your cat just terrorised an entire office of junior agents today.”
Phil finally looks up, and lets out an ungainly snort. Clint is perched on the top of Jasper’s bald head, happily flicking his tail back and forth. Jasper is somehow ignoring him, which gives him many points in Phil’s book. “An entire office?” He prompts.
“There they are, chipping away at their paperwork, or at least pretending to, when there is a hollow thunk that resonates around the room,” says Jasper, deadpan. He’s very good at storytelling.
“Followed by a loud hiss, there’s this horrible crunch and then a very smug ‘miaow’ that roils across the room. Guns were drawn.”
Phil considers the story for a moment and hazards a guess. “The ventilation shafts?”
“The ventilation shafts,” confirms Jasper as Clint leaps off his head, limps around the computer monitor in his casts and proudly deposits a mostly intact mouse on Phil’s mousepad.
The overriding thought running through Phil’s mind right now is that Jasper’s just had a dead mouse on his head for at least five minutes. He’s taking it very well.
“Good boy,” he tells Clint quite seriously, and tries to remember which form he needs to requisition a bottle of disinfectant.
no subject
“Your cat,” says Jasper very, very calmly, which means that he’s either very, very pissed or very, very amused.
Phil raises an eyebrow as acknowledgement. “Your cat just terrorised an entire office of junior agents today.”
Phil finally looks up, and lets out an ungainly snort. Clint is perched on the top of Jasper’s bald head, happily flicking his tail back and forth. Jasper is somehow ignoring him, which gives him many points in Phil’s book. “An entire office?” He prompts.
“There they are, chipping away at their paperwork, or at least pretending to, when there is a hollow thunk that resonates around the room,” says Jasper, deadpan. He’s very good at storytelling.
“Followed by a loud hiss, there’s this horrible crunch and then a very smug ‘miaow’ that roils across the room. Guns were drawn.”
Phil considers the story for a moment and hazards a guess. “The ventilation shafts?”
“The ventilation shafts,” confirms Jasper as Clint leaps off his head, limps around the computer monitor in his casts and proudly deposits a mostly intact mouse on Phil’s mousepad.
The overriding thought running through Phil’s mind right now is that Jasper’s just had a dead mouse on his head for at least five minutes. He’s taking it very well.
“Good boy,” he tells Clint quite seriously, and tries to remember which form he needs to requisition a bottle of disinfectant.