Amon’s forward progress was halted by a bandied orange cat, which had seemed to decide that it wished something from him. He stopped, not desirous of kicking or injuring the creature by mistake, and to his surprise, the woman chose to speak to him then. Perhaps it should not have surprised him; many humans were given to speaking, and no few of them chose to speak with him, but she had seemed preoccupied with the animals, and he had been inclined to simply leave.
Still, he lowered the case from his back, gently leaning it against a wall, and sank fluidly into a crouch. His bandaged arm reached behind him, intercepting the tin in its course without the need for him to look. Bringing it back around, he peeled the top back and laid the can down in front of the cat, who gave a satisfied meow and gingerly began to eat. He ran his good hand down the creature’s back, earning himself what sounded to be a half-rumbled noise of approval from the cat.
The question was phrased oddly, if he thought about it. He wasn’t sure if she was asking after the name of the instrument, or the song he’d been playing with it. He’d think it very strange indeed if a human did not know what a cello was, and yet there had been a time when he hadn’t, either. “The piece is referred to as ‘The Swan,’ by the composer Saint-Saens. It is part of a larger composition, however. It can be played on any number of instruments, but I prefer the cello for its timbre.” If there was one thing that earned more than the shortest answer possible from Amon, it was a query into music, and there was no particularly modern vocabulary to stumble over, so the sentence was fluent, velvety baritones and no unwieldy stuttering.
”This cat is named for a fish,” he continued, his brow furrowing slightly, as if with confusion, and he turned his head slightly so that he was making eye contact directly with the woman, still bent at the knees so as to be close to the ground. ”Why?” He knew that humans tended to keep pets and name them, but this was rather like naming a dog ‘turtle’ and seemed only to confuse the matter.
The fact that he was having this conversation at all was a bit surreal, if Amon were being honest with himself. When he talked with anyone aside from the old woman at the shop, or her, so long ago, it was always about business. This was decidedly not, and it left him somewhat unsure of what to say, or do. The cat named like a fish, who had by this time eaten until he was full, demanded further ministrations by shoving his head into Amon’s imperfect hand, apparently unbothered by it. Ah, but of course. Animals never were; it was as though they understood that he was nothing to fear. Death was part of the natural order of things, and though animals sought to preserve their lives, they did not fear him as men did. He complied with the wordless demand, adjusting his fingers to rub at the spot behind the cat’s left ear. A thrumming purr signaled Tuna’s approval, and something about Amon’s posture relaxed, just a little, a few of the ever-present lines of tension receding from his face, softening his flinty stare.