[ The Cat accepts the raised hand, rubbing his whiskers once against the sharp angle of Charles' knuckle before gently nipping at it with his smaller teeth - not enough to hurt, but enough to be a playful warning. Be careful what beasts you try to pet, and all. He wonders if Charles has ever paid the price for this kind of blind trust that animals will accept a soft hand if it's offered with patience... Or if his annoyingly charming face served him well even in that regard. ]

No, you're not. Kind of the rebellious type, but you probably figured that out from the way you're dressed, right? No respectable teenager has patches on their coat.

[ Probably a wild generalisation, but the Cat doesn't need to know Charles inside and out to know that he was the type to buck the trend. It's probably why he works so well with Edwin, after all; one of them rigid and the other fluid, making for a perfect team. Ugh, it's so gross how made for each other they are. But he's not thinking about that, is he? It makes him feel weird. Even though, technically, he's doing all he can to keep Charles safe while he waits for more information about what's happened to the ghost boys. ]

Besides, I don't think there'd be any appeal in seeing you bow. [ He focuses back in on the boy under his paws, curling his tail in to play cheekily at the slope of his cheek, tickling under his nose, as he lowers his voice to murmur through a purr into his ear: ] I'd prefer to see you on your knees.