[ The Cat notices that little flicker in Charles' smile, like a man straining from supporting a weight from caving in for much too long. He narrows his eyes a bit. No, Charles definitely isn't pranking him. That's genuine fear, a muscle-memory reaction of Charles' body responding without his brain explaining why, to the thought of someone knowing something about him without him making the decision to divulge it. The Cat can relate, but no-one has ever got close enough to him to know anything about him, so it's an unfounded fear either way. Still. Doesn't mean he doesn't see how Charles' face changes, albeit minutely. ]

Kinda. It was about... cats.

[ He scrunches up his nose a bit, then gets up off his throne and hops down off the pallet, stalking the same way an animal might stalk prey likely to startle from sudden movements — with slow, even footsteps — across to the mirror. ]

Which is odd for more than one reason. Magic doesn't work on me, so whatever's fucking with you shouldn't have any impact on me. Which means it's not magic. Or it is, but it's really really powerful. And what's more, it's aware of my connection to you.

[ He looks back at Charles, then, having seen nothing strange in the mirror just yet. ]

After all, of all the memories you have, why show me one involving cats?