"Great, thank you," she says, her voice small. Tallisibeth wants to say the cap is cute or point out the orange cat is angry but he probably knows both already. A foam cat is drowning in her coffee. She wonders that the constantly aggravated-looking librarian knows how to make this kind of thing. Maybe there's a trick to it? She should have looked at his nametag this time.

The cat settles. Tallisibeth stirs up her coffee and destroys the art before tasting it. The barista-librarian has his own stuff to do, and she starts to relax and run the comb along the back of the cat's neck. She looked things up, and apparently cats don't like too much full-body stroking. This one acts like he enjoys the contact. "Please don't actually be a werecat," she says under her breath, not expecting or getting an answer.

After a few minutes, the cockatiel up on the highest point in the room starts to sing, whistling a merry tune. Almost as one the waking cats in the room look up and around. Tallisibeth spelled her familiar so cats can't see or smell her, but she left off sound.