On that note, it’s at this point that Lambert comes back with an armful of cat, shutting the door again behind him. Catastrophe isn't pleased to be carried, obviously, as she's digging her claws hard into his arm, ears pinned back. Who knows how cat eyes can perceive the respective forms of the non-humans in the room?

“This is Catastrophe,” Lambert murmurs, taking a few steps forward before he crouches on the floor to gingerly detach the cat and let her make her own meandering way over to the fae -- assuming she isn’t directly compelled to. Time to see if they’re really as good with animals as they said. Catastrophe’s young, and eventually curiosity is enough to overtake fear. If cats truly do have nine lives, she may have lost a few by now, and it seems she’s looking to lose another. Fearless, or pretending to be, she saunters right up to the table and meows once, inquisitively, before flopping on the ground and staring up expectantly.

In the meantime Lambert, sporting a few new scratches along his cheek and along his jaw, is going to take this opportunity to go through the paperwork and make sure everything’s in order. The handwriting is deplorable, but not the worst he's seen.