Doc darted away when Boris moved, eyeing the otter narrowly and lashing her tail. When Boris made no further moves, she deigned to creep back, headbutting Jarvis’ hand insistently and offering a tiny, squeaky meow.
“It’s all posturing,” Jarvis assured the cat, his tone mildly conspiratorial. He resumed petting her, scratching her chin. “He’s harmless as long as you aren’t something small and shiny.” Evidently, even the (former) computer was not immune to talking to the animals.
Well, Doc was small, but she was definitely not shiny. She was sleek and dark, with a few pale spots turning her coat calico. Green-gold eyes peered up at Jarvis, occasionally flicking over to check on Boris. She tipped her chin up, eyes slitting almost closed, and began to purr loudly.