Looking at Gavin, you wouldn't immediately realize that he was a pet. Like most pets, the difference between humans was subtle. His pointed cat ears typically remained flat against his head in fear, hidden by his tufted hair, and his tan tail remained tucked between his legs or wrapped around his waist.
When his keeper told Gavin that someone would be coming by to see him - possibly taking him home - he had cowered in the back of the room he was being kept in. Sure, living in the cage-like area wasn't ideal, but he knew how cruel and horrible humans were. At least he wasn't hurt here. At least he was fed. At least they left him alone. He was convinced that he'd never be swayed on the subject - humans were awful, all of them.
A few hours later, the keeper came back, and Gavin fearfully, yet obediently, followed him to a waiting room of sorts, explaining that this is where they'd be introduced. If the master liked him, they'd go home together. Gavin was shaking as he watched the door where this new person would enter.