there’s the slightest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips when he says it ------ at least, there is at first, the charm of having momentarily baffled her fading somewhere in the third or fourth sentence of her analysis of cats as a gateway drug. he’s about to start tuning her out, about to reach into his pocket for the deck of cards he keeps there, when she finally catches on. he rolls his eyes then, letting the long-suffering sigh of a man at least twice his age break loose of him and shooting her a look that’s equal parts disappointed, superior, and bemused ( thanks to merritt, it’s a expression he’s perfected ).