Patient until the last slippery tail tip of the cat sloughs past the door, Fitcher snips the narrow gap shut after her with a soft click of the latch and a perfunctory, "Mind your manners."

And then returns to bed directly. The housecoat comes with despite the radiant heat left in the light blankets and his nakedness. She is mindful of all its edges as folds in to sit beside alongside where he is prone and has no qualms about trading the prospect of sticky nearness for fetching a comb from the side table with which to tame her hair for braiding.

But for good measure while she works: Fitcher throws a leg over his. Cuddling.