Bannock sniffed the cat, but mainly out of courtesy. The barn cat curled a lip, hissed in a sort of subdued manner, and arched its back. Bannock had seen this crap before, and knew it was a bluff. He shook his head at the cat, growled once, and let her know her head would be breakfast if she didn't stop acting like a twit. The cat, dignity intact, turned and started investigating other parts of the room with great interest, thinking about it.

The stranger stepped in and closed the door, hauling in his big Dreadnought case, and stamped the dust off his boots. Looked like there was a dress code. Hell. He hoped no-one pretty was gonna be there.