In the many years Jett had been working at JW Antiques, he really should have learned not to expect anything. Lazily he strolled in, perhaps a bit lethargic given his lack of sleep. He'd come from a class, bag slung over his shoulder and coffee in hand. Jacoby had been exceptionally busy of late, and while the man usually seemed so open and chatty, he'd been burying himself in his work more and more.

Not that Jett was one to criticize; he'd been doing the same thing—only with his 'other' job.

He'd just had enough time to close the door behind him when he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. Habit had him jerk his head to spot it, but by the time he'd focused his eyes, there was nothing.

Jett was not one to consider that he'd lost his marbles, so instead of doubting that he'd seen something, he pursed his lips lightly and narrowed his eyes, scanning the room suspiciously. For a good few seconds, he stayed like that, just watching, before he simply shook his head and went to drop his things off.

There was a thunk from Jacoby's office, so he knew the man was here. "Sounds like you're doing heavy living in there," he called, just loud enough to be heard as he shrugged the bag off his shoulders. He might gripe about having to carry obscenely heavy loads, though with his boss's back pains, Jacoby had been under strict orders from the doctor to take it easy.

There was a sheepish laughter from the room. "Not me!" the man countered, though Jett could only shake his head. "If you need something, I told you I'd get it. I'm here now. What are you up to?"

"Reorganizing." The man, looking as plump and ruddy cheeked as ever, grinned at Jett from behind his very thick glasses. The lenses magnified his eyes, and more than a few times Jett had related him to a frog.

"Yeaaaah," Jett drawled, looking around. The place looked the same as yesterday—almost. He couldn’t place it, but something seemed out of place. Something didn't belong. "You get a new box in or something?"

"Oh, no—no," Jacoby replied, removing his glasses and lifting the hem of his shirt just slightly to wipe them clean. While Jett wasn't sure just what he'd been doing, he didn't miss the fact that when Jacoby dropped his shirt to return his glasses to his face, dust was clinging to the fabric. "That was just some personal affects—nothing to worry about," the older man continued, scanning the room as if looking for something.

Jett instinctively followed, though when he saw nothing of interest, glanced back to the shorter male. "…Kay," he concluded, figuring he just needed more sleep. "Well," he started, turning to go behind the desk. "I'm going to work on updating the online catalog unless you have something else in mind."

"Oh—no, that sounds perfect. Yes, thank you. I tried doing it earlier, but—you know," Jacoby offered in explanation. He didn't need to elaborate; the man was lucky he knew how to operate a telephone, much less a complicated machine like a computer. Unfortunately, Jett was only just a little better at dealing with computers than his boss. At least he could type.

Jett's response was a little nose of affirmation and a nod; he clicked on the laptop and went to pull up their latest spreadsheets when he heard something. The strangest little thump—too quiet to be Jacoby, but too loud to be nothing.

He glanced up, even as he was reaching down to lift his bag. He fished through his backpack, pulling out his reading glasses while still scanning the room.

Jett wasn't sure if he should be surprised or disappointed when he found nothing there, but more suspicious than before, it was harder to tear his eyes away from the room. Casually he slipped on the reading glasses before forcing himself to look at the spreadsheet.

Jacoby had typed a few things in—which Jett shouldn't have minded, except the male always worked in some strange, incomprehensible manner that completely went against Jett's system. Sans an exasperated sigh, Jett didn't even bother to chastise. He just wanted to bury himself in his work and distract himself from the strange tingle running down his spine.

Four more times was his suspicion aroused before he finally caught a solid, definite glimpse of something small, something furry, and something moving. He'd seen it out of the corner of his eye as it bolted from under a piece of furniture to another.

He stood up instantly, removing the glasses and discarding them.

Rats, in an antique store, were never a good sign.

"Hey, Jack," he said, walking to the office. "I need a trap."

"Mouse trap?" Jacoby asked from his desk. He was tinkering with some odd, rusty little trinket that looked like some miniature medieval torture device. "Did you see a mouse?" His expression took on a solemn gaze. "—Or did you need a bigger trap?"

"Bigger," Jett concluded. Just to be on the safe side. He didn't need to know where the traps were; he'd set enough in his time here to know where they were kept. Moving to the shelf, he opened the box they stored an array of traps in, fishing out a decent sized one.

"Wait—are you sure? Where did you see it?" Jack challenged, rising from his seat. He deposited his tools atop his desk, mindful not to damage the odd little device.

"In the front, under the vanity by the door. Why?" he asked; if they stood around talking, it wasn't going to be there for very long.

"Oh, well it's just. I'd better come have a look," Jacoby said, sounding rather knowing. Jett wasn't one to question him when he got that tone, though partially suspected the man was just going senile.

"By all means," Jett answered indifferently, gesturing for Jacoby to lead the way. He held the trap in one hand, waving it like a small fan as he followed his boss. He wanted to protest when Jacoby hustled over to the vanity and very carefully dropped to his knees. While Jacoby was still healthy, he was not as young and spry as Jett was—and was probably doing more damage to himself than anything. But he didn't stop at just dropping to his knees—he knelt, too, craning his neck and head so that his ear was pressed against the floor so that he could get a proper look under the piece.

"Oh—oh, no, Jett," he said, a tone of amusement and seriousness in his voice.

"No, what?" Jett asked, brow raising. He watched as Jacoby sat up and shoved his hand into his pocket. He just looked up at Jett and smiled without offering any explanation. He fished out a few things from his pocket—a cough drop, two paperclips, some weirdly cut pieces of paper and, most importantly, a ribbon.

Jett couldn't tell what was so significant about the ribbon, though Jacoby's face lit up and he eagerly shoved the rest of the garbage back into his pocket before straightening out the string. He held it between his thumb and index finger, dangling it until it uncoiled. He wriggled it, making the ribbon dance before he dropped the tip of it onto the floor and dragged it.

"—I'm not sure that's how you catch a rodent," Jett protested, confused and annoyed at his boss's frivolities. They'd probably both have the black plague by this time tomorrow, which was seriously going to cut into his late night rendezvous.

There was a bit of movement—a tiny little limb, at first. And then suddenly a tiny ball of fur leapt and slid out from under the vanity, clearly enamored with the ribbon.

"We're not trying to catch a rodent," Jacoby said with that smug, humored tone he liked to use when he was teaching Jett something. "This is a cat."

"I can see that," Jett replied, obvious disdain in his voice as he watched the orange and white creature run in circles around the ribbon. It hadn't quite grasped the concept of 'always stay on your feet' and, when Jacoby wriggled the ribbon, dropped to its back and tried to wrap it's little arms around the purple fabric. "…What is it doing here?" he challenged.

"Oh, I found her." Jacoby sounded all too pleased with himself. "Early this morning. There was a rain shower, she was out there all by herself. On the doorstep. Just sitting there, like she was waiting to be let in. I couldn’t just leave her out there, you know."

"Yes, you could have. There is such a thing as outside cats," Jett argued, taking a step back from the creature. He'd have rather it be a rat than that abominable creature.

Jacoby scoffed. He had not yet taken his eyes off the cat since it had darted from beneath the vanity. "She doesn't have a name yet."

"And she shouldn't get one. You can't keep her in here," Jett said, offering an almost exasperated argument.

"Why not? I think she'd fit in just fine here. She could even keep you company. Make you a little less grumpy, right?"

It was Jett's turn to scoff. It didn't matter if Jacoby was his boss; they had been on friendly enough terms for years now that he'd always felt as though he could speak his opinion. Not that Jett had ever been good at censoring himself if in a situation he disagreed with. "No," he said stubbornly. "She'll make a mess of the place, tear it all up. And food? Food will attract rats. And you don't want customers smelling the litter box, do you?"

Jacoby could have retaliated with some snarky comment, or chastised his employee for speaking out of line, though instead he just laughed. They were all valid concerns, though he was older and wiser than Jett—and had already considered all of them. "She's behaved so far, hasn't she? She hasn't torn anything up, she just likes hiding under the furniture. And laying on the desk. Just give her a ribbon and she's totally harmless. And as for food and litter—I'll keep them in my office and clean them out every night before I leave."

"No," Jett said again, though was only using it as a place holder to try and develop a better argument. "—She can't stay here at night, she could break everything."

"Of course not—I'll take her back with me to my house. She liked car rides, we went out to get lunch together." Jacoby just wore a coy smile, as though challenging Jett to get more creative with his arguments.

The kitten, while energetic, seemed not necessarily to be losing interest, but to be losing consciousness. Her little paws twitched as she tried to grab the ribbon and chew it to pieces, but her eyes just wouldn't seem to stay closed.

"She'll chase away the customers."

"Everyone loves kittens, Jett. Only soulless people with little black hearts detest kittens."

Jett's eyes narrowed and he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at the kitten, whose mouth was as open as its eyes were closed. It looked like an uncomfortable position, but she seemed totally content in it. "…I still think it's a bad idea," Jett said, reluctant to admit that he couldn't come up with another argument against keeping her.

"Well, I think it's a good idea. I like her. Besides," Jacoby smiled as he stood, pocketing the ribbon. The kitten cracked an eye, watching as the man stood. She didn't bother to even close her mouth as she watched him. "When she gets a little bigger, she can save us from any mean old rats. It's a good investment. We'll never need another rat trap again. Now," he gestured towards the desk. "Go back to work. I don't pay you to argue with me."

While his boss was teasing—clearly the words had been in good humor—Jett still knew that the conversation was over. Jett huffed, though made his way back to his desk, shaking his head. "You'll regret her," he pointed out, unable to resist getting in the last word.

"Regret? Nooo," Jacoby cooed, kneeling down to pet the kitten's head. "How could anyone regret a kitten?"

Jett glanced up, prepared to list all the reasons why cat's were devil-spawn when Jacoby added, "That was rhetorical. Kittens are one of the five best things in the world. Besides—what antique store doesn't keep a cat?"

Jett bit his tongue, argument dying on his lips. He could ignore the cat and try to get back to work—and that was exactly what he intended to do, until he locked eyes with the creature.

He didn't know how well cats could express emotions, but that cat was smirking at him.