The lady stumbled over her words, much as she stumbled over her skirts, the kneazle keeping her in its sights the entire time. “It’s not a cat.” Percy assured her, realizing belatedly that if she didn’t know what a kneazle was she probably was muggle and he likely wasn’t supposed to be telling her this. (The rules in Irvingly had always been rather muddling to Percy, personally.)

“Kneazles, are territorial,” Percy started to explain, locking eyes with the creature, “And protective.” He added as he slowly inched forward toward the creature. It was now watching him, or rather his cane. That wasn’t a good sign. Where was the shop keeper? Percy wondered, not taking his eyes off the creature. It was slowly backing up, toward its cage, that was a good thing. “Have you seen the owner?” Percy asked the woman and he continued slowly forward.