And he can get fed as a pigeon, pretty damn reliably, if he knows where to go in the early afternoons.

Trouble steals half of the brown-and-white pigeon's cracker, hops closer, and coos.

"Hi theeeeere, little chatty one, coo to you too, share with your friends, huh? And I can't take one of you guys home, for one thing you'd never let me catch you, I'm the pigeon equivalent of a scary walking talking vending machine, right, for another Dad thinks you carry diseases, which, if you do, guys, stop, make sure you're getting regular checkups at the vet, take your meds, wash your feet before you have dinner, get your flu shots. And so Mom says I can get a cat. I bet you guys don't like cats, huh? I bet cats are way scarier than the walking talking vending machine. They do no vending. Cats all flunk out of vending school."

"I mean cats are pretty and soft and all but they aren't lovey, they won't act like the whole world is brighter and better and more full of rainbows just 'cause you came home, you know? Dogs are friendly, I want a puppy who'll love me and not just - well, no offense, but just think I'm a vending machine. A mutt'd be fine. With two different colored ears. Something from the shelter, pay them for its shots, name it, I dunno, Kendall? I like Kendall for a puppy. I think it works for a girl or a boy."

"You are super chatty, you," she says, tossing a cracker at him in particular. "Trying to convince me to try to pick you up being all fluffy and coo-y and cute. I know better, if I lunge at one of you nobody else'll get close enough to take the crackers for like half an hour."

Trouble endeavours to catch the cracker in his beak, misses, and pecks it off the ground.

The girl giggles. "Ain't nothing in the rules that says a pigeon can't play fetch," she chuckles to herself and to the congregated pigeons.

She has waited patiently for them. "Anyway, enough about me and my wanting a dog, you're probably all super bored by, um, the fact that my gibberish has the same syllable in it a whole lot, in which case you're probably having more trouble with the fact that I say pronouns and 'the' and whatnot most sentences, but I'm going to just ignore that since I don't actually have anything else to say about wanting a dog. Pretty simple. Rhea wants a puppy, what else is new. Well, what else is new is I work at the paintball place now, which pays for crap but I get to play free rounds of paintball now and then so that's excellent, yeah. If that hot guy who's probably gay and has the membership ever randomly kisses me I can be all smooth and tell him 'taste the rainbow'. Except no, that's incredibly stupid and also implies that I don't shower after games, thank you for steering me away from that stupid line, helpful pigeons, I will not refer to Skittles advertisements if the probably gay guy kisses me. I'll say something more like, 'I totally thought you were gay'. Is that offensive? I feel like it might be. Man, what is the appropriate thing to say, though?"

Well, Trouble would just say it. He's tempted to give her advice. He coos and wanders hopefully closer instead. He is a chatty pigeon. Also hungry.

The girl, whose name is plausibly Rhea, dispenses crackers. "I guess telling him I thought he was gay implies that I gave the question thought? Is that flattering? Maybe it's flattering if you think about it but I dunno if he'd do that, basically all I know about him is he's hot and likes paintball and is probably gay, and given he's probably gay I should probably not dwell on what I'd do if he did something even most straight dudes do not do. Actually, literally no straight guys have ever decided to spontaneously kiss me unless you count elementary school. What do you think, pigeons, does Valentine's day in third grade count?" She shakes her head. "Nah. And I had a boyfriend for like a month last year but that doesn't count as spontaneous even if it counts as kissing, y'know?"

Trouble coos agreeably. She's adorable.

"Chatterbox," she accuses. "Chatterbird. What kind of box chatters? I've never seen one do it. Maybe it's a metaphor for television. Saturday Night Live was pretty good the other day. Poor pigeons, you probably can't watch TV, even if you sat on the right windowsills people would change the channel without ever offering you the remote and it'd just be frustrating."

He can't resist; he bobs his head, very pigeonly. And then eats a cracker.

Rhea laughs. "Man, if I ever get a puppy I'll take it to the park with me, and then I'll miss you guys. Still want the puppy, though. Priorities. I mean, talking to your dog, little wacko. Talking to the pigeons, a little more, you know?"

Coo coo. Yeah, she's totally wacko, but it's a good kind of wacko and Trouble approves.

"I wonder if dogs actually would chase pigeons? I know they go after squirrels. Dunno if a puppy would actually harass you. I bet you wouldn't give it a chance to make friends though."

Trouble checks for stray bits of cracker on the ground. Ooh, there's one!

Rhea upends the sleeve of crackers. Crumbs go flying. "That's all I've got for today, featherdusters. After this I flunk out of vending school and go learn to be an electrician."

This time, Trouble actually manages to catch a flying crumb in midair. He gulps it down and struts in a proud circle.

"You're a cutie, chatterbird. If I thought I could catch you I'd put a string around your leg. It'd be very fashionable and I'd know which one you were later."

He coos.

Rhea crumples up the cracker wrapper. "Soooo tempted to be a litterbug, they need to put more trash cans in this park," she sighs, "but probably some little birdy would choke on it looking for more crackers and then I would feel bad and also dead birds attract flies and flies are not at all cute and feathery. Tomorrow's menu is day-old bagels," she adds.

Volunteering to throw out her trash for her would not be appropriate pigeonly behaviour, he's pretty sure. Even though he is immensely cute. Trouble wanders in aimless circles instead, keeping close to Rhea, because his pigeon brain thinks that hanging around where there has just been food is an awesome idea. And, really, he can't argue with it.

Rhea walks aaaaall the way to a trash can, and throws out the cracker wrapper, and heads out of the park.

She doesn't seem to be on the lookout for pigeon stalkers. She has a mile and a half walk home, which she spends humming, kicking small rocks, picking at a ragged spot on her pants pocket, and stopping for an ice cream cone from a passing truck, which she pays for entirely in dimes. She lives in a small apartment building; Trouble will not have a problem learning the code to get in the gate, if he wants it, though flying over would also be pretty easy.

She shows up a little later on this day, with day-old bagels in sesame and pumpernickel, methodically shredding them as she approaches her bench. "Hey, guys, the auditions for Les Miserables are a few blocks west, all I have is bread," she says when she sits down and starts scattering. "Bread and my charming conversation, but we all know what you're really here for, right? So guys, what is the consensus among pigeons about how long teenage girls should be allowed to spend on the phone, because an hour is not a lot of time if you have, you know, friends."

Trouble coos sympathetically and pecks up some fragments of bagel.

"So my dad made me hang up on Lauren. Midsentence. I was wrapping up, but two minutes isn't a lot of warning. And I wasn't allowed to call her this morning so I bet she's mad at me."

Rhea's dad sounds like kind of a dick! Trouble eats bagel parts and listens.

"Which'd be one thing if he was ever like 'Rhea, you have a job now, chip in for the phone bill' but he never even asked me, just thinks it's bad for me to spend so much time on the phone. He completely approves of me walking to the park and conversing with birds, that's fine, that's getting fresh air, but actual socializing with humans is going to turn me into a pumpkin because there's electronics involved?"

Coo coo. Not cool, Rhea's dad.

"And I don't think Mom cares as much but she's all, present a united front, so that's the rule even when he's out at work. He's better about it during the school year at least because then I could be calling about homework or something."

What a pair of assholes. Trouble eats some more bagel crumbs.

"But they said for my birthday we can go to Disneyland, so that's good! I can't fly like you guys, see, so I have to settle for roller coasters."

Trouble coos. Smugly.

"I like Six Flags better actually, more intense coasters, but Disneyland's more a special occasion thing. They kind of put the theme in theme park awfully intensely. Mouse ears everywhere. Dad calls you guys flying mice. I wonder if you'd get along with mice if you met mice? You could be all enemy-of-my-enemy with cats, anyway."

Trouble wonders what being a mouse is like. If he sees one, he can find out! Maybe he'll hunt one down as a kitty. That sounds like a good use of his time.

"I'm so gripey with you guys sometimes, you'd think nothing neat went on in my life," Rhea sighs. "It's easier to find people to talk about the nice stuff with. But who wants to hear me whining that Dad doesn't let me talk on the phone or that I wish I had a little brother or that I took a paintball to the forehead yesterday and it kind of really hurt? You don't care as long as I show up with food, I can respect that kind of arrangement. Bagel bits for everybody."

Speaking of which, nom nom.

"I can't actually stay too long today," sighs Rhea, "I picked today to go to the library and get my summer reading books, the only reason I'm here in the first place was because here's on the way to the library. When you guys finish the bagels that's it for today, maybe tomorrow too."

Trouble coos.

Rhea is quiet while she shreds the rest of the bagel, and then says, "Hmm," and then lunges from the bench, arms outstretched for an attempt at pigeon-catching.

She scoops him up, and laughs, and pets him. "Gotcha," she giggles. "Oooh, you are soft. I probably shouldn't hold onto you too long, you'll poop on me."

Trouble coos when petted, and investigates her fingers with his beak, in case they are made of bread. They are not! But you never know.

"Aww, you're not even scared of me. Unless you're trying to pull my fingers off, but you are really bad at it if you are. You will probably poop on me anyway, though." She pets him again and sets him down.

He coos again, pecks her shoe (which is also not made of bread, but you can't blame him for trying) and flutters off.

Rhea heads out of the park, skipping a little every few steps.

Well, apparently she was telling the truth about the library. She goes into it and comes out of it with four books half an hour later.

That's a start. Trouble keeps watching.

Rhea walks back to the apartment complex, on the way attempting to open one of the books to read and dropping the other three. She collects them back up, smooths a blank page, and tries again with more success, and reads two chapters of The Scarlet Letter on her way back to her apartment.

This time, he does try to locate her window.

She doesn't have a very big window, but it's a window, on the third floor with a tree that offers a view in. She has a hammock in her room. She flops into it and reads, having obtained a banana on her way through the rest of the apartment.

She gets bored of the book about halfway through. She turns on some music, which he can't really hear from the tree, and starts dancing.

How is she so great.

Awwww. Her small feathery observer continues to be entranced.

Book, book, book. She gets through another half an hour of reading before she locates a Gameboy (a generation out of date) and starts playing something on it. The screen's pretty tiny.

That's okay. He's not here to watch her play video games; he's here to make sure she isn't carrying any alien parasites.

Well, the video games occupy her and/or any alien parasites she may or may not be harboring for a couple of hours, and then she looks at the clock, swears loudly, and picks up her book again. This time she finishes it, although she's turning pages fast enough that it looks like she's skimming. Then she goes out of the room and comes back with a bowl of steaming soup. She eats a spoonful, burns her mouth, blows on each future spoonful before eating it, and leaves the bowl on her nightstand with two glasses and a plate that have also been abandoned there. Then she goes and comes back with a Fudgesicle and the comics section of the newspaper.

Yeah, Trouble definitely doesn't think she has a Yeerk. But he is going to make sure.

After she has finished her Fudgesicle, she leaves the room again and comes back with a phone handset. She talks with varying audibility to three different people in sequence until her dad comes home. He opens her door to ask her what she had for dinner, finds the answer satisfactory, asks how her summer reading is going, finds that answer satisfactory too, and says she can have another half an hour on the phone. She takes forty-five minutes and then protests when her father takes the phone handset away.

Trouble is getting pretty good at demorphing on the roof and coming back in the minimum possible amount of time.

She opens the window, paints her nails robin's-egg blue, attempts to play her video game with her foot while her nails dry, closes the window when she no longer needs the ventilation, and then changes for bed.

(Trouble declines to watch that last thing.)

If he comes back a couple minutes later, she will be in pink pajamas with a red swirl pattern, flopping into her hammock for the night. (There is also a bed in the room, but seeing as it's neatly made, it doesn't seem she uses it.)

Flop. Eyes closed. She gets up a minute later when her dad yells to ask if she brushed her teeth, and comes back, presumably with cleaner teeth, after that. This time she is not disturbed.

He waits for a a while, to make sure, and then tucks himself into a corner of the roof for the night.

If she sneaks out of the apartment building to disgorge a brainslug during the night, she does not do so in a way that disturbs Trouble!

She is still sleeping.

Yeah, he figured.

He watches her extremely consistently. If he didn't he'd just have to do this all over again.

And in the evening she goes to bed. Well, to hammock.

Rhea sleeps. In the morning, after seeing her parents off to work and adding an empty bowl of cornflakes to her dish graveyard, she, er. Might want some privacy, which she thinks she has.

He doesn't watch her do that, either.

Her chatty pigeon buddy is there! Coo coo.

Rhea feeds him and all the other pigeons, who have mostly forgiven her for the earlier lunge-and-capture.

Her tortilla chips are tasty. She is very forgiven.

She talks about the movie (she liked it) and about how she would like more shifts at the paintball place for the extra cash but she likes having free time too and about how her parents aren't that bad really but she cannot keep track of Mom's work schedule and about how they are out of Fudgesicles.

Trouble coos a lot.

She runs out of chips. She goes home. She reads three pages and then dances to her music instead.

She is really great. And totally not a Controller. But he's going to check anyway.

That evening she has a paintball game. Her team wins! She gets paint on her anyway and has to take a shower.

Showering is among the things Trouble does not watch her do.

Trouble leaves another note on Bella's couch, assuring her that he has survived another day, and then he goes to sleep on Rhea's roof and checks once or twice in the night to make sure she is still in hammock.

Very likely that she got up to pee. Comparatively unlikely that she is just coming back from a trip to a Yeerk pool.

And then she is back in hammock, fast asleep.

And then Trouble is back on roof, likewise.

And in the morning she staffs the paintball place for the morning, and then gets curry for lunch and only eats half her naan, and brings it to her pigeon friends.

Coo coo.

"Hi, featherdusters," she says. "Indian food today! Are there pigeons in India? Maybe there's a different kind or something."

Trouble walks right up to her to grab a crumb that fell at her feet.

"Man, you guys are like, flying, warmblooded goldfish, you do not even slightly remember that I grabbed one of you the other day."

"My shoe is not made of carbs, birdy."

<How do you know?>

Rhea sits up, looking around in confusion, although to her credit she does not kick any of the birds.

<Nope, down here,> he says, cooing.

<Talking pigeon is what,> Trouble says cheerfully. <Hi.>

"So you're like - a wosscalled, a pooka or something?"

<I dunno, what's a pooka?>

"I think they're supposed to turn into horses? They're a kind of fairy."

<I have never turned into a horse.>

"Well why not?"

<Pigeons are less conspicuous,> he suggests. <And I've never felt like it.>

"You're pretty inconspicuous. How long have I been feeding you bread now? I can't tell you guys apart except for ones with unusual colors."

<A few days. I'm the chatty one you caught the other day.>

"Oh my god, I just grabbed and petted a talking pigeon?"

<I kind of maybe let you,> he admits.

"Why?"

<Because you're really cute,> he sighs, and steps closer on the bench to nibble a bit of naan out of her hand.

She eeps and giggles when he eats from her hand. "A talking pigeon thinks I'm cute. I'm having a really, weird dream."

"Well, but a dream talking pigeon would say that, too."

<Okay, but it's broad daylight, you didn't just fall asleep in the park, if you're dreaming now then when did you start?>

"Goooood question. Huh. Okay. Why does a talking pigeon think I'm cute and want to talk to me? Have you got a name?"

<Kinda sorta,> he says. <Might be a bad idea to use it, though, what with the 'in hiding' thing.>

"Okay, what about a nickname, I can't really just keep calling you 'talking pigeon'?"

"I seem to be going with 'talking pigeon' so far, what am I gonna do, use my prospective puppy name on you, what if I actually get a puppy?"

<Nah, I don't think I wanna be a Kendall,> he says. <And I've never been a puppy, either. I've been a kitty! A soft fluffy kitty cat.> He coos.

Rhea laughs helplessly.

<They can too love you like you're made of sunshine,> he adds.

"Maybe if you're being them! Regular cats are just kinda 'oh you exist'."

<Cats are like people; they won't love you just because you're there,> he explains. <They need to get to know you first, and then they might not like you. But I like almost everybody, so I'm the cuddliest kitty imaginable.>

"Well, I still want a puppy. I don't want to get a kitten that might decide it doesn't like me and then have to either keep an animal that won't love me or give it back to the shelter."

Trouble coos, nibbles up the last bit of bread, and hops onto her knee.

"Can I pet you?"

<Yep!>

Pet pet pet pet!

Trouble has soft pettable feathers. And he coos a lot. <Aww, snuggly,> he says happily.

"You're the best pigeon."

<You are pretty great yourself!>

"Yeah, but I'm not a pigeon. I'm completely not thinking of any good talking pigeon names, by the way."

<How about bad talking pigeon names?>

"Iago."

<...That's kind of brilliant, I love you,> he giggles.

"You're a very forward talking pigeon, Iago."

<Yeah, well, you're just really lovable.>

Pet pet. "And here I thought all the birds just put up with me for my bread."

<I can get bread lots of places, but only one of them comes with such adorable chattering.>

"Oh my god, a person has been listening to me talk about random crap, that's actually kind of embarrassing."

<Awwwwwww, but it's so great,> he says, cooing. <You're so great.>

"You are a very flattering talking pigeon. I bet you get all the talking pigeon girls."

He giggles. <How do you know the talking pigeon girls are who I'm after?>

"Who else? Talking kittycat girls? Like the ones at anime conventions!"

<I'm an extremely bisexual talking pigeon, is what I'm trying to get at here,> he snorts.

"A bisexual talking pigeon. Extremely, even. Well, sure, but are the boy talking pigeons as susceptible to flattery?"

<I get as many boy talking pigeons as I do girl ones!>

"How many talking pigeons are there, anyhow?"

<Some. Maybe just one,> he says. <Maybe I'm lonely and have imaginary friends. Or maybe I'm in hiding and can't talk about who I know in case you get grabbed by an evil cult that's interested in talking pigeons.>

"Evil anti talking pigeon cult. So is this the part where tomorrow I meet a talking raven that tells me you're up to no good and then I have to choose sides and find a magic sword and fulfill a prophecy? Because I'm so there, let's do it."

He giggles. <Sorry, I'm all out of magic swords,> he says, peck-nibbling her fingers affectionately.

"Okay, but seriously, is a cult gonna grab me, I'm not actually there for that."

<You are not in any more danger of getting grabbed by a cult than you were last week. Also, if you were thinking of joining The Sharing, don't. Evil cult.>

"The vaguely Scoutingish people who have all those barbecues?"

<'Fraid so.>

"Man, it's never the Sharing in movies, it's always the Freemasons."

<Well, the Freemasons have been around for longer,> he points out. <And as far as I know they're not an evil cult. Making movies about how an actual secret evil cult is secretly an evil cult is probably not a good move.>

"Ooh, good point. Probably that way lies kidnappings and blackmail and stuff. Um, how serious are you about them being a cult?"

<Really, really serious,> he says, really really seriously.

"Why, what do they do?"

<Some really bad shit. You're probably safer not knowing the details for now.>

"If I meet a talking raven and the talking raven tells me more stuff I will be totally tempted to use my magic sword in the service of Team Raven," she warns.

<Yeah, I wouldn't blame you,> he says, cooing softly.

"Hey, how do you coo and talk at the same time?"

<I'm not talking in, like, out-loud words, is how.>

"Can't you?"

<Make human sounds with a pigeon beak? Nope.>

"Do you sometimes be a human?"

<Sometimes, yeah.>

"Like it's a hobby."

<Well, y'know, I am in hiding. Humans are way harder to hide. They're bigger, they eat more, they can't fly...>

"Oh man, flying, what's flying like, is it like in dreams?"

<Nah. It's way cooler,> he says. <Harder, but cooler.>

"Eee," she squirms. "At some point do you offer to turn me into a pigeon pooka if I give you my soul or something?"

<I am absolutely never gonna offer you anything in exchange for your soul.>

"That's good, 'cause that'd be a hard one, flying or my soul."

<I'd totally take flying,> Trouble says cheerfully. <Lucky me, I don't have to pick!>

"So you have a soul, then, I didn't think pookas were supposed to."

<Well, I'm not a pooka, am I?>

"I dunno what you are, talking shapeshifting pigeon."

<I'm soft and pettable!> He coos and gazes up at her with pigeony adoration.

She snorts. She pets him. "And I'm Snow White, looks like."

<Beloved by talking animals everywhere! Well, at least one talking animal. That's better than most people get.>

"Snow White's animals didn't talk, actually. Cinderella had talking mice but no birds..."

<I've never been a mouse. I was going to try it after something you said the other day, I forget what, but then I got distracted and didn't get around to it.>

"You could be a mouse now. Mice are soft."

<I'm not shapeshifting in public! Hiding, remember? Hiding. Besides, have you ever seen somebody shapeshift? It looks really gross.>

"I haven't, but I'm hard to gross out. And nobody's looking!"

<I'm still not doing it in public.>

"Aww. I could take you home! My parents are out."

<If you are just that desperate to see me shapeshift, then yeah, sure. I haven't learned any mice yet, but I have a couple of owls and those are way softer than mice.>

"Ooooh," beams Rhea, and she cuddles him to her chest and heads out of the park with him in her arms.

Cuddles! Trouble—or Iago, if you like—snuggles up and coos contentedly.

Pet pet pet. She gets a couple odd looks on the walk home for carrying a pigeon, but people apparently assume he's a stuffed animal or something.

Trouble doesn't do much to dispel this illusion. Rhea is snuggly and warm and he is totally fine just huddling up here as a soft fluffy pigeonball.

Rhea and her talking pigeon eventually arrive back at the apartment complex, and she carries him right up to her apartment, lets herself in, and puts him on her bed. "There," she says.

Rhea watches. Apparently she is pretty hard to gross out.

"...Yeah, that's true, I am. But don't call me Angel, I like Iago better."

"So you're not actually my talking pigeon guardian angel?"

"Yeah."

She pets him. "Good kitty," she giggles. "Could you always turn into animals and you went missing for some other reason or did the talking pigeon people recruit you?"

<Not telling,> he says. <Gimme tummy rubs, they're the best.>

She gives him tummy rubs. "So I probably should not call that hotline thing, huh?"

<Don't call the hotline,> he says, purring up a storm. <The evil cult will get involved and it'll be bad. Also I ran away from home for, like, reasons, and they weren't even all evil-cult-related.>

"The Sharing is involved in your missing person investigation?"

"Evil stepparents and talking animals and my life is such a fairy tale right now." She scoops him in her arms for comforting snugs.

He curls up and nuzzles her and purrs a little more.

<Well, depends. Sometimes they just kill somebody who knows too much. But most of the time they send in an evil cultist to take over your mind and walk you around pretending to still be you while you sit there in the back of your own head and watch. They wanna do that to everybody someday. That's what the Sharing is for - recruiting fresh puppets.>

"Evil cult versus talking animals. No talking ravens, huh?"

<Not as far as I know.>

<Yeah, but I like you,> he says. <I wanna be your snuggly talking animal buddy. And you asked.>

"I mean any of it, why did you say hi at all."

<...Because I like you and I wanna be your snuggly talking animal buddy?>

"Why?"

He rubs his fuzzy face against her arm and purrs. <Because you're really great.>

"I'm just a random person, though, I don't get it."

<What's there not to get? I heard you talking to pigeons and I kinda fell in love a little and now I wanna be your friend.>

"That is not normal. But I guess neither is turning into animals."

<Oh, I've never been normal,> he says, purring contentedly.

Pet snuggle pet pet he is the snuggliest kitty. "There you go, then, that's probably why you get to magically turn into animals and I don't."

Purr snuggle snuggle purr.

Snugs. "What do talking animal buddies do? Do I present you to Mom and Dad and say you followed me home, can I keep you?"

He giggles. <Nah. I have to sleep as a human, so that could get awkward. But we can hang out and you can pet me, that seems to be working out really well.>

"You are super soft, you are the softest cat, talking or otherwise."

<I am! I made this kitty shape specifically to be really soft and fluffy and pettable. I think I did a pretty good job.>

"You made it? How do you make shapes? Eye of newt, toe of frog, three tablespoons laundry detergent and a mermaid's tear, salt to taste?"

<Mysterious shapeshifter things,> he says, mysteriously. <But no newts were harmed in the making of this kitty, I can tell you that much.>

"That's good. Newts aren't cute or soft but they should keep their toes. Eyes, I mean. Toes too, eyes more importantly."

<I have never deprived a newt of any of its parts!> he promises.

So snuggly. Best Rhea. Purr purr.

"You're purring. Like a real cat," she giggles.

<A real cat who loooooooves you,> he says, continuing to purr.

"Awwwwwwww. Are you sure I can't keep you? Mom and Dad said I could have a cat."

<I'd have to turn back human and sleep in your bed every night and somebody would probably notice,> he says. <Also, given the option, I'm not gonna go to the bathroom in a litterbox.>

"It's not like I sleep in my bed. I have a hammock," she explains, waving a foot at her hammock. (Her arms are occupied. With snuggling.) "But fair enough about the litterbox thing."

<Yeah, I saw the hammock. And your bed is way too tidy to be slept in, I bet you don't even make out on it.>

She snorts. "With who?"

<I dunno!>

"But yeah, mostly it's just for sitting, I used to have stuffed animals heaped on it but I gave them to my little cousins."

<You're really cute,> he says happily.

She squirms happily and buries her face in his fluff.

It is even easier to detect the purring from there!

She's noticing that! "Sofffffft," she mumbles into fur.

He purrs like a fluffy little motorboat. <I am, I'm soft and fluffy and I love you,> he says happily.

"Most affectionate flattering pooka ever."

Purrrrr.

"So you be a pigeon and be a cat and oppose evil cultists, you probably don't have a lot of time to have hobbies."

<Depends on the hobby. Is getting tummy rubs a hobby?>

"Could be!" Tummy nuzzles. She then pulls back and sneezes into her elbow and resumes snuggling.

<Aww, I hope you're not allergic,> he says, purring some more.

"I'm not, I just inhaled a fur. A hair? Why is it only fur when there's lots?"

He thought-giggles again. <I have no idea but you're adorable.>

"I think you like me more than anybody else likes me, and I'm not exactly picked last for dodgeball."

"I don't even do anything interesting. I like it but I don't get it."

<You don't do interesting, you are interesting. I like the way you go around being you all the time. It's fun and cute and nice.>

"Silly pooka." Snuggle.

Snuggle! Purr-snuggle.

Lots of snuggle.

So much snuggle. All the snuggle.

Rhea seems perfectly prepared to do nothing but snuggle her kitty buddy for the rest of the day.

"Aww, 'kay." She sits up, stretches.

Pooka kitty stretches too! He stretches right into being six feet tall. This time around he keeps the fluffy fur until almost the last moment, and then it all slurps back in at once. He giggles. "Wow, that tickled," he says, sitting up and wriggling a little.

"It looks like it'd hurt."

"It doesn't at all! Handy that way. Well, I wouldn't mind if it did, but most people probably would."

"You wouldn't mind feeling your bones squish and whatnot, really?"

He grins. "Nah, it'd be cool, I'd love it."

"Weirdo pooka."

"Yep!" he says cheerfully. "So hey, if I randomly kissed you right now, would that be fun?"

She blinks, then says, "Dunno, wanna find out?"

Mmmkiss!

She's grinning, is that a hint?

"I am totally in my underwear! It's really hard to shapeshift clothes, but kind of awkward to be running around naked as a human, so: underwear," he explains.

A little bit. She sort of winds up big-spooning him and propping her head up on her elbow so she can still kiss him. There, no awkwards.

It's very snuggly! He approves. Mmm snuggly kisses.

Yay!

Snugglyyyyyyyyyyy.

"I'm making out with a pooka who left cat hair on my bed," she giggles.

"Yes you are!" says the pooka who left cat hair on her bed. "And it's awesome!"

"It kinda is! So I guess all those talking pigeon girls and boys you flatter constantly have left you a free agent for some reason?"

"Yep. Free agent, that's me."

"Cool." Kiss.

Kiss! Snuggly kiss.

Quite snuggly indeed.

So snuggly. Happy and snuggly.

After a while - rather a long while - Rhea looks at her clock, and says, "My mom will be home in like twenty minutes and I can explain a kitty but I can't explain you."

"I should probably head back to my secret pooka nest at some point anyway." He kisses her again. "So how about I turn into a soft cuddly owl and you cuddle me and I fly out the window and come see you again sometime?"

"Sure!"

She scoops him right up. "Oh you're soft."

<And cuddly!>

"You're the cuddliest." She kisses his feathers and opens the window for him. "Come back soon, okay?"

<You bet,> he says, and swoops off silently into the night.

She waves, then closes the window.

And Trouble owls his way back to the Swans'.

Different windows are open at different times of day. It's usually the attic, but right now, in the dark, it's the girls' bedroom. Andi is in it.

"Hi, Trouble. How goes?"

<I made a friend! Where's Bella?>

"Kitchen, I think. Who'd you make friends with? Which of your excessive Frolis-humans?"

And there is Bella, in the kitchen with Renée. Bella is writing (as always) and Renée is mincing an onion, presumably to add to the crockpot.

"Hi, Bella, hi, Renée. Bella, can we talk?"

"I take it Mom is not supposed to be involved in the talk?"

"Yeah, it's not hugely private or anything but there's stuff."

"Okay. Basement's empty, Charlie's doing a stakeout kind of thing." She motions Trouble to follow and heads downstairs.

"So I met this girl," he starts, "she feeds pigeons in a park across town, and she talks to them, and she's really cute, so I followed her for three days to make sure she's not a Controller and then said hi. As a pigeon."

"She's really cute," he reiterates. "We talked for a while and I didn't bring up aliens or use any sensitive vocabulary but I told her not to go near the Sharing and that I'm a shapeshifter, and she took me home and recognized me from a newspaper ad but she's not gonna turn me in 'cause I told her I ran away for reasons, and then we made out for like three hours, and can I make her an Animorph? Maybe?"

"Well, there's not exactly a lot of safe middle ground left, is there."

He shrugs.

"There was enough advance planning involved for you to follow her for three days but you wait until now to tip me off?"

"Yeah," he says, "it's not like I planned in advance to follow her for three days, I just kinda started, and time spent figuring out how to tell you what I wanted to do and then telling you would've been time spent not doing it."

"You've left notes here in the past three days."

"Yeah, so you wouldn't think I died or got caught, I do that."

"And they didn't say 'stalking cute girl to see if she's a Controller', let alone 'planning to thoughtspeak to cute girl', and now if you've made a mistake she knows you're a human and has personally identified you, and if she's a blabbermouth..."

He shrugs. "Yeah, I could've fucked it all up. But I don't think I did."

Bella drops her head into her hands. "Do you know if her parents or siblings or friends are in the Sharing? Do you know if her teachers or neighbors or clergyperson are Yeerks?"

"I'm pretty sure if she knew anybody in the Sharing she would've mentioned them when I said it was an evil cult, or like, anytime in the ensuing several hours, it's not like most people in the Sharing are quiet about it. She gets that I am a secret talking pigeon who is on the run from evil cultists. I pretty much left her in the dark about whether or not I have any talking pigeon friends. So, yeah, the worst thing that could happen is somebody's gonna find out I'm in Phoenix and I can morph. Pretty fucking bad, yep. I did it anyway."

"Yes. Yes you did."

"I fell in love. It happens."

"It certainly seems like it, yep. Okay. Do you think she wants to be an Animorph? Is her lifestyle amenable to being helpful? Do you have any read on how good she is at keeping secrets even when they have been identified for her?"

"She definitely wants the cool shapeshifting powers, and is generally not on board with evil cults. I dunno exactly how she could help or exactly how she'd want to. And I don't think she's gonna be telling anybody she made out with a talking pigeon all afternoon."

"If she doesn't want to help, giving her shapeshifting powers is not necessarily a good idea. Makes her more useful if the Yeerks get her and a bigger security risk."

"You're the one with the box," he says, shrugging. "Practically speaking, it's your call."

"Does that mean its literal meaning or are you also implying that you will not hold it against me if I decline to Animorph Random Beloved The Third?"

"Her name's Rhea. I'm not gonna get mad about it," he says.

"Okay. I'm suspending judgment. Can you get her to come here without anybody particularly paying attention to her destination?"

"Yeah, probably," he says. "Dunno if she'll jump just for 'hey, wanna see my secret pooka nest?', though. Can I tell her my talking pigeon buddy wants to meet her?"