"Your affectionate gestures are as uncomfortable and unhygienic as ever," she says, but she does smile a little.

As if in response to her smile and relaxation, Pippi continues to lick her, grooming her to help relax her and help her feel better. 

"Stop that," she says halfheartedly. "I prefer to continue having skin."

Pippi is a cat that definitely can't understand human speech, and so has no reason to stop grooming her until she's calmed down.

That said, she does seem to be a lot calmer now, so after a few more seconds, Pippi stops licking April's leg and heads back to her food bowl to finish breakfast. 

"I grudgingly appreciate your horrible sandpaper tongue," she says, going back to her cereal.

About 6 hours later, around 3 PM, the doorbell rings. 

April has been ignoring the group chat in favour of Katamari. She tromps up the stairs and peers out the spyhole.

There is a well-dressed (for the office) woman standing outside the door, waiting patiently. 

She opens the door. "This better not be some bullshit."

The woman looks up and smiles gently at April. "It's not any sort of bullshit," she says. "I'm here on business for your uncle, can I come in?" 

"The dead one?" she clarifies.

"Oh, so you've heard? Yes, the dead one," the woman affirms. 

"I guess."

She stands back from the door.

The woman comes inside, and pauses a couple feet inside the doorway, eyeing the giant pirate ship up and down. "That is... impressive," she says. 

"Built it myself. The living room belongs to Pippi; if you want to sit down we'd better use the kitchen table."

"Ah, so you went the mythological route then," the woman says, heading around the stairs to get to the kitchen. 

"The what?"

"When people name cats," she points her head at Pippi, who is currently drinking water at her bowl in the kitchen, "they usually do it in one of three categories: food, physical characteristics, or mythology," she explains. "So you name your cat Sugar, or Smudge, or Zeus. Fiction is covered under mythology in this case." She stands at the table, leaving April with her pick of chair before she sits down. 

Pippi is acting mildly curious about this new arrival, keeping her distance but still looking in her direction occasionally. 

"That makes 'mythology' a category so broad as to be useless. Like, yeah, I'm gonna give my cat a name, and it shouldn't be the name of a real living human because that would be weird, so where am I gonna get it? Probably fiction of some kind! That's where most names that don't belong to real living humans come from! Are historical figures myths too? If I had a cat named Winston would you have been like 'ah, yes, another myth fan'?"

"After Winston Churchill? I suppose I would; he is a bit of a mythological figure even if he is historical, much like many well-known historical figures essentially are." 

She puts the kettle on. "So, essentially, Mythology is just Miscellaneous. I'm making tea, you can have some if you want. Are you here to do anything besides observe that I named my cat?"

When it's clear that April isn't about to sit down, the woman picks a chair and sits in it. "Some tea would be lovely, thank you," she says. "I'm Mathilda Morrison, I worked with your uncle," she adds. "He's left you some things, but it also comes with a request." 

"Uh-huh. What's the catch, then?"

"Your uncle did well in business, but didn't really have any family to call his own," Mathilda says. "And since you were apparently the only remaining member of his family who he felt he could still have a connection with, he'd like you to represent him at his memorial service here in town, at the Chesterfield Family Funeral Home. Do you know it?"