"Am I going to cause problems if I increase the ratio of live people to dead ones too much?"

"Almost certainly, but also almost certainly not ones serious enough to be net negative, in my estimation.  Living people can develop anti-parasite treatments too."

"And that's if they can't import any from my world due to having fragile lungs."

"I personally wouldn't want to risk it but I'm sure we can find some willing winters, if no one else."

"And they can come right back if it goes horribly wrong."

"With wings and ribbons on."

He giggles. He pets Cricket and adds more cat grammar. Pity catspeak doesn't have a written form or this would go faster. Cricket eventually wants his own setup to participate, but across the room from the other cats.

"We're back!"

"Don't worry, they're right in here!  See?"

Catfamily reunion!  Gabbie gets her mom up to date on how interesting the outside was and how great she is at words while Tenor snuggles up and only occasionally interrupts to tap pictures and state nouns.

"Oh wonderful, thank you, Ian."

"Happy to help!"

"Awesome!  Very relieving.  . . . Is there a plan yet for all the rest of the shelter cats?"

"Not really. Maybe I should phone Jesus and ask if he has anybody who wants to smuggle cats."

"I think an important question is 'how many sapient cats are there'.  Because if it's a substantial portion of more than one shelter, then we might run into trouble or at least suspicion no matter how many people we involve.  But if they're mostly at the one Ivy works at, and then there are one or two cat people at each of a few surrounding shelters - and we assume about the same distribution in Londinium - then that's probably doable with at most two illicit extractions and a few volunteers."

"I... don't know. I can try to find out by taking a nap."

"Do you mean a trip?"

"Nope! A nap! Ian, where's a good place I can go lie down and have a nap."

" - Uh, mine and Jor's room?  It's, uh, that one."

"Cool. No worries about waking me up if you need me for anything." He nopes his current quantity of caffeine and goes to pass out on the bed in question. Cricket sits on him while he does this.

The place he wakes up in is nowhere near as coherent as the previous dream forest.  There's still the stars and colorful clouds in the distance, but they're much more obvious, being unobscured by trees.  He's in an open backyard, with a fence that travels down one side and across half of another before stopping uselessly.  The climate is discordant, with a few inches of snow tucked in the fence corner, a warm summer breeze blowing, distant rolls of thunder, and amber evening lighting.  He's on a couch, which is positioned against the facade of a house with more clouds and stars visible through its windows.  A few songbirds splash and sing from a combination bath and feeder that doesn't look like it would be designed by humans except maybe as high-concept art.

And there are nine unfamiliar dead cats, half of them lying on him or pressed up against his side or tucked at the crook of his knee, the other half perched on the back and arms of the couch.

"Hi there. Do you guys want scritches?"

"Yes."

"Yes!"

"Do me do me do meeee!"