The Cat snorts, all previous frustrations seeming to bleed from him (though he'll definitely spend a little time curled up on his throne later berating himself for his misstep when he could have just as easily prolonged that wonderful kiss) as he laughs, warm and genuine, at Edwin's practical but frankly ridiculous question. There really is no-one in the world like him, who would use those lips that were, moments ago, practically making out with him to ask about baseball of all things. God, this Cat is so cooked.

"Definitely the wrong person to ask. It's just one of those things they relate to. Like how British people have the monopoly on tea, or crumpets, or whatever." He gives a little one-shouldered shrug, not really tied to any patriotism either way, being a magical Cat and all. "The concept is pretty universal, though; most dates amp up in physicality the more a pair see each other."

Well, maybe not in Edwin's time. Even thought he Cat was technically alive then, he didn't really pay all that much mind to actual conventions of relationships.

"Doesn't courting work like that? Or does someone have to promise a dowry before they can get a kiss on the cheek?"