[To Jazz, this seems as though the treats are simply elsewhere. He leaps deftly onto the Doctor's arm and then moves quickly to his shoulders, agile and clever from doing this a million times with shoulders that are less broad. The black cat then proceeds to sniff the Doctor's hair for treats.

Fish, thinks the feline, hopefully.

Fortescue chuckles, reaching out to stroke the cat's back.]

Er, no, Jazz, I don't think he's got anything for you there. [She smiles, the bone-weariness of her previous expression gone — like leaves in an evening breeze.] I've only met two of your friends, Doctor, but you do seem to have a knack for finding good company.

[She doesn't mention the fact that Jazz will live as long as she does, or until something happens to him. While her soul is held in his body, he won't die from old age. He could live on to be a very ancient cat indeed.]