Bartholomew knew it best to trust his instincts. Perhaps his good friend Sir Thomas had known the contact he had given Bartholomew would be a perturbing experience. Regardless of his fellow's trust in those which cannot be trusted is misguided. Perhaps it is not. Something about his instincts bothered him.
Twitching his whiskers and fidgeting with the hilt of his sword, he tried to appear nonchalant to his new companion. Though deep down in his gut, he knew he could never truly trust a mouse. Sir Jerome stood not four inches tall on his hind legs. Dressed in traditional rapier and feathered cap, he truly was a strange sight for a cat to behold.
“Sir Thomas has spoken highly of you, good Sir. I trust he has filled you in on our dealings here?”
It was all Bartholomew could do to keep from lashing out. It felt wrong to even address a mouse. Sitting at a simple wood table, Jerome stood on the table across from Bartholomew. The smell of cheese and fish lingered in the air among the musty stench of dust and mold. A light warm breeze tickled their whiskers as it escorted the scent of food.
“In fact, good Sir he has not.”
Sir Jerome gave Bartholomew a neutral glance as he spoke. It would appear he also did not want to seem disturbed. Bartholomew thought a moment. Placing his paw face down on the table, he looked at Sir Thomas intently.
“It appears we are both in a... strange position? Might I make a personal inquiry good Sir Jerome?”
Jerome gave a troubled glance at Bartholomew's paw. It was nearly bigger than the mouse himself. After a moment of searching for intent, Jerome gave a simple sigh and a nod.
“You may indeed.”
A twinkle formed in Bartholomew's eye. His gut felt better. His instincts subsided and he was able to think clearly even if for a moment. It was always best to take advantage of such clarity of mind.
“Thank you. You do not trust cats, do you?”
Jerome looked oddly surprised and instantly looked down at the table.
“It's ok, Sir Jerome. I do not trust mice either. However, it does not mean we cannot trust each other. Sir Thomas is a dear friend. I trust his judgment. If he believes you are worthy of a cat's trust, then I will trust you. Will you trust me?”
Bartholomew gingerly turned his palm face up.