“You're like this leopard who's pretending to be a house cat.”

“Sam frowns at me, suddenly serious. "You know, I thought--for most of the first year we lived together--that you were going to kill me."That makes me nearly spit out beer, I laugh so hard."No, look--living with you, it's like knowing there's a loaded gun on the other side of the room. You're like this leopard who's pretending to be a house cat."That only makes me laugh harder."Shut up," he says. "You might do normal stuff, but a leopard can drink milk or fall off things like a house cat. It's obvious you're not--not like the rest of us. I'll look over at you, and you'll be flexing your claws, or I don't know, eating a freshly killed antelope.""Oh," I say. It's a ridiculous metaphor, but the hilarity has gone out of me. I thought I did a good job of fitting in--maybe not perfect, but not as bad as Sam makes it sound."It's like Audrey," he says, stabbing the air with a finger clearly well on his way to inebriated and full of determination to make me understand his theory. "You acted like she went out with you because you did this good job of being a nice guy.""I am a nice guy."I try to be.Sam snorts. "She liked you because you scared her. And then you scared her too much.”

“I've heard that you're the cat's whiskers, M. Poirot.""Comment? The cat's whiskers? I do not understand.""Well that you're It.""Madame, I may or may not have brains - as a matter of fact I have - why pretend?”

“Can the leopard change his spots?” Emrys mused. “Leopards have, but the other leopards don’t like it.”

“Little girls are like old cats. If they don't like you nothing on Earth will make them pretend to.”

“Be nice to his family. Pretend not to notice the way their house smells. Pretend to like their food. Mimic their barbaric customs at the dinner table.”