"I thought you gave the cat to someone in secretarial." Napoleon was watching the tan kitten as it scampered from its food to the window ledge.
"That was the other one, this one I kept, Churro." Illya crossed the room to sit on the ledge, petting the cat as it stretched in the sunlit space.
"Churro? Where'd you get that name?"
"It is a Pan Dulce, a type of sweet bread."
"Or Spanish, it simply describes it. Anyway, this one', Illya stroked the cat's back again.
"…he looks like a Churro, covered in cinnamon and sugar."
"Mmmm, sounds good."