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[/html]Though he heard the footsteps as they came into the house, Salem thought little of them. He was confident that they weren't threatening, though there was always the possibility that they were in fact, very threatening. Even then, he was sure of his abilities and aware of some of his flaws, and that gave him the confidence to get out of that mess too. It had served him well once or twice in the past, but fortunately Salem had never quite been in the situation where bodily harm was necessary.
So when the young woman came to stand at the entryway of where he was, Salem only saw the smatters of ginger-fur and cream toes out of the corner of his eye. This also came roughly about the time he pulled the orange-handled scissors from their roost amongst the pile of other nameless and unknown utensils. “Not looking any more,” he said as he rose to his full height. Only then did he notice that while she was tall (slender, womanly, perhaps even beautiful), he still had a few inches on her. And she was a mutt mix of something, if build to markings meant anything at all. “And who are you calling little?” But he didn't think she had meant to sound insulting.
He would at least give her the benefit of the doubt, this time.