You hear the faint, tinkling jingle of a cat's bell. When you look up from your nails, from which you were digging the dirt, a black, gloved hand has grabbed your shoulder; spinning you around.

It's Cat Noir, of course. His hands folded over his staff, his chin layed on top of his dorsol. His gold-blonde hair falls in endearing waves around his face, framing his enchanting green eyes that seem to twinkle with something akin to delight.

"And what're you doing out so late, my lady?"