The bull in the china shop metaphor could not feel more accurate than right now. Jason holds stock still, book held out of the way of the frankly massive tabby that just crawled into his lap. He sends the attendant a confused and somewhat pleading look, wholly unprepared for what to do in this situation.

He’d been coming to this cat-cafe since he found out about its existence. It’s a good hour out of his way—and out of Gotham—which is honestly reason enough for Jason. He doesn’t mind the ride over, especially in the mornings when Gotham is finally winding down and Metropolis is just waking up. Just Jason and the empty road, exactly how he likes it.

Admission is cheap and the cats are cute, but what really reels Jason in is the peace and quiet. He’s never there at the cafe’s rush hours, choosing instead to creep in with the openers, sitting and milling for the first couple of hours before the day takes hold of the city proper. Jason’s been there long enough that the baristas and attendees know his name, know his simple order, and know he’s there for a quiet time. It's nice.

Despite his frequent visits, the cats don’t really interact with him much. It doesn’t bother Jason, he enjoys the passive company while he reads, offering the occasional curious cat a soft smile and watching them mill about in his peripherals. None of them have ever crawled onto him though.

“Hi buddy,” he whispers, looking between the tabby—aptly named Tiger—and today’s opening attendant, hoping his expression conveys enough ‘what the hell do I do here’. Tiger flicks an ear at him, otherwise ignoring him. “Alright then,” Jason murmurs, readjusting in his seat on a beanbag before going back to his book.

Eventually, with all the caution he gives to a live bomb or a phone-call with Richard, Jason sets a hand on Tiger’s back, brushing his fingers over the dense fur. A pleased little smile threatens to take over his face, especially when the cat in his lap starts to purr softly, a steady rumble that fills their little bubble.