The jerk. [ Meow grumbles, resting her chin on the railing from beneath her hoodie. The wind ruffles the hood, shifting its angle so the lower half of her face and her subtle lipstick (she didn't have time to apply anything else) is visible. ]

He gushes about how much he loves us all the time, so would it kill him to come home every once in a while?

...I really shouldn't wish for that, though. [ Her words are muffled as she retreats deeper into the hoodie. ] That'd make things even more awkward...