Rush freezes and stares at the rabbit for a long, distasteful minute.

"In what way is a communicative hyperintelligent leporid qualified to dispense psychological medical advice?" he asks waspishly. "You realize this is the case? You understand what you've recommended? You made the suggestion that I go and pet a cat to make myself feel better?"

"Actually," rumbles Nathaira, sliding her head beneath his hand in a motion that's now becoming nauseatingly familiar, a sort of forced stroking, "plenty of therapists recommend petting cats to treat anxiety. It lowers blood pressure."

Rush does not know what to do with that and will therefore not respond to it. He will not admit to indirectly taking advice from a rabbit. That would be fucking absurd.