Furrowing his brows, Issac studied the Havana Brown cat known as Yamanaki. “You asked what year it was...” he trailed off. “It’s two thousand and eighteen.” He informed. “That makes you two hundred and ten or so. You’re an old man.” Issac teased; careful to make sure no one blew any red lights as he drove. The last thing he needed was to get t-boned and go to hell early.