"A dog," Tracy repeated to give himself a feel of the word. The massive pile of fur on his lap looked at him with an inherently aloof and noncommittal expression; Rorschach gave exactly zero fucks if they got a dog. His mind was already made up, but it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. He loved the way Cynthia lit up whenever she decided she wanted something. She went a thousand words per second, at<span style="font-style: italic">least.</span><br/><br/>In all honesty, he didn't see what harm a dog could do. Kind of put a damper on his plans to redo the floors in a dark hardwood, but the dog could wear those ridiculous dog shoes or Tracy could just not do the dark hardwood. The more that he thought about it, the more he kind of shied away from wanting to do the floors. That seemed like a lot of work for something you walk all over anyway. That aside, not only did he not see any harm in it, it was Cynthia's house every way you looked at it. She knew that, but she still squeezed his hand tighter in anticipation.<br/><br/>Finally, he relented. "I suppose the house<span style="font-style: italic">is</span>a little too big for the cat to have all to himself...," he said, voice trailing off to keep the suspense going. Acting difficult when she was like this was one of his greatest pastimes. "...so I<span style="font-style: italic">guess</span>we can get a dog. One condition though: you have to promise me that it's not going to be smaller than Rorschach. Unless it is a puppy of a large breed that just happens to be smaller than Rorschach<span style="font-style: italic">right now.</span>In which case, that's adorable and pick that one."