It's just like everything goes haywire at that one inquisitive meowwrrr?

Half of him tries to freeze. The other half tries to flee. The result is a haphazard fumble of limbs both too long and far too short, and he simply cannot be eaten by a cat, what on earth would he tell the others, Peter would never stop being astounded and Caspian suspects he would be laughed at under the guise of sympathy.

For Aslan's sake, he hadn't survived Narnia's fall only to be consumed by a tabby cat like some unsuspecting hapless field mouse.

Kate swoops to the rescue, though, and he freezes in the cup of her palms, and spirits him back into the outdoors, where his eyes fix on the sky and he hunches a little smaller, instincts warring with the humiliation of being forced to remain still and small and, worse, to be carried about so haplessly. He's grateful, but it's hardly a position anyone might wish to find themselves in.

"Ribbit?"

Faintly uncertain. He did meet someone new, but Belle had hardly seemed like any sort of threat. There'd been a bump, and the scent of spilled tea, and then --

Well. Even if he could, he'd hardly point out the obvious.