A spray of cold water is to cats what that question is to Philip. He flinches away from every word, and only after a deep breath does he step closer. Around the counter, where utensils don't dangle in his line of sight, and he can see her face. Her eyes, half-lidded the way her words are barely half-spoken, quiet.

He stands in front of her plainly, where she can see him, could see him, if she was looking at anything in this room at all. Philip frowns, and waves his hand in the air between them, with little force or certainty.

"It's me, Philip. You're... really not all there, are you?"