The cat? Geralt raises an eyebrow, bemused. "Why the fuck would I bring it about."

It isn't even the one the man gave him, though that particular detail is irrelevant. The one Jaskier acquired for him looks no different: fluffy, big void-like eyes, white fur not unlike the white of Geralt's own hair. Geralt looks remarkably healed considering the last time they saw each other—a lingering scar, not much else.

He starts to walk with the air of someone who can't quite care if his companion follows him or chooses to leave him.

"And it isn't a cat," he adds. "Cats don't like me."

So frankly, the man was lucky; the outcome would have been immensely different had he tried to introduce an actual cat to a Witcher's room.