"Is this what domestic people do?" Natasha asked, her nose crinkled up in hesitant uncertainty.
She was curled up with a black cat on her lap on Clint's couch while cleaning her set of knives. Whenever Liho batted a curious paw, she gently caught it and tucked it back in to safety before the cat could connect with anything sharp.
Clint had his supplies sprawled all over the living room floor as he attempted to repair broken arrowheads and organize his quiver while fending off the dog.
"Yeah," he said, though it was stretching the term. "It is."