[Guess that means he will be making repeated trips to the store, even if he has a moment of pause while considering it. The hunt's natural enough that he justifies it quickly in his head, noting that the mice die either way. He looks to the container in Michael's hand, reaching for it tentatively with a wave of morbid curiosity. Dead mice. Not something his mother would've ever stood to allow in the house, never let him touch.]

Yeah, okay...

[His eyes are still on the container, then the contents inside when he looks it over. He touches his fingertip down over the thawing fur of a previously frozen mouse, blinking out of this reverie and back into motion shortly after. He doesn't bother to find any other way of feeding than picking one of the little corpses up by hand and putting it in the enclosure; looking up to Michael while he does so.]

I drop it and let her get to it, yeah?

[Otherwise the hand that feeds is the hand that's likely to get bit.]

Thanks for all this, by the way. You didn't need to do all this shit for me, and you did anyway. I appreciate it.