He's being low profile, thank you very much. It's a shape perfectly calculated for subtlety, for whispering things secretly at her, for - as is just so happens - fitting neatly into pockets where he can nest with his long tail tucked close about him like a cat's. If anyone spots him in this guise, they can mistake Kitty for a batty woman and nothing more.

Which of course he thinks no part of whatsoever, seeing as she's been so prudent as to keep her thoughts to herself. But had Kitty mentioned anything about his chosen form or if he were the sort to uselessly rationalize at length to himself, that might be the sort of thing he'd come up with. Instead, the mouse flicks it ears, wets a paw and smooths its fur back where the tip of her finger - he really should correct that behavior - has mussed it.

"You might as well ask for it in German. --Hey now, here's your chance to really get in some practice on those finer points we discussed earlier," he says, then tells her slowly and with typically flawless pronunciation how to go about it all the while cleaning his whiskers and squirming to get comfortable in the corner of her pocket.

Now that's more like it. The strange squint-and-miss-it texture of her aura isn't quite as offensive like this as it had been after hours of her behind his wings.