It can never be too soon for Dustin to regret doing something.
In this case, it's installing a cat door into the side door of his shop. This definitely wasn't on the list of places requested by Lark, and he hadn't seen any immediate reason for why Salem might want to come wander around his neck of Temba - or, in fact, why Dustin would want him to come wandering around - but something about imagining a sapient animal stuck outside his door, pawing away at the handle and freezing to death because he didn't hear them, struck an odd chord. He couldn't be complicit in such a hypothetical act.
Also, it would drive him absolutely nuts if Salem decided he wanted to come inside and just sat outside his door, screaming, while he was trying to work. Letting him come and go as he pleases seems like a tolerable compromise.
This is what Dustin assumes is happening when he hears the cat flap clatter in its hinges. He can't check for himself; the scrawny teenager currently has his entire top half scooted underneath what looks to be a partially-deconstructed motor that takes up an entire quarter of the old storefront's main floor. Tools of various types, mechanical and electrical and jury-rigged from scrap, are strewn around his legs and sticking out of his pants pockets. A space heater's coils glow dull red in the nearby corner, and on top of it, benefitting from a metal warming plate, is a cup of hearty stew from the Diner.
He sees the movement of paws from the other side of the motor, but isn't at the right angle to look at them properly - otherwise he might've recognized that these white feet couldn't belong to Salem. It doesn't help that he's never actually spoken to the other cat before, so he doesn't know what he sounds like, either. Even assuming that this is Salem, this doesn't stop him from letting out a deep, long-suffering sigh.
"You couldn't have gone to the Diner?" Dustin groans in exasperation. "This is a workshop. Just because there's food in here doesn't mean it's up for grabs."
II
In this case, it's installing a cat door into the side door of his shop. This definitely wasn't on the list of places requested by Lark, and he hadn't seen any immediate reason for why Salem might want to come wander around his neck of Temba - or, in fact, why Dustin would want him to come wandering around - but something about imagining a sapient animal stuck outside his door, pawing away at the handle and freezing to death because he didn't hear them, struck an odd chord. He couldn't be complicit in such a hypothetical act.
Also, it would drive him absolutely nuts if Salem decided he wanted to come inside and just sat outside his door, screaming, while he was trying to work. Letting him come and go as he pleases seems like a tolerable compromise.
This is what Dustin assumes is happening when he hears the cat flap clatter in its hinges. He can't check for himself; the scrawny teenager currently has his entire top half scooted underneath what looks to be a partially-deconstructed motor that takes up an entire quarter of the old storefront's main floor. Tools of various types, mechanical and electrical and jury-rigged from scrap, are strewn around his legs and sticking out of his pants pockets. A space heater's coils glow dull red in the nearby corner, and on top of it, benefitting from a metal warming plate, is a cup of hearty stew from the Diner.
He sees the movement of paws from the other side of the motor, but isn't at the right angle to look at them properly - otherwise he might've recognized that these white feet couldn't belong to Salem. It doesn't help that he's never actually spoken to the other cat before, so he doesn't know what he sounds like, either. Even assuming that this is Salem, this doesn't stop him from letting out a deep, long-suffering sigh.
"You couldn't have gone to the Diner?" Dustin groans in exasperation. "This is a workshop. Just because there's food in here doesn't mean it's up for grabs."