Per 
When you work around anomalies, you find that things tend to stop surprising you overall. After seeing a lovestruck planet, you elect to ignore the small things which many would find insane. The idea of adaptation has stuck with many, and yet very few bother to look closer at how they overlook these things.
Walking down the corridors of Site 17, you try to avoid listening too closely to any of the sounds nearby. The screams of whatever it may be are distant hums, the cries of whatever clearance you don't have access to drowned out by the mental block created by your mind. Seeing a small half-cat doesn't cause that trigger, but it's too insignificant to bat an eye to. Maybe you'll treat it as a normal cat, petting it as a way of relieving the self-imposed stress gotten by the human experience. More often, you'll end up walking by, not batting an eye.
What stories does that singular cat have to tell, some may wonder. They never wonder enough to seek answers, though it is quite an insightful question, which leaves you to wonder it for a moment, before inevitably moving on to whatever feels appropriate next. You forget the incursion, and soon after, forget the cat itself. But what if the cat had a story to tell, a voice to be heard?
Well, that'd truly be a miracle, wouldn't it?
