"Sort of?" He scritched Foucault's head, which was pretty much even with his own now. "Except for the size, of course. And the eyes. I think maybe he's part ostrich or something?" He shrugged. "His name is Foucault."

Foucault honked at the sound of his name, and Cecil grinned as he flopped down on the floor in front of the couch. "I'm not sure about earthquakes." He shrugged. "We have them all the time apparently, in Night Vale, but nobody ever feels them."