Shawn burst into the police station, followed closely by an irritated-looking Gus.

"Jules!" he called out the second he saw her. "Just the woman I've been looking for."

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and opened her mouth to reply.

"Not that way," he cut her off. "I mean, yes, that way, but..." He flailed his arms in a gesture of apparent frustration. "We have no time for flirty banter, this is a cat emergency!"

Her eyebrows nearly met. "A what?"

"Gus," said Shawn, yielding the floor to his friend.

"I need a picture of me," said Gus, "with a cat," he added, "on my desk at work as soon as possible. And I don't know why that particular mission would bring us here."

"Because the spirits have long since revealed to me that Detective O'Hara is a dear friend to the feline community. She happens to have two cats."

"Three at the moment," said Juliet.

"The spirits don't keep me constantly updated on your life, Jules," Shawn commented off-handedly. "I rely on you for that."

"Well, I'm cat-sitting, so the third one's really not…."

"Do you have an orange tabby?" Gus cut in.

"No. One is white and two are grey."

"No black?" asked Shawn, and Gus shot him a look. "What? It seemed like the perfect way to round out the set."

"The white cat likes men more," the detective offered. "If you want your picture taken with one of them."

"See, Gus? You can borrow Juliet's cat. Muffin, or Snookums, or whatever."

"Queenie—well, Ice Queen, actually, but that's not what I call…." She stopped as she caught sight of Shawn's stricken expression.

"Your cat is named 'Ice Queen.'"

"Yeah. Is there something wrong with that?"

"Oh, Jules. There are so many answers to that question."

Gus squinted dubiously at a photo on Juliet's desk of her with her two cats. "I don't know," he put in. "Neither of them look anything like Mrs. Pickles."

Shawn arched an eyebrow. "Dude, Mrs. Pickles isn't real."

"She's an orange tabby!" insisted Gus. "Every woman in my office knows that!"

"Why would they know that?"

"You have never worked with women, Shawn." He raised a hand to cut off his friend's protest. "That time you bartended at Hooters doesn't count."

Shawn ran a hand across the back of his neck and cast an almost embarrassed glance at Juliet, who was rolling her eyes.

"Female coworkers remember everything. Especially about pets. I've had to make up new Mrs. Pickles stories every other week since you invented her. And they are starting to ask why I don't have any pictures of her, and they will not accept a photo of me with a cat that looks nothing like her!"

"Okay, okay, so we need an orange tabby. No sweat. We'll just dye the Ice Queen."

"What?" Juliet shook her head. "No."

"Oh, come on, Jules, be a sport. We'll use non-permanent dye. It'll come out after 24 washes."

Gus shook his head. "You know, Shawn, maybe you should have invented me a pet that you had a clue about."

"Like what?"

"Apparently not like a cat," Gus retorted.

"I know a lot about…."

"Have you ever tried washing a cat?"

"Guys, guys," interrupted Juliet. "Why can't you just buy Gus a real cat?"

"Are you kidding?" Gus scoffed. "I hate cats."

Catching the almost-offended look on the detective's face, Shawn jumped in with, "I, however, love cats. Which is why I was only kidding about dying yours, Jules. Besides, if there's one thing I've learned in this life, it's never risk the wrath of an Ice Queen. Although, since we're on the subject, 'cold' is actually a misleading term for them, generally, because I've found they are much warmer once you get to know…."

"Shawn," Juliet interrupted. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked, too innocently.

She shook her head as she picked up a file and flipped it open. "If you'll excuse me, I have actual police work to do."

Shawn breathed in deeply through his nose and let out the breath in an exaggerated sigh. "When we're warm, we're going to be really warm, Jules. I can sense…."

"Good-bye, Shawn. Gus, I hope you find the answer to your cat problem. Maybe you can just say she died?"

"And have to go through the trouble of me finding him a new cat?" Shawn scoffed. "I don't think so."

Gus grabbed Shawn by the elbow and dragged him out into the hall. "Face it, Shawn. This is not going to work."

"No, it will work. I just have one last place to try."

"And where's that?"

"My next door neighbors," said Shawn. "They have an orange tabby."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"How was I supposed to know Mrs. Pickles was an orange tabby? I'm not really…." He stopped and looked all around before mouthing the word "psychic."

"You know that's right," said Gus. "If you were, you would've known I would've preferred a fake dog."

"Please," Shawn scoffed. "I knew that."

"What? How?"

"Best friends practically since birth, hello? Almost as good as psychic."

Gus rolled his eyes. "As good, as annoying…."

"As cool?" Shawn prompted. He held out a fist.

His best friend sighed and bumped his fist into it. "Let's go find us an orange tabby."

And so they did.