She was only wearing it because Xanth's instructions meant she couldn't leave that damned cub unattended for more than a couple of hours at a time. She'd figured that stuffing it in a pocket and taking it along with her was her best bet because she'd refused to stay home. If she wouldn't let her lifemate trap her in a gilded cage, then she sure as hell wasn't going to let some ball of fluff do it. It wasn't like the pockets of this roasting cloak were a harsh environment, anyway. They were lined with faux fur, big enough for the hand-sized cub to nap in (which seemed to be all it wanted to do in the twenty hours since it was poofed into her closet), but sturdy enough that it couldn't tumble out. Tall enough, too, that while it could probably get its paws and head up over the top, it wasn't yet tall enough to actually climb out. She just had to be careful to straighten it out before sitting down...
Feeding the cub every two hours was exhausting and worse, made her hungry almost constantly. She'd raided the fridge but she was bored with the stuff in there, and craving some fresh air anyway, so, out of the blue, she'd found herself thinking about dining out. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten out, and it wasn't something that usually appealed to her, but it wasn't just fresh air she craved. She found herself wanting to be around people... Not to interact with them, just to kind of... surround herself with them. She couldn't understand it, but there was no reason to stay home.
So she'd thrown open the cafe door and, with one arm curved around the cub still in her pocket to shield it from jostling and bumping, marched up to the counter to stare at the menu hanging overhead. Half the stuff they offered sounded disgusting but she quickly decided on a hot chicken sandwich and a mug of hot chocolate. Having elicited delighted gasps as she handed over more money than they'd charged and ignored the server trying to give back her change, Daz had grabbed the plate and mug and wended her way back out the door to find herself a seat at one of the tables arranged beneath the red-and-white striped canopy. She might have stayed inside but she was concerned the cub might get squashed by people trying to pass. It was also warmer indoors from the kitchen heat, and while Daz had wanted to surround herself with people, there was a limit to how many she could manage without losing her temper.
So now she sat at the table alone, the cub snoring softly in her pocket, one fist closed around her sandwich and the other around her mug, her mouth full of chargrilled chicken, and her blue eyes scanning passers-by with lazy interest.