Despite his own bouts of extreme depression (usually vented in the worst self-destructive ways rather than simple exhaustion), his favorite coping mechanism was mentally dismissing the intensity. If it was just a thing that happened, then it happened, and rather than being told that it was exceptional sometimes just having someone go, "Well that sucks" helped intensely.

He found said crate of various condiments back beside the refrigerated area and pulled it out for Sans. Pried it open with a crowbar.

"I don't know if hot cats sounds so good. Hairballs are not so great a time." He said as he hefted out a couple of bottles.