Hi, Nepeta! Or, rather, that's what Autor might be saying, if he had the spatial awareness of a gnat.

He appears to be setting up targets away from her, after which he jogs back to his haul. Then he lights up three tennis ball-sized grenades and lets them rip!

Two out of three sizable craters--blasted right where they should be, no less--isn't bad, he thinks. Journal in hand, he jots down some notes.