Disclaimer: Just playing, will put everything back when finished.
It first showed up in a storm.
Mary Margaret had long since gone to bed, leaving Emma to nurse a nightcap, when over the rain and thunder she heard it.
A soft, pained meow.
Before she could realize her actions she opened up the window, allowing the dirty, drenched tabby inside.
"Just until this storm's over," she warned, already worried about what kind of damage an alley cat could do to her roommate's very white interior decorating.
But the cat had simply looked at her with almost a look of understanding before situating itself next to the heater to dry off.
That next morning before Mary Margaret woke up she opened that same window and the cat slipped out, softly meowing at her as if in thanks.
No hanging near the fridge looking for a hand out, no scratching up the furniture or even trying to get cozy with her, all it'd done was warm up and sleep through the night.
She respected that.
So it became their ritual, whenever a bad storm blew through Storybrooke Emma would be waiting to let her friend in.
Each time gave her new insight into the feline. Including that it was actually a she, was adult but not old, and had seen a number of fights in her young life.
One ear was almost completely bitten off, and her grey and black-striped coat was littered with scars.
This cat was a fighter, a kindred spirit of sorts if she could admit such a fanciful notion.
When the curse broke, however, Emma was rather preoccupied, and forgot all about her furry friend, until one stormy night after her and her mother's return.
She can't sleep, her mind whirling with everything she's taken in and done in the past few weeks, and resigns herself to a sleepless night, sneaking downstairs for a drink.
And that's when she hears it, that same soft meow, and jumps in realization before dashing for the window.
Her feline friend happily jumps into the apartment, but while looking exactly as Emma remembers, there's something very different about the cat.
The way it moves seems wrong, almost as if walking on four paws is uncomfortable; but chalking it up to insomnia and seeing things Emma goes back to retrieving her drink.
Their ritual is maintained, but the storm dies down and she finds herself still awake, so she opens the window once more for the cat.
But before the feline jumps onto the sill, her green eyes make contact with Emma's before lowering her upper half to her, and Emma's own eyes grow big.
"Did you just bow?" she gapes, her mouth dropping as the tabby nods at her before exiting.
The shock is complete as her eyes follow the feline making her descent, and not minutes later spots the same cat upright, casually strolling down the sidewalk in a rather stylish pair of boots.
"I need another drink," Emma groans.