Edit: Did some cleaning up on a few errors. Also, this fic is going to be from the cat!cast's pov from the next chapter on, this was just the introductory.
Though the sign out front is cheerfully illustrated with a multitude of frolicking animals, the shelter itself is a drab building, one in need of a touch up here and there. Oh, who is she kidding, the whole place should probably be demolished and redone entirely. Poor animals, she hopes the inside is less dreary than the exterior.
Mrs. Hudson is greeted at the door by a pretty young assistant, her hair pulled back in a hasty tie that speaks of stress. Her lab coat is a patchwork of fur in every shade, length, and species and she actually has a smattering of bird down in her hair.
"Hi, I'm Molly. Molly Hooper." She extends her hand and Mrs. Hudson clasps it warmly. She really is an adorable girl. "What can I help you find?"
She is clearly very nervous and Mrs. Hudson, a natural care giver to all who fall under her wing, does her best to be reassuring. "Well, I'm looking to adopt a cat, I have one already but I'm afraid the solitary life isn't good for him so I'd like to get him a friend."
"Oh, we have loads of cats! Oh, I'm so sorry. That was unprofessional of me." Her blush is glaringly obvious and the way she tries to duck her face only makes her look smaller.
"Not to worry, deary. You're doing just fine." She squeezes the young girl's arm affectionately. "In fact, I will need your help as the criteria I have in mind is very specific. The cat I already own, you see, is four years old and highly antisocial. Oh, he's smart, incredibly so, but he does seem to get himself into the nastiest trouble."
Touching Molly lightly on the elbow, she indicates she is ready to be led to the animals before continuing. "What I'm looking for specifically is a young adult male, one with a calm nature but not one that will allow himself to be bullied."
"That's fantastic. I love that you're adopting an older one and not just a kitten." Molly's eyes grow wistful and she walks them over to several pens in the far corner. "They need love just as much, if not worse."
The girl clearly isn't talking about the cats any more but Mrs. Hudson isn't the sort to point that sort of thing out. Molly brings them to a stop in front of a smattering of 7 older cats and Mrs. Hudson, chastising her old mind, brings herself back to the task at hand.
Three are dismissed out of hand as being too young, she wants one around Sherlock's age if not a bit older, and two more she has to reject as simply TOO old. The two left are in cages side by side and Mrs. Hudson peers intently at both of them. Molly notices her interest and begins to share the cats' respective histories.
"Ah, him on the left, the grey one, I don't think he'll suit your existing cat. He's seven years old, left here by his owners when they moved. The family had no complaints but couldn't take him along to their new flat. He's very affectionate but skittish." She crinkles her nose at him and scratches his chin through the bars before turning to the one cat remaining.
"And him? He's a bit of a sad story. Owner was a single man, overseas in Afghanistan. He was shot and killed there." Molly's eyes cloud and she closes them for a second before continuing. "Well, when the family found out, clearly they were devastated, and in their grief they decided to clean out his flat, where he lived alone after his funeral."
"They didn't know he'd had a cat. The neighbor who'd been caring for him also didn't know that they were going to wait to go to their son's flat." Mrs. Hudson extends her fingers through the mesh bars of said cat's cage and waits. He watches her calmly, sniffs her fingers and, seeming to decide she passes his test, rubs against her fingers. "He'd been alone there for a week."
He was a light blonde, medium hair. A small cat but with a thicker build, one of muscle, not fat. This is a cat, six years old Molly supplied, that has stayed active, even into adulthood, a time that some cats dedicate to sleeping, eating and little else. Mrs. Hudson scratches beneath his ear and is rewarded with a deep purring that rumbles through every inch of the now thoroughly relaxed cat.
"And how does he do with other animals?" Most shelters would throw animals together in a controlled environment to test their ability to co-exist with other pets.
"He leaves everyone to themselves. He's distant from the other animals, never really interacted with any of them." Mrs. Hudson is aware of Molly's hopeful glances as she continues to scratch much to the cats delight.
"Is he up to date on his shots? If so, I would like to take him home." The cat stops its purring and stares directly at her, as if he understands what is being said and is processing how it will affect him. Molly reacts with more joy than anything, genuinely happy to see an animal adopted, she nearly skips to get the necessary paperwork with Mrs. Hudson following behind.
"All of animals are up to date, so not to worry! I'm afraid we don't have a name documented for him, he was left in a box with a letter explaining why he was in such bad shape." There was a moment of sadness but it passed quickly for both women. "Any ideas what you'll name him?"
Mrs. Hudson pretends to think but she knows, knew from the moment he begun purring into the palm of her hand, that he would forever be her John Watson.
Well, only if Sherlock likes him, of course.