It was two days after she had left that the first one appeared.
The cat had been curled up in his foyer, lounging on the cool stone and licking its whiskers. He had wasted no time in turning the pest into a small jug and throwing it against the wall as he continued on his furious trek.
The second had appeared a few days later, caught between the shelves of the library and interrupting his literary purge (He was in the process of setting the room on fire). It had shrieked and caught his attention as it scurried from shelf to shelf in order to escape the blaze.
He suffered a moment of guilt before the library was filled with the smell of burnt fur.
The third and the fourth appeared soon after that, and eventually, he relented. Despite their annoying intrusions on his eradication of everything Belle, he found their presence somewhat—
Well.
They were the closest thing to her he could tolerate.
No matter how his self-loathing grew stronger every day, no matter how many rooms he destroyed in his anger. No matter that he had shut the door to her room and refused to walk within 50 feet of it; no act of violence or self-hatred could quell the ache of loneliness in his ancient heart. Belle's companionship had corrupted him; he could no longer live where the silence allowed his chaotic thoughts to fester.
And anyway, the cats seemed impervious to all means of torment he could conjure.
Never mind that he was allergic. Never mind his long hatred of the species. He let them stay, giving them the remains of his overcooked dinners and water melted from the snow outside the castle.
In turn, they followed him everywhere, mewling in pitiful adoration.
The relentless felines refused to leave him in peace. There were never more than one or two of them in the castle at a time, of course, ranging from brown tabbies to colorful calicos, but they would stalk his every move. They would wind between his legs as he walked up the stairs and play with the laces of his boots. Insistently they would mew, pleading food or drink or a pat on the head. More than once he had to shoo one from his potions table after it had tipped a particularly delicate concoction off of the counter (the potions often left them oddly colored or hairless, much to his amusement). Nuisances, the furry beasts were, and yet, he felt gratified to have the company.
Pitifully, he let them stay, because they reminded him of her. On long winter nights they would curl up on his fireplace (it took all of his control not to kick them into the blaze solely for a laugh) and purr, or play with the gold he spun from his wheel. Their easy contentment and quiet companionship was an empty reflection of the days of Belle.
Well, perhaps Belle had talked more than these stubborn felines, but their curiosity and courage left no question in his mind.