Damon hated funerals. He was essentially immortal and he still found them oddly macabre. And not in a fun Night Gallery type of way.
He shucked off his suit jacket, then his tie, onto the couch and pulled himself a very full glass of Bourbon. Alcohol always seemed to help, but it didn't here. Curse his ever present but often denied humanity. Rolling his head back, his hair ruffled against paper. His hand grabbed at it and pulled it forward.
Damon: Found a clue about Stefan. Tracking down lead. -Elena.
Well, good for Nancy Drew Gilbert. Of course Stefan was more important, even if he was in slaughterhouse territory. That was the hand he was dealt.
He downed his glass and poured another. Still no help. How depressing. Maybe something terribly unhealthy would do the trick. Damon rose with a groan and made his way to the kitchen, but not before stopping dead in his tracks at the door frame.
Well, that looked like a cat. A cat. Feline.
Damon cocked an eyebrow as he looked at it perched on the counter eating at something that Elena had probably made and then left. It was a perfectly healthy looking cat. Odds are it got in because a door or window was open. Who knew. It was too well fed and its coat too clean to be a stray.
That was what caught Damon's eye. The cat's coat was so familiar. Almost the same color as the one he had become so fond of in the past few weeks. He shrugged and stepped his way to the fridge. He plucked some food Jeremy had dropped off earlier. He made a mental note to tell the kid thank you. Little Gilbert was, really, one of Damon's better friends. It was a large sandwich that he placed in the microwave. His attention shifted back to the cat and how peacefully it gazed upon him. That was a pleasant change. It didn't look at him like he was a freakish monster. Refreshing.
The microwave chimed and he removed the sandwich. As he focused his attention on sauces and cheeses and chips, he failed to notice that the feline had glided over and suddenly, purring brushed against his arm.
"Well...hello," Damon said, looking down at the animal. This was, dare say, cute. "Can I help you?"
The cat merely continued to rub against his shoulder. He was sure it was reflex for the pet, but it was amazing to him. He was, quite literally, cold. Therefore most things didn't enjoy contact with him. Voluntary contact was something he treasured deeply, more than he would ever let on.
Plate in one hand and cat in the other, he returned to the couch and ate quietly as the feline pawed around his lap before settling down. The animal provided warmth, and he really needed that. He suspected warmth was something he'd not be experiencing for a while. And, well, he didn't have to lie this time. And that meant a lot.
He felt sleep coming on, so he lifted the cat to his eye level. It was so sweet as it too yawned a little. He grinned a little. She was up there, but hey, it looked like she had managed to brighten his life one last time. He studied the feline with its sleepy face and slight purr.
"Your name is Andie. She was...a very special lady." Damon said, placing the cat back in his lap and closing his eyes. For whatever reason, he hoped the cat knew how honest he was being.