Disclaimer: Lamentably not mine.
A/N: This fic came as a result of two things, the first being a request from MyAibou for something Danny/Sam, and the second a line on Sam's profile on Wikipedia that states she's a 'self proclaimed cat person'. How could I resist? Set post-canon.
Close Encounter of the Feline Kind
© Scribbler, October 2008.
Every dog has his day - but the nights are reserved for the cats. – Anonymous.
"Man, that's one butt-ugly cat!"
Sam glared. "There's no need to be personal. I would've expected an insensitive comment like that from Tucker."
"What?" Danny gestured at the pile of ragged fur and bent whiskers currently watching them from the centre of the couch. It was curled up with its no doubt massive paws tucked away under its chest, but it still managed to take up most of the space, making it impossible to sit down. "You can't deny the truth, Sam. Your cat looks like sasquatch."
"He does not." Sam regarded the cat. "Okay, maybe he does. A little. A very little. Still, that's no reason to hurt his feelings. He's just unique and doesn't conform to the standard ideals of feline beauty."
"Standard ideals of feline beauty? Hurt his feelings?" Danny couldn't keep the note of incredulity from his voice. His arm stung where the monstrous thing had clawed him – and all he'd been trying to do was fluff up a cushion so they'd be comfortable while they watched Splatter Knife VI on DVD. Was it his fault Sam kept the curtains shut and the lights so 'atmospherically low' he'd mistaken the cat for a cushion? "I'd like to hurt more than that …"
The pile of ragged of fur growled. The bent whiskers twitched. It was an altogether menacing combination that Danny associated more with tigers at the zoo than house-pets.
He backed off half a step before he remembered he was a superhero who'd saved the world from marauding ghosts and megalomaniacs. No way was he being cowed but this … thing. "Where the heck did he come from, anyway? I didn't even know you had a cat. Are you pet-sitting for a relative?"
"No, he's mine. He turned up on my windowsill last week and dei8ced to adopt our house. Cats are like that, you know; mysterious and independent." Sam shrugged. "I like him. He has character."
"That's one way of putting it." Another was to say he looked like a fist covered in fur – a fist looking for something to pound into a bloody pulp, no less, and Danny got the feeling his same victim vibes that attracted Dash to him were working on the cat, too.
"Plus he terrifies Mom's evil little Chihuahuas," Sam added with more than a hint of malicious glee.
Ever since her mother bought the two tiny dogs, Sam had waged war on them and 'everything they represent about the ethos of cute-but-disposable fashion culture today'. Her resolve was helped by the fact that within their first week Pinky and Perky had gotten into her wardrobe and destroyed most of her clothes. They'd left only the selection Mrs. Manson had bought for her – the outfits Sam never, ever wore. And with good reason. She hadn't forgiven the dogs for the humiliation of going to school in a pink rah-rah skirt. Danny doubted she ever would.
He wasn't surprised Pinky and Perky were scared of this cat. It scared him, and he had ghost powers. There was something about the way it glowered out of its one eye that made his skin scrawl and all the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Sam showed no such compunction. She shoved the cat unceremoniously out of the way ad plonked herself down on the sofa. The cat stretched, turned around three times and the sprawled half on, half off her lap. It looked pointedly at Danny.
So did Sam. "So, are we watching this movie or not?"
"Um …" Gingerly, Danny sat down. When nothing bad happened he put his arm on the back of the sofa, edging it around Sam's shoulders. A meaningful growl forced him to whip it back again. "Jeez!"
"Mrow."
"Party pooper."
"You're not seriously arguing with my cat, are you?"
Danny pouted. It wasn't a good look, but he couldn't help it. "It won't let me put my arm around you."
"Poor baby."
He grumbled to himself about waiting so long to do boyfriend-girlfriend things, only to be prevented by a very mortal, un-ghostly cat with an attitude problem and a violent streak like Mike Tyson presented with a row of ears. "Your cat hates me."
"Don't be ridiculous. He doesn't hate anyone. He just has an inimitable way of expressing himself."
Danny met the cat's baleful stare. There was a hint of victory gleaming in those golden eyes. He was sure he was imagining it – it was only a cat after all – but one paw stretched a little further forward and draped possessively over Sam's thigh.
Danny sank lower in his seat. "Stupid cat."
"He has a name, you know."
"What is it?"
"Greebo."
Danny blinked. "I should've guessed." He leaned back as the opening music blared from the state-of-the-art speakers around the room. Somehow it no longer mattered to him that Sam owned the best home cinema system this side of anywhere. The evening he'd been looking forward to was spoiled. He'd been bested by a cat, and no guy's pride could stand that for long.
"Meow." Greebo purred as Sam scratched behind his ears.
"You like that?"
"Mrrrrrr."
Danny sank lower in his seat. What had promised to be an enjoyable movie-fest with his girlfriend was instead going to be a very long evening trading glares with an animal that had a brain one third the size of his own. Apparently.
I could be out fighting ghosts. Or saving the world. Or doing my Math homework. Or learning to speak Swahili. Or… something. Anything but sitting here like this.
Danny jerked when something touched his hand. For a second he thought it was that damn cat, until he looked down and saw Sam's fingers over his own.
"Don't look so grumpy," she chided. "That's my job."
Danny stared at her for a second. Then he smiled. A squib of victory exploded in his chest, settling into that warm squidgy feeling he always got when holding Sam's hand.
On Sam's lap, Greebo made disapproving rumbling noises, but allowed the two humans their small bit of contact as the violence on screen held his attention. His tail flicked as he picked up tips, and over his head Danny and Sam leaned in and ignored the move entirely.
Fin.
A/N: Some will have noticed the side-fling to Terry Pratchett's Discworld series in this fic. Greebo is the name of Nanny Ogg's marauding moggy, and while I'm not suggesting Sam's cat is that same bundle of fangs and fury, I firmly believe that each universe has its very own Greebo – and God help whoever crosses his path without a placatory pocket of tuna.