"You're like me." Peter breathes, amazed.
The cat hisses and swats at his nose. He jerks back just in time so its claws don't snag his suit.
"Um, do that again!" Peter tries, most likely in vain. Cats will never do what you want them to. In fact, they'll go out of their way to do the opposite, or something even more contrary.
And as expected, the feline simply sits in place, tail switching all the while.
Peter pouts.
He would've left the cat alone if he hadn't just seen it stalking down the wall towards a pigeon. Down. The. Wall.
His spidey-sense had zipped right up his neck - like whoosh!
Something clicked.
The cat glared balefully at him a second longer before turning tail and dashing out the alley.
And the next one is a golden retriever. Its tongue lolls, slobber dripping onto the fire escape. Grade A normal pupper as far as Peter can tell, except for the fact that it's upside down. It gives a happy bark and drops down with a thud, having agilely righted itself in midair.
Peter gasps. The dog gives his hand a lick.
He manages to find a magnifying glass and asks, "Paw?"
The retriever obediently places its paw in Peter's hand and he thoroughly inspects it, confirming his suspicions.
Oh my god.
There's a trio of pigeons that congregate in the alley nearby. They're leaving webs behind as they fly and strutting up sides of buildings, pecking holes into the mortar.
Organic webbing is Peter's guess. Kinda weird. Will I get that eventually? He shakes the questions out of his head and manages to corral them into a makeshift net of his own webbing.
The cat was lured in with a can of tuna and the dog had come willingly. The pigeons were released from the net and that went about as well it could've. He carefully positions himself between them and the cat, while picking feathers out of his hair.
The dog rests his muzzle on Peter's leg, tail thumping happily. Every now and then, the pigeons tink at the window with their beaks, not entirely pleased to be cooped up inside. Their feet are still trailing bits of web.
The cat noses around his room, presumedly in search of more tuna and fixes him with a glare when she doesn't find any. Peter tentatively reaches out to give her a pet, but she only ends up on the ceiling. And stays there.
Peter frowns, wondering exactly what to do now. He feels a certain kind of responsibility, a stalwart sense of duty, with these spidery creatures now under his auspices.
Suddenly, a portal appears on his ceiling.
The cat had leapt down in a panic and now Peter is sporting scratches on his face. All the other animals were standing at attention as well. His own senses were acting up again so he thinks he knows why.
"Oh, fu-" Peter blinks in surprise. "-fudge..." There's a costumed pig in his room (at least he thinks that's what it is) in Spider-Man's colors. "Not this again!"
.
.
"Well, that's how my dream ended. I think I shocked myself awake. And the pig sounded like John Mulaney for some reason..." Peter makes grabby-hands at the plate of pancakes and Clint passes them over in a daze.
The rest of breakfast is spent in introspective silence.