Summary: It starts, as these things generally do, with one cat. Written for comment-fic. Prompt: any, any, crazy cat lady


Crazy Cat Lady

It starts, as these things generally do, with one cat. Eliot almost sits on the mangy ginger before he realizes, hey, there's something furry and orange and sharp on the couch.

"Mrow," it says and retracts its claws. Then it washes its face. And its privates. And then it sits on Eliot's lap because he almost sat on it. Fair trade.

"Oooh, hey, kitty, kitty," coos Sophie at cat number two, a snow-white Persian. "Aren't you a darling?" It bites her finger.

Hardison does something (he won't say what) to cat number three and gets mauled. Well, "mauled," according to him, although the three tiny scratches on his arm are nothing compared to the scars Eliot has that he claims he got from a Siberian tiger. It's a wonder the hacker actually even manages to get near the slinky feline without noticing because you'd think the nonstop uncontrollable sneezing would have alerted him to the fact that there was a cat in the area.

Nate chokes on the long, silky hair that cat number four habitually leaves floating in his whiskey glass. Cat number five actually really, really, really likes Nate for some reason. It brings him mice and leaves them in his bed, curls up next to him at night, and in the morning, wakes him up with a raucous meowing that clashes horribly with his hangover. Then it sits on his lap all through breakfast and claws him if he tries to dump it off onto the ground.

When cat number six shows up, they decide that enough is enough.

"Parker!"

"What?" she says, cuddling the one-eyed calico to her chest, "I'm a cat burglar!"