More Fun Than a Crypt Full of Kittens
By Jody E.
These characters do not belong to me, but rather to Joss Whedon and the fine folks at ME. I merely toy with them for my own interest.
This story takes place after "Life Serial."
This story is dedicated to my friend Leora, for obvious reasons.
The motorbike came to a screeching halt outside the crypt door. Spike hopped off and strode inside, carrying a large covered basket. It had taken some doing, but after he had dropped Buffy off to the tender mercies of her Watcher, he had gone back to Dave's Bar and claimed his winnings. He'd had to beat up that Shar-pei demon and Ol' Dave hadn't been too happy about it, but bloody hell, he had won that game, fair and square! Well… as fair and square as his opponents, at any rate, so they had just better bloody pay up. And they had. Climbing down the ladder to his lower level, Spike deposited the basket on the coffin in the middle of the room. Buffy referred to it as his "coffintable" and had asked if he had any coffintable books. Heh. Yeah, the slayer was a hoot when she was drunk. Spike smiled to himself at the memory of her drinking straight from the bottle of Tequila. He somehow didn't foresee a drinking problem in her future, since she obviously hated the stuff. But it was good for her to let off steam a little, and better she do it in his company, than alone somewhere.
Spike opened the basket and looked at his poker winnings. Six kittens tumbled over each other, mewling piteously. Spike grabbed one at random. It had been a long time since he had fed off anything alive. Packaged hospital blood, and coagulated pig's blood from the butcher got a little old after a while. His mouth watering, his demon features formed as he went to chomp down on the kitten. Suddenly, it let out a loud high pitched, "meow." Spike looked at the little creature. It was the smallest of the bunch, with yellowish fur, and its green eyes were wide open with terror. It twisted furiously in his hand, undoubtedly sensing that he was a predator. "Feisty one, aren't you?" Spike laughed at the little beast.
The kitten dug its tiny needle like claws into his hand. "Bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed as he dropped the kitten to the coffin top, where it hissed at him. Damn if the thing didn't remind him of the Slayer. Small but a fighter. He looked at his hand, where the tiny talons had drawn blood. He looked at the kitten again. It was pretty damn small. How much blood could it possible contain, anyhow? A tablespoon? All six kittens together would barely be a snack. Hardly worth the time, was it? What in the world had made him think that winning kittens would be a good thing?
Well, let's be smart about this, Spike, he told himself. These beasties aren't worth much yet, but in a few months, they will each be good for a decent meal. And if I don't want 'em, myself, I can trade 'em to some demon that does. All he had to do was fatten them up a bit, and in three months, six, tops, he'd really have something. Spike put the yellow kitten back in the basket. They were all crying now, probably hungry. If he recalled his natural history, baby animals needed to eat frequently. Wonderful. He looked at the kittens, "You were supposed to be bloody feeding ME, not the other way around!" he groused, and went upstairs to where he kept his mini refrigerator.
Not much in here but blood and beer. Oh and the small box of fried chicken Buffy had brought him on the way home from her meeting with Angel. Spike wasn't exactly sure what the chicken gift had symbolized. He would have been quite content to have kept the Special One out of the loop altogether about Buffy's resurrection, but he knew that wasn't possible. On her return, she hadn't been very forthcoming about how the meeting had gone. All Spike could tell was that she had returned looking pretty much the same as when she left. Only with chicken. But the fact that she had thought to bring him something on her way back, said something, didn't it? Spike relegated the Angel situation to the list of things he was not going to worry about.
He took the box of chicken out of the fridge. There were two pieces left, a leg and a breast. Spike ripped the meat into small pieces and placed it in on a saucer from his small collection of mismatched dishes. It wasn't much but it would have to do until tomorrow evening, when he could get out to the store. He brought the plate down and put it in the basket with the kittens. They were ravenous, climbing all over each other to get to the food, tearing it with their little sharp teeth. Spike watched them, fascinated. Worse than a vampire feeding frenzy, he thought, amused. The kittens soon demolished the meat. Now what? Well, he couldn't let them soil the basket...it was all he had to keep them in. But there was plenty of grass and dirt outside. A whole cemetery full, in fact. Spike picked up the basket and brought it upstairs and outside into the night. The graveyard was dark, large, and…downright scary looking. If he left the kitties out here, they would wander away and that would be the end of them. Frowning, Spike brought them back inside. "Right," he grumbled to himself, "Litter box it is."
He hunted around the crypt looking for something to use. Finally, he found the cardboard box he used to cart things home from the dump. The sides were too high, so he ripped them down creating a shallow tray. Then he tore up some old newspapers, and filled the box with the shreds. He put the box on the floor and put the kittens in it. He had read that kittens did this sort of thing instinctively, and sure enough, they seemed to understand the use of the litter box without any coaching from him. This was a good thing, since he had no idea how to go about training a kitten, no less six of the bloody things. When they were finished, Spike put the kittens back into their basket, where they piled up together for warmth and fell asleep.
Spike opened his eyes. The caterwauling from the basket on the coffin was becoming unbearable. He'd tried to ignore it for the past hour to no avail. He got up. The kittens were trying to climb out of the basket. How long had they been asleep? His internal clock told him that it was about 10:00 AM. He had gone to sleep at dawn after putting them into the litter box one last time and giving them any remaining scraps of meat he could get off those chicken bones. He couldn't go to the store yet. There was no clear underground route to the supermarket. Damn. Now what do I feed the things? Spike looked around his crypt, focusing his vampire senses, listening and sniffing for the slightest signs of life. Ah there, behind that bookshelf. With lightening speed, Spike was at the bookshelf reaching behind it. Smirking, he dragged out one very large, surprised and pissed off rat. Well, that takes care of kitty brunch, Spike thought to himself, twisting its ratty little neck. He personally wasn't too fond of rat, but he imagined the kitties weren't that fussy.
As soon as it was dark enough, Spike left for the store. Too bad he'd had to spring for an entire bottle of Dave's overpriced Tequila last night, or he would have had enough money for cat food AND cigarettes. But the products weren't that expensive and Spike had actually found something called Purina Kitten Chow. Bloody brilliant. He had also found some super clumping kitty litter and a cheap plastic litter box, since that cardboard wouldn't hold up for long. He filled a bowl with water from the gallon jug he kept in his "kitchen." He had forgotten water last night, but it said here on the box of food that they needed it. He filled his other bowl with the food and put it on the floor. He looked into the basket. It was empty. Bloody hell! He had noticed that the kittens were quiet when he came in, but had thought they were asleep. He looked around frantically. Suddenly, kittens appeared from everywhere. From under the bed, behind the coffintable, from every nook and cranny of his crypt they appeared. The little Buffy kitten had apparently been sleeping in one of his shoes. Well, all six were accounted for then, he noted with relief. However, he realized that this meant that the basket would no longer hold them. They would now have the run of the place.
He watched the tiny tabbies dive into the bowl of kitten chow. While they were eating, Spike set up the litter box and put it in sewer tunnel, out of the way. Spike shook his head. He had never been in the pet department of the supermarket before, since all he ever bought was liquor, cigarettes, tea bags and hot cocoa mix. He had been astounded at the assortment of products. Humans and their pets. It was bloody absurd. He shook his finger at the kittens, "Now don't you lot all go thinkin' of yourselves as pets. D'ya hear me? You're food, and don't you forget it. Food!" he repeated for emphasis.
Spike grabbed his duster and prepared to go out. It was about time for Buffy to appear on her back porch and he wanted to find out if she had recovered from her night on the dark side. He looked at the kittens. No point in putting them in the basket. He addressed them firmly from the top of the ladder, "Now I'm goin' out. To see my lady. You lot had better behave or you are all going to be hors d'oeuvres. That clear? "
He opened the door of his crypt to go out and was startled to see Buffy standing there, preparing to knock.. She jumped at seeing him also. "What were you yelling about hors d'oeuvres, Spike?" Buffy asked looking puzzled.
"Uh...hi Buffy. I was just headin' over to your place. I was in the mood for some chicken wings, uh, hors d'oeuvres, and thought we might go over to the Bronze for some." Spike said, remembering at that moment that he had just spent the last of his money at the supermarket.
"But who were you talking to?" Buffy persisted, trying to peer inside the crypt, while Spike attempted to block her view. "Have you got somebody in there? Uh…not that you don't, uh have a right to have somebody over for, uh, hors d'oeuvres, or uh, whatever."
Spike sighed. There was no way to hide this. He was in for it now. He backed away and invited Buffy inside. He looked around surreptitiously, but there was not a kitten to be seen. Good. They were all downstairs. They couldn't climb his bloody ladder, could they? "See? Nobody here. Just talkin' to myself. Do that sometimes."
Buffy narrowed her eyes at him but didn't say anything. She knew Spike, and he was acting way too suspiciously. She knew he was up to something. But that wasn't why she was here.
"Whatever, Spike. As long as you don't start answering yourself, you're okay."
"Uh, Buffy. What are you doin' here? I mean that's not our usual…"his voice trailed off as he realized that he didn't want Buffy to think that he considered their nightly porch routine…a routine.
But Buffy knew what he meant, though she also didn't want to acknowledge it. "I wanted to apologize for last night," she said.
Spike raised his eyebrows. Here was a new one for the books. "Apologize, Slay-er Buffy? For what? Getting' drunk? Could happen to anybody. Throwin' up on my boots? It's not the first time that's happened. Trust me. Usually it's me, actually."
Buffy raised timid eyes to him, "Is that all I did? I mean was I a total dork? And was I totally hallucinating or were you actually playing poker for kittens?"
Spike smiled mischievously, "Yes, yes and yes."
Buffy looked confused, "Okay. That's good…I think. I don't usually drink."
"You don't say."
"And I'm fairly sure that I will never drink again."
"Hmmm. Well, then that's all right, then."
"I had a bad day yesterday."
"So you told me."
"What was that noise?" Spike had been noting the noise coming from downstairs, but hoped that if he ignored it, Buffy would too. No such luck.
"Mice. I have mice."
Suddenly, there was a loud crash. "You liar, "Buffy exclaimed. "You totally have somebody down there! Probably another drunken girl sitting on your…your…coffintable! "
With that, Buffy climbed down the ladder into the depths of Spike's crypt. Spike, laughing ruefully, could do nothing but follow.
The sight that met Buffy's eyes when she got down the ladder was not at all what she expected. There were kittens everywhere. If Spike had had a chandelier, there would have been kittens swinging from it. As it was, they were on his coffin, on his bed, and one, apparently, had knocked over a glass vase of some sort from an end table near the bed. "Hey," yelled Spike when he saw the vase, "that was brand new. I just found that at the dump yesterday!"
"Spike, " said Buffy, "You have kittens."
"So it would appear. A terminal case, I expect."
"Are these the same ones from last night?"
Spike nodded, and went over to pick up the broken vase.
"I-I thought I had set them all free."
"Sorry, Lady Bountiful, but your efforts at kitten liberation were less than successful."
As Spike cleaned up the broken glass, he explained to Buffy about going back and claiming his winnings. "If I didn't get them, it would have set a bad precedent, don't you see?"
"Yes. I see, " Buffy said, her eyes sparkling. She picked up the little yellow kitten who was trying to climb up her leg. "But what do you plan to do with this wealth of felines?"
Spike explained his plan about fattening up the kittens to sell or trade to the local demon population. "So, you see it's a good investment."
"Yes, indeed, "Buffy deadpanned, "Investing in cat futures is even better than pork bellies."
"Excuse me, love. Pork what?"
"I have no idea," sighed Buffy, "Anya's been making me watch 'Moneytalk.' But apparently they're something people invest in."
"Just so you understand, they're not pets or anything."
"No of course. You're a cat farmer. Anyone can see that. But why do you keep them inside?"
"Inside? Where else would I keep them?"
"Well, I don't know a whole lot about farming, but I do think they keep the animals outside. In pens."
Spike was outraged, "Keep them outside in a pen? Around here? They wouldn't last the night!"
Buffy looked thoughtful. "You know? I bet that's why we don't have any farms in Sunnydale. I've always wondered."
Buffy walked over to a large gray kitten and picked him up. "Hey fella. How come you're way over here by yourself? She looked at Spike, "Did you name them?"
"Of course I didn't name them! I told you, they're not bloody pets!"
Buffy ignored him and looked at the kitten, "Poor little no-name guy."
"Well, actually, " Spike mumbled, "I call him Peaches."
"Peaches?"
"He's big. He's gray. He doesn't play well with others. What do you expect?"
Buffy was finding it hard to keep a straight face. "What about this one?" she indicated a rust colored tabby.
"Oh, that's Red, for obvious reasons."
"And this little dickens climbing your bedspread? Spike…you have a bedspread?"
Spike ignored her last remark. "That's Monkeyboy. He's always getting' into trouble. He was the one knocked over my vase."
"And how about this little runt? " Buffy cradled the yellow kitten.
" Uh, that's uh...B.B."
"B.B? Big Bad? Bed and Breakfast? 'fess up, Spike!"
Spike studied his feet. "Bitty Buffy, okay?"
Now it was Buffy's turn to be outraged. "What? You pick the scrawniest one in the whole bunch to name after me? Thanks a bunch!"
"Well, it wasn't because she looks like you, "Spike lied, "but because she has your fire. She's a fighter, just like you. Every time Black Beauty tries to boss her around she swats her right away." That part, at least, was true.
"Black Beauty?" asked Buffy, looking at the sleek black kitten coolly licking its white paws. "After the horse?"
Spike though it wise not to answer. "That white one over there. That's Sunshine."
Buffy picked up the fluffy white kitten; "She's a pretty one. But why Sunshine?"
Spike mumbled something.
"Excuse me. I didn't hear you, Spike."
"Had a dog named Sunshine once...few years ago. Dru killed it."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Spike. " She petted the white kitten, "better keep this one away from Black Beauty then."
"Touché, Slayer, " said Spike.
"So, I thought you said you didn't give them names."
"I didn't! But I had to call them something, so I'd know which one I was talkin' to."
"Spike, that's pretty much the definition of giving them names. I didn't expect you to print out birth certificates."
Spike decided to change the subject. "Look what I discovered last night."
He took a piece of string out of his pocket and started to trail it along the floor. The kittens all clambered over each other trying to grab the string. Buffy shook her head, laughing "I can't decide who you resemble more, Sigfried or Roy."
"Pretty funny, innit?"
"Oh Spike, you are so not going to let anyone eat these kittens."
Spike shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Problem is, I don't know what I'm bloody gonna do. I really can't afford to keep 'em all. Want a kitten?"
Buffy shook her head sadly. "I'm just trying to take care of me, right now. But I'll bet Dawn would like one." At Spike's hopeful look, she added, "Only one. We already have Kitty Fantastico, remember?"
"What about the whelp? Think he and Anya'd take one? Or two?"
"I'll ask, but I somehow doubt it. But you know, Willow and Tara have lots of Wicca friends, and they're all really into cats. I'll have them ask around for you. In the meantime, Dawn will be dying to come over and pick one out."
"Have her stop by after school tomorrow. She's due for a visit anyhow."
"Listen, Spike…I came over to ask you out to the Bronze for some chicken wings, to make up for acting like such an idiot last night. But instead, why don't I just give you the money, "she handed Spike a twenty dollar bill, "so you can buy supplies? Cat farming is an expensive occupation. You got any hot cocoa mix? "
Spike pocketed the bill. "Thanks, Buffy. Uh…I'm pretty sure I've got some left. Why?"
"Good. Go fire up that teakettle of Giles' and I'll run out and get us a movie. I can see we're just going to have to stay in tonight and kitten sit. It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it."
Smiling, Spike and Buffy headed up the ladder.
The end