Meow Mix
Tail #1: It Shows
"Micky!"
Perched easily on the second floor railing, the owner of the name grinned slowly. "Yes, dear?"
Davy appeared just beneath him, arms crossed, glowering up at his feline housemate dangerously. "Don't even try that innocent act, Micky. You know what you did."
"Do I?" Stretching languidly, Micky lay along the railing, propping his head up on one fist. The diminutive terrier growled in response, prompting Micky's grin to curl wider.
"Don't be such a stereotype," he snorted, ears pricking towards the rumbling.
"Then don't leave fucking cheeseburgers lying everywhere for me to step on," Davy replied, lifting a hand and waving the slightly-squashed food item in Micky's general direction.
The curly-mopped Kit frowned suddenly, the tip of his tail twitching as he folded his arms, resting his chin on them and staring at the wall, seemingly engrossed with nothing. "'S not for you," he groused, pouting. His cheeks flushed a bit when Davy's eyebrows shot upwards and the Brit smirked a bit.
"Oh? Then who-"
"Oh, hey, thanks!" A hand reached out, snatching the flattened burger from Davy's grasp. Turning, Davy regarded Peter quizzically.
"Uh, Peteā¦"
Unwrapping the sandwich, Peter shoved about half of it in his mouth, tail wagging happily. He tilted his head, ears perked, and did his best to smile at Micky despite his bulging cheeks. "Fhnggshg Mighih," he mumbled through the mouthful.
Micky watched, his expression that particular mix of incredulity and affection that all of them wore around Peter, as the greyhound continued to scarf the offering. When the blonde was done, tongue sticking out comically to the side to try to lick up a bit of ketchup on his cheek, Micky slid off the railing with a roll of his eyes and retreated to the room he shared with Michael. Davy noted as he went that the back of his neck was flushed just like his cheeks had been.
Blinking, Davy looked from the closed door to Peter and back again. "What on earth was that all about?"
"It's a cat thing," Peter said simply, licking whatever remained of the melty cheese and grease from his fingers.
Davy regarded his roommate. Peter had, upon welcoming the Kit into the Pad, made a point to find out as much as he could about feline behavior so as to make the Siamese as comfortable as possible. Personally, Davy didn't hold much with the way some of their kind obsessed over animal instincts and dispositions. Yes, he was certain that part of who he was influenced by the Manchester terrier curling around in his DNA, but he was also human, and the idea of not only giving yourself over to base instinct, but using it as an excuse, just rankled.
"I don't care if it's a cat thing. I just stepped on a cheeseburger he left on our bedroom floor. That's not normal."
"What's not normal?" Mike queried as he came in from the back.
"Micky's not normal."
Mike snorted. "And this is news?"
Peter pursed his lips. "Davy's upset because he accidentally stepped on the burger Micky left me."
"It was on the floor," the tambourinist moaned, suppressing a small whine. "Who leaves food on the floor for people?"
"Well," Mike said in the reasonable tone of one who had never had to deal with slipping on fast food, "I'm not all that surprised Micky did. It's a cat thing." Off of Davy's narrow-eyed look, Mike raised his hands defensively. "It's a nice thing, a way for him to let Peter know that he cares enough to help him feed himself. Cats - real cats - bring their family members dead animals sometimes, you know? It's like that."
"Ugh."
"Basically," Mike continued, leaning back against the staircase, "Micky's saying, 'Pete, I love ya, but you're obviously too incompetent to feed yourself, so I'll do it for you.' Which is about as close as cats get to complimenting someone."
Peter nodded enthusiastically, his smile bright. Davy could only shake his head.
"Cats," he sighed, long-suffering and resigned. "Gotta love 'em, I suppose."
"Yeah," Mike replied with a slow grin. "Otherwise, they'll make sure you regret it."
End Tail #1
