Danny remembered telling Vlad to get a lonely guy cat. Of course he did; the last time he did so couldn't have been longer than three weeks ago. It was a running joke, almost as guaranteed to get Plasmius into a blind rage as calling him a fruitloop.
Of course, if he had known that this was going to happen, he never would have said a thing.
He paced back and forth, occasionally glancing at the contents of the alleyway. Danny had always been much more of a dog person, but this wouldn't be too much of a problem if it wasn't for one little detail.
In the shadows of the alley sat a large cardboard box, containing a thin layer of newspaper, an empty plastic bowl, and the limp form of a tiny black kitten.
Danny sighed. He knew that there must have been other kittens in there at some point - some of the fur caught in the scratched interior of the box was pure white and warm orange - but he also knew that most people wouldn't adopt a black cat simply because they symbolized bad luck. If the poor thing was in better health, he could just drop it off at the veterinarian in town and be done with it, but it was nearly dead. If he moved it, it could die, but it certainly wouldn't last the night if he left it there.
Biting his lip, the halfa finally made his decision. He carefully picked up the feline - a male - and hurriedly bundled it inside his coat. Usually, the fluffy garment was only for show because of his ice core, but Danny was genuinely glad he was wearing it today. The poor cat was almost as cold as he was, which was far from healthy.
"Hey there," He murmured, "My name is Danny, and I'm going to take care of you."