My first James Bond story.
I also have no idea where this came from.
Raoul Silva is not a particularly cuddly person, as most anyone in their right mind would assume. Nor does he have a soft spot for anything fluffy, warm, fuzzy, cute. Obviously. Anything said otherwise would be absolutely unthinkable.
As far as everyone around him knows, Raoul Silva hates cats. Rumor has it he's even allergic. He gets all puffy if a cat is even remotely close to him. However, no one would ever question him on such a personal matter. No one would dare.
Today is just another standard day in the life of the ex M16 agent, Mr. Silva. He is staring out into the distance, watching the ocean. The waves are unusually calm today. This fact, though, does not do much to soothe him.
He has been plotting (in the evil sense of the word) for a very long time. A very, very, very long time. And sometimes, on days similar to today, he doesn't know how much longer he can go on. Perhaps this is an exaggeration, as Silva is a well-known drama queen.
But today he really means it.
So, for the sake of the little sanity he has remaining, Silva puts away the plotting and decides to do nothing instead. He is not very talented at doing nothing, though. In fact, he positively hates not being busy. How he despises being one of those people, those restless people who fiddle and cough at inappropriate times.
He is rambling again.
Fortunately he is alone, so no one will be annoyed at him and the literal twiddling of his thumbs and the almost frantic pace at which he taps his foot. (The annoyed looks which he seemingly receives are all a part of his over-active imagination, which I am sure you have predicted. Who would seriously look at Raoul Silva as if we were annoying them?)
Just as Silva is about to give up and return to his dastardly scheming, he hears a small, very faint whine in the distance. He wonders in amusement for a brief moment if someone has hurt themselves again. This happens quite often, believe it or not. They are all very clumsy; they are always tripping over their own feet.
The answer to his question is answered when he feels something warm and small rub against his leg. Silva panics slightly, throwing a hand over his mouth in shock. He is more surprised than afraid, of course.
Of course. He is never afraid.
Once recovered, he glances downward to see nothing other than a cat.
Not just any cat. This is the most beautifulcat he has ever had the privilege of witnessing. She's fluffy, with almost unnaturally white fur. It reminds him terribly of his own hair, which is constantly drawing curious looks from those around him. The cat's blue eyes are crossed, making her a million times more adorable. She meows again, louder now that she knows someone is listening, and brushes against his leg two more times.
Being the person he is, Silva's first instinct is to kick the creature to Timbuktu. He wants to kick it as hard as he can so it sails across the ocean into oblivion. He will never see it again.
While he is contemplating this thought, the little cat meows and this time Silva swears it sounds angry. She leaps onto his leg, digging her claws into his skin. And it hurts. It hurts horribly. But most importantly, this stupid cat has just ruined his favorite trousers.
Silva's mind has been made up.
The moment he is about to grab the cat and toss it away to who knows where, the thing begins purring. She painfully makes her way up his leg and into his lap, purrs growing louder by the second.
Silva stares.
The cat meows and snuggles into his stomach, kneading his leg in that odd way cats do. Silva is just staring, staring, staring; the crossed blue eyes are gazing back into his own. How strange all of this is, he thinks absent-mindedly. Someone must have left the poor little thing behind when he had scared them all off the island.
This cat belongs to someone. Or, did belong to someone. She is all alone now, wandering around aimlessly much like people would do when lost. The purring, which closely resembles a motor, slowly but surely slows down until it comes to a complete stop. The cat sighs, it actually sighs the way a human would, and snuggles into his tummy, apparently content with the way her life is going.
In this crucial moment, Raoul Silva knows he could not ever kick this kitten. In fact, he thinks with a smile, he is not completely sure how he will find the courage to even move her off of his lap, with her looking so cute and comfortable.
Muffkin.
The name suddenly pops into his head without any warning. He has no idea what it means or where it came from, but he continually seems to be pulling out very odd ideas from the back of his mind in recent history. But by far, the name Muffkin has been the absolute craziest.
Muffkin begins to snore and curls up into an even tighter ball of fur. Indeed, her name is odd, but it somehow works.
"Did you see it?"
The whispers and the rumors start immediately.
"It has funny eyes."
"It's cuddly."
"It looks like a cotton ball."
Silva knows exactly what is going on. He finds it almost endearing the way his men try to keep their thoughts and ideas a secret. He finds it hilarious, in fact. But he'll let them have their fun; he has Muffkin to keep him company, nevertheless.
The two become the best of friends in no time. She follows Silva absolutely everywhere he goes. She cuddles with him at night, and purrs and plays with random bits of string while he is plotting. (Which he is usually doing.) He can't stop himself from laughing until it hurts when she toddles up to him, crossed eyes and all, a dead rat hanging limply between her teeth. Muffkin drops it at his feet and meows, exceedingly proud of her accomplishment.
Silva never realized how complex the cat truly is. It could be possible he is looking into things too much again, but he truthfully feels as if he now holds a much deeper understanding of the world in general. Cats are wonderful creatures, who comprehend human emotions better than humans do. At least, that is his opinion, and no one will bother trying to correct him.
Yes, it greatly annoys him when Muffkin pukes on his shoes, or takes a bath then and there in front of people, or won't stop crying when it rains. That is what makes her so relatable, however. Muffkin is more of a friend to Silva than he has ever had, and he is not afraid to admit it. She possesses an unparalleled innocence. She is not afraid of him; she does not visibly tremble when he is near her. He is very aware she is a cat, and of course she would not experience feelings people do. But it makes Silva feel…different. Fuzzy inside…
People can call his relationship with Muffkin whatever they feel like, for it will not bother either of them. They have taught each other some very important things: That a lost little cat could love someone as damaged as Silva, and that Silva could love a seemingly funny-looking feline. And this is more than perfect for both of them.