Cherry Snow Grimm-Pitch had grown from a tiny ball of white fur to a slightly larger ball of white fur. She still liked to sit on Simon's lap more than anywhere else, and she still liked to nibble Baz's feet more than anyone elses.
During the rest of her days, she slept, ate, found the mice that Baz discarded, and slept some more.
Simon spent most of his days acting like an overprotective parent.
It drove Baz mental.
''For Crowley's sake Snow, the animal is fine'' was a phrase uttered almost daily, if not hourly in their flat. Closely followed by ''If you're worrying about that mangy creature again Snow, I swear to Aleister that - '' (which was usually followed by some thinly veiled threat of mistaking the cat for one of Baz's feeds and that being the end of that little problem).
Simon knew Baz didn't mean it. And, for what it was worth, Baz knew Baz didn't mean it. Although he preferred to leave the cotton wool wrapping and cat care to Simon, they both doted on the little kitten and she was very much a part of their still unusual, forever cracked up family.
Recently, however, Simon seemed to have got hold of an idea that this same little family (which Baz was very happy with, thank you very much for asking) was slightly on the small side. Unbalanced.
''Baz, see, she's mooning again. Look at her moon. I've got you and you've got me and we've both got Penny, but Cherry doesn't have anyone. She's so lonely, Baz, look at her mooning - ''
And on and on he went, until Baz usually threatened to fling the damn thing away so hard it'd ''reach the fucking moon, if it's lucky''.
Baz didn't really understand Simon's point, the cat had them, for what it was worth. What the hell else did it need? He could see where Simon was going with his wheedling, and he'd be damned if he was going to give him the satisfaction of replying. Let Snow hint and beg and whine, he was going to pretend like he had no patience and no idea what Simon was on about. (It wouldn't be hard to do. He had spent seven years pretending to hate the guts of a person he loved with all the fire of an exploding universe, so hiding his affection and sympathy for a scrawny glorified rat really wasn't all that difficult. Plus, his patience genuinely was wearing thin).
Baz was on his way back to the flat now, after a frustrating and tiring day at Watford. When he signed up to teach third year Intonation, nowhere in his contract did it say he'd be dealing with hormonal, only-just-a teenager teenage girls and their ridiculous ideas of what it meant to be a vampire. Baz had found, to his horror, disgust and impatience, that the apparent fact that he was himself one of the walking dead immediately elevated him to god-like status with fifty percent of his class, and no matter how many times he'd tried to put them right and explain that he was very much a one-off, it seemed every female at Watford under the age of 14 had an inflated, unmoveable crush on him. Simon, as expected, found it hilarious, but Baz was genuinely worried that some of the more 'gutsy' ones might take it upon themselves to seek out their very own Professor Grimm-Pitch. Whoever the sodding hell 'Stephanie Meyer' was (a Normal, and a fucking idiotic one at that) she had a lot to answer for.
Trudging up the steps to their front door, Baz pushed his hair back impatiently, and tried to shove his thoughts out of his mind. Watford stayed at Watford, and would do whilst ever Simon was still - fragile - about losing his magic. Obviously he knew where Baz worked, and even enjoyed some of the funnier stories from his boyfriend's day, but Baz would never rub it in Simon's face by bringing his work problems home with him. It was bad enough that he still had magic when Simon didn't, he'd never dream of discussing the problems with magic some of the little shits in his year were lucky to be troubled with.
Opening the door, he felt a grin steal across his face as he smelt the familiar scent of fried sausages and onions (Simon could cook, sometimes, if cooking involved shoving a load of things in one pan and turning the heat on high) and, shrugging off his coat, he made his way down the hall to the kitchen.
Simon was standing with his back to the door, frantically trying to do four things with two arms and consequently letting all of them burn. Turning his head round, Baz saw that he was flushed and sweating, with the ghost of a frown playing across his forehead.
''Here, Snow, let me handle this''. Baz rolled his sleeves up and moved in behind Simon, giving his neck a quick kiss as he took control of the pan and gently nudged his boyfriend out of the way with one hip.
''It's fine, I've got it, I was just finishing off - ''
Baz grinned, and shook his head. ''If I let you finish it we'll be having charcoal for tea. It smells delicious, another minute and you'd have burnt it. Go sit down and I'll bring it through''.
Simon made a snorting noise and moved further away, bending down to get two plates out of the dishwasher. He was wearing the charcoal grey chinos that he'd stolen from Baz's wardrobe in Hertfordshire all those months ago. Baz burnt his thumb and pulled his eyes away, cursing himself. The corners of Simon's mouth turned up as he caught Baz's small 'fuck' under his breath, and he made sure to brush past him not-too-gently on the way back through to the living room.
When Baz brought the pan through a few moments later, Simon had set the plates on the coffee table and poured them both a glass of blood-red wine. Baz saw with a cursory glance that it was a really good red wine, and wondered briefly what the occasion was. It wasn't like Snow to ever recognise good wine, let alone buy it unsupervised and for no particular reason.
''Move the mangy moggy so I don't sit on it, then'' Baz said, as he deposited food on their plates and went to sit next to Simon. Cherry was on his side of the sofa as usual - he was sure the wretched thing did it on purpose - looking for all the world like she was going to sit up on her hind legs and eat the dinner instead of Baz.
Simon, already shoveling in bits of casserole, glanced at Cherry before looking up at Baz, and swallowed his mouthful so quickly it looked visually painful and almost impossible. ''Baz - about the cat - that's - that one's not Cherry''.
Baz strained to hear the end of the sentence as Simon's voice dropped to almost a whisper. What was he talking about? How much of the wine had he already drunk?
''Unless my eyes deceive me, Snow, that feline creature is in fact the self same animal that's been the bane of my life for the past 2 months. So what, in Crowley's name, are you banging on about?''
''That's not Cherry'' Simon said, louder this time, and extending a protective arm out towards the cat.
Baz closed his eyes. He loved Simon, god knows he did, but sometimes he could be so much of a moron that it really tested his patience.
''Simon. I don't know what you're talking about, and my dinner's getting cold, so I'm going to ignore your inane blabber and eat it, if that's alright with you''.
'I mean'' - Simon almost choked now - '' Cherry's over there''. He pointed, and Baz looked up. ALEISTER FUCK. A small, fluffy white cat, identical to the monster he knew as Cherry, was lying on the armchair at the other side of the room, curled in a ball, fast asleep.
Baz looked from the Cherry on the chair to the Cherry next to him on the sofa. His eyes narrowed.
''Snow, you better explain what the fuck is going on here - ''
''THAT's Cherry'' said Simon again, speaking slowly as though he thought Baz was a bit thick. ''That's Cherry, and this, this is….'' he glanced up at Baz, a laugh now threatening at the sides of his mouth. ''This is Garlic''.