The cat didn't live in the motel, but the motel was still her home. Cas had seen her curled up a few times on the top of the soda machine — he didn't know how she made it up there — and more than once had wiped her pawprints from the windshield of the old car he had terminally borrowed.
She was all gray, with bright green eyes, the sort of cat that usually didn't end up as a stray, the sort of cat in fancy wet food commercials. She called herself a name that Cas didn't have the proper vocal cords to pronounce, but in his mind, he called her Pii, which translated roughly from Enochian to "She is." Phonetically, of course, it sounded rather unfortunate in English, which was why he only called her that in his head.
She nearly killed him one morning when he opened the door for the newspaper and she twined herself around his legs, almost tripping him. She never deigned to come inside — she did not like the smells of indoors — but since that morning he was careful to not move too quickly upon opening the door.
He wondered what she did when it snowed. There were always cars to sleep under, he supposed, but she was far from the rugged and stocky shape her cousins in the mountains boasted. He wondered what she ate. He debated leaving a dish of fresh water out for her, but worried it might attract other pests from the small belt of forest not far away. He did not think she would be able to hold her own in an altercation with a raccoon.
He first suspected she could sense when demons were near when she let out a gnarled yowl that made Cas wonder if someone had hurt her — until Cas had yanked the door open to check on her to find Crowley standing there instead, knuckles raised as though to knock. Cas knew cats tended to be able to pierce veils and glamours naturally. Once Crowley had left after an infuriating conversation about hypothetically, if Dean had lived, would Cas be willing to help track him down, Cas had walked to the gas station across the street and purchased a foil pouch of cat treats. They smelled hideous but Pii took one from Cas's fingers with dainty teeth and purred.
He didn't give her a treat every day. He wanted her to remain self-sufficient long after he'd packed up the maps and newpapers in his room and left for another motel not worth naming, somewhere else, chasing problems that didn't exist until he showed up and began asking questions to tease them out of small town secrets. But especially on days that it rained, he would open his door and crouch on the worn doormat and wait for her to trot expectantly up to him. He would wash the fishy meat smell from his fingers and wonder how many other people took time to get to know her as well as he did.
Given Crowley's topic of conversation, Cas was not as astounded as he could have been when he received the text from Dean, asking if they could meet. He'd responded with as much aplomb as was possible to convey in a text message, giving the address of the motel, and nearly broke out in a sweat when Dean responded that he was close and would be there within an hour.
He took a shower. He ironed his shirt. He tidied away the detritus of haphazard motel living. He picked at a hangnail. He rose from the edge of the bed when he heard the rumble and growl of the Impala's engine as it pulled into the empty spot next to Cas's car.
And then his heart stopped, his breath catching in his chest, when Pii began to yowl as the engine died.