From apanoplyofsong on tumblr:

"I feel like I should keep up the tradition and prompt you about dogs but it feels like that would take so much ENERGY right now" + "wtf is that thing and what are you doing with it?" A Tipsy Prompt.™

Clarke's cat loves Bellamy, and she thinks it's radically unfair.

"Like, what the fuck?" she says, gesturing at Calliope with her tumbler of coke and whiskey. "Look at that attention-mongering jerkface. She should love me like that, not you."

Bellamy doesn't look away from the television. He's got the PS3 controller in his hand and he's rapidly flipping through movies on Netflix.

It's date night, which means they refuse to go out on dates when there are twenty-three restaurants within delivery distance and a near infinite number of choices on Netflix. Really, they're being very responsible adults: they're saving money, and they're also not going to get arrested for public indecency when they start groping each other on the couch.

It nearly happened once. They're still banned from the local science museum for another fifteen months.

"It really doesn't matter," Bellamy says, and seems to deliberate between a documentary about elk and something that Clarke guesses combines both mistaken identity and the Christmas season in an amazingly terrible film.

"Christmas," Clarke tells him, and he obligingly presses play and settles back into the couch.

Clarke frowns when Calliope, already purring, starts to butt her head against Bellamy's hip. "Hussy," she tells her, then pushes the cat off the couch so she can drape herself over Bellamy instead.

"You're jealous of your cat," Bellamy tells her, amused, and starts stroking her hair.

"Yeah, well, you don't even like her. I feed her and spend too much money on toys that make weird noises and I even buy her sensitive stomach cat food. Does she rub up on my legs whenever I walk in the door? No!"

"Babe," Bellamy starts, but Clarke's on a roll.

"Does she climb up on my lap when I'm trying to get her to cuddle? No, but all you have to do is hold out your hand and she's all over you!"

"I hold out my hand because I'm trying to keep her away," Bellamy replies desperately. "It's a barricade. I'm allergic to her!"

"She doesn't care!" Clarke retorts. "I pet her all the time and she couldn't care less. You pet her once in three weeks and she won't stop using your feet as petting posts. She loves you and hates me and she's a traitor."

Bellamy pauses long enough that Clarke turns her head to peer up at him. He looks thoughtful.

"What?" she says, and someone in the movie finds out they're Santa Claus's long-lost great-niece. Or something; it's October and Clarke's not ready to be invested in terrible Christmas movies quite yet, so she's not quite paying attention.

"I ignore her," her boyfriend replies slowly, "and I try to keep her away from me. I only give her attention when I get a strange urge."

"Yeah, okay Blake, stop narrating your life. Only Morgan Freeman can get away with that; you're just embarrassing yourself."

Bellamy gives her a dirty look, but before he can reply Clarke's jaw drops and she sits up.

"Oh my god. You're a cat!"

Bellamy sighs.

It's a lot easier to stomach Calliope's preference for Bellamy once they've both realized that Bellamy, in essence, treats Calliope as a cat treats a human. She must sense some kind of kinship with him, while Clarke is basically a cat groupie. She can't control how much or how often she demonstrates her affection for cats.

It's still kind of rude, but. That's what she gets for loving her stupid cat.

She sulks a little, but she's mostly over it.

Mostly.

Then it's a week later, and Bellamy texts her to meet him out at the parking spot. Their apartment has a single car garage that they battle over, and Clarke had won that day when she got home an hour before him. The loser has to park in the assigned space in the lot, which is uncovered and surrounded by oversized SUVs.

Clarke slips into her flip flops and pulls Bellamy's old university hoodie over her head before heading out. He must have gotten the value size thing of cat litter from Costco, which she always tells him not to; the savings are not worth the muscular strain of trying to carry that stupid thing up the stairs to their apartment.

She finds him outside of his old Toyota, and he does not have cat litter with him.

"What the fuck is that thing and what are you doing with it?" Clarke says. It's wiggly and loud, yipping in excitement as Bellamy holds it out to her.

"Meet Minerva," he says, and follows Clarke as she backs away. "Our new dog."

"Excuse me?" She stares at him, at the dog. It's gazing at her, mouth open in joyous pants.

"I already yelled at her for peeing in the car," Bellamy tells her, mild disgust on his face, and thrusts the dog into her arms. "She's guaranteed to like you better than me now. So, you know. Pet-wise, we're even."

"That's not––oh my god," Clarke says, helpless. The dog licks her chin and even sneaks her tongue into Clarke's mouth when she opens it to yell at Bellamy.

Clarke sputters and makes gagging noises, holding the dog away from her. "Oh my god, what have you done."

Bellamy shrugs and refuses to take the dog back. "I already paid the additional pet deposit with the housing office."

Clarke groans, and Minerva introduces her to her tongue again.

"But I don't want her to love me better," Clarke says, despairing, and Bellamy laughs at her. Minerva is curled up in Clarke's lap, Calliope in his, and Bellamy is sneezing while the cat purrs and the dog nibbles on the hem of Clarke's sleep shorts. "Let's give her back. Shit, let's give Calliope back too. Buy one get one free. Somebody somewhere wants a slobbery dog and a rude cat."

"Nobody wants a slobbery dog and a rude cat," Bellamy says, and she droops, but pets Minerva gently anyway. "But it's okay, Clarke," Bellamy adds, soothing, laughter in his eyes. "She might love you better, but I love you the best."

Clarke kicks him and tells him she loves him too.