Miranda Priestly is not what one would call- a cat person. Cats and Miranda Priestly are simply too alike to coexist in peace and harmony around each other. How so, you ask?
Well, both parties are quite territorial, to say the least. They each enjoy their personal space. Any encroachment and they aren't to be blamed for a head or any limbs you may lose. They are, however, gracious enough to give you a vicious hiss and trademark baring of the teeth as fair warning at first offence.
They are elegant and graceful, oh so graceful you could spend the day admiring the way their form moves lithely and with purpose. They are calculative- brains working overtime to plan ahead and plot their next big kill. They stalk their prey, lie in wait for the perfect opportunity to leap and attack viciously- one strike is all it takes for victory to be theirs. And of course, after sweet victory, comes the boastful parading of said kill for everyone to see and applaud, and for their foes to heed as warning.
They are stubborn creatures, both Miranda Priestly and felines. They want things done their way, and won't hesitate to dismiss anything they deem unworthy or unsatisfactory, with a simple tilt of their head. Treat them right and they will reward you in the most loving and precious way imaginable- by giving you their complete trust. There truly is no greater feeling than to be on the receiving end of their love and cuddles and playfulness- but do wrong by them and you shall remain in their blacklist for all of eternity.
All in all, it's safe to say Miranda Priestly shares quite a few similarities with cats, which is why she finds herself in an unblinking faceoff with one such furry feline, earlier in the day than she'd like.
"Don't you dare to even think of it, you rascal." Miranda says, her voice rough with sleep, but eyes clear and narrowed in fierce challenge.
She receives nothing in response, except the quick swish of an elegant tail.
She clears her throat, bringing the covers higher over her shoulders. She shifts a little, so that she's lying completely on her left side and facing the demon from hell as it sits on the bedside table on the other side of the bed. There's a good five feet between her and said demon, but if history is anything to go by, she knows those five feet count for nothing in terms of protection.
She glares at the cat, who glares right back, sitting with a seemingly innocent expression on its face. Bloody manipulator, Miranda thinks. They've been here a few times before, eyes locked, tails a-swish, and it's safe to say at this point the game could go either way.
Two pairs of icy blue eyes fight a soundless battle, one pair attached to a mop of white- silver hair, the other to sleek white fur. They hold each other's gaze, lips curled in a scowl, whiskers twitching, waiting for the other to concede defeat.
To an outsider, it might seem as though nothing changes, but the white haired players of the game realise when a miniscule shift occurs, effectively crowning the smaller one the victor.
Miranda is quick to turn onto her back and pull the sheets up over her head just in time for the ball of fur to leap right on top of her head. She groans in defeat, the victor celebrating by kneading its little paws over the loser's blanket covered face, before strutting down and settling over her chest. Feet tucked neatly under her, tail curving elegantly around her small form, she cocks her head, opening her mouth enough for a pink tongue to push out, as if laughing.
The loser pokes her head out from under the covers- hair mussed from sleep and their early morning antics, grumbling to herself about pain in the ass cats, and their missing parents.
She blows a strand of silvery hair off her face, huffing in annoyance at the weight settled on her chest.
"Yes yes, gloat all you want Mr. Whiskers, everyone knows who's the real Queen of this house." she smirks, sticking her tongue out just a bit.
She receives an angry swipe of a paw, close to her face in retaliation, and she's quick to draw back and pull the sheets back up to her nose. She resorts to quietly glaring and a voice floats through the doorway.
"Mr. Whiskers? Really, Miranda. Are you being a sore loser again?" Andy asks, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the bedroom door frame, wearing nothing but a long sleep shirt and an amused smile. Miranda's sleep shirt if we're getting technical.
"This feral animal nearly took out my eye!" she says indignantly. "Honestly Andrea, must we keep this menace in the house?" Miranda implores.
Andrea laughs at her, walking into their room and sitting on her side of the bed.
"You're so dramatic, she couldn't possibly hurt you with those tiny paws. Besides, you're the one instigating her. You know how she hates it when you call her Mr. Whiskers. Really, you're the menace in this situation." Andy teases, lightly stroking the cat's soft fur. It purrs content, closing its eyes, as Andy continues her ministrations. "See? She just needs little love and pampering. She's as cute and docile as a rabbit."
Miranda scoffs at her wife's ridiculous notion. "What she needs is a stern talking to and stricter rules." she glares, mentally cursing the cat for stealing the caresses that would've been hers in its absence. "And darling, I don't know what shows you've been watching on Animal Planet, but I assure you, rabbits are not docile in the least. They are cunning creatures that have sharp teeth and will take a chunk off your hand if you're not careful."
Andrea simply rolls her eyes and smiles at her wife hiding behind the covers.
It has been years- Andy can't quite remember how many- since she had found Minerva, a tiny frightened kitten left abandoned on the streets of New York City. It was very evidently malnourished and shivering in the cool air of the night and Andy could not bear to leave her to face the harsh city life alone. She knew Miranda was not fond of cats at all, but she had been her wife for a while now, and she had but a few tricks up her sleeve.
She made sure to wrap the little creature securely in her coat, and carefully made her way back to the townhouse. She quietly unlocked the front door and crept into the foyer, instantly noticing the lack of her wife's shoes and keys. Breathing a sigh of relief, she thanked the fashion gods for whatever fashion disaster was keeping her wife away from home that evening. She quickly toed off her shoes and made her way to the staircase, climbing them two at a time while keeping a firm hold on the bundle in her arms. She reached the second floor and poked her head into the library where she knew the twins would be diligently doing their homework.
"Caro. Cass. I've got a surprise for you!" she said from the doorway, finally feeling the excitement of having a kitten in their midst. The twins looked at her with a little bit of suspicion on their faces, not knowing whether she was being genuine or cleverly trapping them into another one of her pranks.
She did that frequently, playing silly pranks on each other had somehow become one of their unspoken rules of the Priestly-Sachs household, soon after she and Miranda had begun dating. It was a great way to bond with the kids, especially since her role in their lives was unnamed. She was their Andy. Their friend, their guide and mentor. Older and wiser, yet not strictly a parent. They confided in her and laughed with her (and at her) but they also respected her as they did their mother.
This situation, however, required them all to team up against the mercurial Queen of fashion. Without wasting any time, she walked into the room, carefully holding the bundle in front of her. Sitting down cross-legged in the middle of the room, she rested the coat on her lap and opened it up fully.
The twins squealed loudly when they saw a tiny white head poke out from the fabric, both girls instantly scrambling to come sit by her side and stroke the cute ball of fur.
"Oh my God, Andy. Is she ours? Where did you find her?"
"Is it a he or a she?"
"Is mom going to let us keep it?"
"She has to let us keep it Andy, it's so cute!"
She was bombarded with a heap of questions, naturally, and a lot of cooing. It was a miracle the kitten wasn't frightened. Quite the contrary in fact, it seemed to like the attention.
"We should call it Mr. Whiskers."
"What? No way! Thats a stupid name Caro. Plus, what if it's a she?"
"Fine, Miss Whiskers."
"No whiskers Caro! It doesn't even have whiskers that long!"
"Ugh. You're no fun."
"Can you tell if it's a male or female? Then we can actually find a suitable name."
Two red heads turn to her.
"Oh, uh, well sure… but the thing is girls, your mother doesn't know of" -a quick check of the tiny feline ensues- "her yet, so i'm not sure it's wise to give her a name and get too attached." Why she was suddenly hit with a large case of nerves was beyond her. She had a full plan lined up, it was tried and tested and totally fool-proof.
Caroline and Cassidy look at her as if she had lost her mind.
She sighed and shook her head, quickly realising the feline was there to stay.
"Fine. What about…..Elsa? She's white like snow and has icy blue eyes."
Two pairs of eyes roll at her. She bites back an amused smile.
"She does have really white fur." Caroline says, scratching behind one tiny ear.
"And really blue eyes." Cassidy says, slowly.
A moment of silence passes and all three of them digest what has been said, before they burst out laughing almost simultaneously.
A soft voice cuts through their laughter, bringing screeching halt to their mirth. Even the tiny kitten that had been lounging on its side accepting pats and belly rubs stands to attention, head tilted, ears twitching.
Ten seconds of silence turn into twenty, then thirty, and no one utters a peep until the tiny ball of fur decides to be brave and walk cautiously up to Miranda's heel clad feet. Her heels are larger than the cat, and if it were any other instance, Andy would not hesitate to point that out and spend a good five minutes ooh-ing and ah-ing at the cuteness of the situation.
Miranda takes one look at the feline at her feet, and Andy knows this battle is won even before it has begun. Still, Miranda wouldn't be Miranda if she didn't put up a fight against filthy felines ruining her pristine home- or something to that effect. Andy had tuned out the minute the cat had started rubbing its body along Miranda's ankles, effectively marking her as her own.
It doesn't take long for Miranda to wave her white flag in defeat (it's made from the best quality silk money can buy, by Valentino himself, thank you very much) and Andy doesn't have to orchestrate her master plan after all.
It's the twins' puppy faces, alright? That was her big master plan. It's simple, but effective. It's worked before and it would've worked again. Except this time, it seemed as though a kitten face is what's done Miranda in. Andy howls internally, the press would go bonkers if they ever caught wind of how big a softie Miranda Priestly- Ice queen and Dragon Lady extraordinaire- actually was.
It doesn't take long for the cat to be christened Minerva, a nod to her and the twins first interaction, even though Minerva is not a tabby cat with grey-black fur. And as fate would have it, she's taken a particular fancy to the Devil in Prada herself. It's nothing if not reciprocated, Andy knows for a fact that Miranda wore nothing but clothes with pockets in them for months, when Minerva first joined the family. The sole reason for those unfashionable clothes- Minerva loved to climb into them and accompany her wherever she went around the house. Miranda would deny it to her dying breath, but Andy had photographic evidence that would withstand the rulings of any court.
It wasn't all smooth sailing, however. Minerva had been on the receiving end of a few iconic Miranda priestly death glares over the years, a few of them well deserved Andy would agree (clawing through the dry cleaning hanging in the closet and ripping everything to shreds definitely deserved a glare or two. The incompetent second assistant who was foolish enough to allow Minerva to sneak in and get trapped in the closet had no doubt lost her job the next morning. Andy cant be too bothered, she'd lost an expensive blouse in the whole ordeal).
The only thing she really minded- apart from fabric shredding of course- was the fact that she had to compete with the cat for Andy's cuddles. It was an impasse they could not get through. Neither one shared Andy when cuddling, and if Minerva was the first one to jump on Andy's lap during movie night, Miranda would have to spend the entire two hours curled up at the other end of the couch by herself, clutching the throw for warmth.
It was at times like those that Miranda would refer to her dear Minerva by the moniker "Mr. Whiskers" (apparently she had been standing in that doorway for far longer than any of them had realised). Turns out, Minerva -true to her name- was an incredibly smart feline, and caught on to her new unsightly name in no time, hissing appropriately every time it was used.
All in all, while Miranda priestly is definitely not a "cat person'', she most certainly has a soft spot for their family cat, one that was easily reciprocated by the feline. Seems as though birds of a feather do in fact flock together, and Miranda Priestly and cats do occasionally live in loving harmony.
All things considered, Andy is pretty content to spend her Sunday morning cuddling up to the love of her life and their feline menace, and she was going to do just that.
Seeing Miranda with the cover lowered and calmly stroking white fur with a small smile on her face, Andy sidles up next to her. She throws one leg over Miranda's, and her fingers alternately stroke both the white haired creatures on her bed.