AN: This is my first piece of "creative writing" since school, decades (more than I want to admit) ago. Chapter One was written for "White Collar In An Elevator Day". Chapter Two? it just sorta appeared somehow, and since this may end up being not only my first, but also my last and only story, I decided I may as well publish it too

A Tri-coloured Cat

Chapter 1: Yap, Yap, Yap

Special Agent Peter Burke was not having a good start to the working week. A shower in water that barely had the chill taken off it thanks to a dying thermostat on the water heater. They'd run out of his favourite cereal. He'd burnt the toast and spilt his coffee, breaking one of Elizabeth's favourite mugs in the process. Elizabeth then seemed to have an unusually evil glint in her eye as she informed him her parents would be coming to stay for the Christmas holidays. On his way out of the townhouse he'd tripped over Satchmo, painfully banging his knee against the door frame. Then he'd had to contend with icy roads and the traffic headaches that accompanied them on his drive to work.

To top the morning off, the intermittent problem of the elevators stalling had struck again and he was now stuck in said elevator, between floors, with Neal. An excited Neal hyped up on coffee droning on and on about wanting, no "needing" to visit a new private art gallery that had opened across town, well outside his radius. You would think his life depended on it the way he was going on and on.

"I said no Neal. No, I won't extend your radius. No, I won't accompany you. No, I won't assign someone else to accompany you. No, I won't approve June to chaperone you. And no, you cannot use my wife to go by giving her tickets for Christmas!"

"But Peter, it's Christmas…"
"But Peter, it's innovative stuff …"
"But Peter, I need …"

Peter leaned back against the elevator wall and closed his eyes. But Peter, but Peter, but Peter. Neal was reminding him of one of his childhood neighbour's dog. It was an energetic little chihuahua. Ok, Neal wasn't little, but boy how that dog jumped around and barked incessantly when it was excited. Just like Neal was oozing enthusiasm and yapping on and on and on now about that damn gallery.

"Neal, I said no and if you ask again I swear the only thing you'll get for Christmas will be a muzzle!"

"Peter, I'm not a dog!"

"Then stop yapping on and on like one."

Sulking, Neal was quiet for all of ten seconds.

"Actually, I think I'm more of a feline. Sleek, graceful, nimble, agile. Stealthy."

"Able to work in the dark. Sneak into impossibly small spaces. Silently disappear in a heartbeat. Leap from heights and land on your feet. Blessed with nine lives," Peter added as he opened his eyes to give Neal that classic Peter Burke glare. "Want to tell me about any times you put those cat burglary skills of yours to use?"

"Allegedly Peter, and no."

After another ten second silence, Neal started up again.

"Something rare, valued, special, regal. Definitely a pedigree," he smirked as he flipped his fedora onto his head. "Maybe something exotic like an Egyptian Mau, an Oriental, or maybe a Serengeti. Or a Sokoke! They are considered friendly, energetic, and the rarest breed of all. Just like me." Neal gave Peter one of his most mischievous, dazzling smiles.

Peter continued to glare at Neal for a few seconds before replying. "You are a moggie, Neal, with a fancy collar. Half feral when trapped and rescued from your nefarious ways. But you are my rescue and if I hear one more word about that damn gallery I will return you to the shelter from whence I collected you!"

"Peter you wouldn't dare!" stammered Neal before mumbling, "and who says "whence" these days."

The elevator lurched back into life.

"Just try me Neal," Peter growled. "You want to be something special and valued? Exceptional? Do you know how rare male tri-coloured cats are? Add an orange jumpsuit to your colouring and your wish will be granted!"

The bell dinged and the elevator doors opened on the 21st floor. Neal adopted his most regal posture and responded by hissing viciously as he stalked past Peter. Peter tried very hard not to laugh but was unable to hide his grin as he followed Neal through the glass doors into the office. Getting one up on his pet convict? Maybe his day wasn't going to be so bad after all.

AN: I owned my white cat with black and ginger markings for years before discovering she was a "calico" so just in case there were other's out there like I was, I used the term tri-coloured instead. I apologise to any cat enthusiasts I may have annoyed by doing this.