Hello everybody on this wondrous Thursday.

Another week means another chapter, and I'm cautiously liking this one. Now that I'm kind of through with world-building, I can get to the weirdness.

And without further ado, Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I only own my brain. Everything else belong to their original owners.

Warning: Blood. Enough said.

Can't Have Just One

Apparently, cats love pasta. Or a certain black-and-white cat loves it.

After catching Marshall sneaking bits and pieces of his own delicious dish to the feline, I ended up making a third bowl for our uninvited neighbor. I'll admit, I did cave a bit when I saw that the cat got tomato sauce all over his face. It was adorable and I may have taken a secret picture of it, but cuteness only lasts for so long.

After all three of the little hungry beasts had eaten, I looked over the smallest one closer. I'm certain that it was no house cat by any means, but his calm behavior screams otherwise. Nevertheless, I keep my eyes on him whenever Olaf or Marshall were close, which meant that I had my eyes on them the entire time. Good thing that I'm naturally awesome at multi-tasking.

That was how the rest of the day was spent. Olaf and Marshall had a blast with playing ball with the rugged cat, while my eagle eyes were locked onto the trio. But the play didn't last long at all. Soon, the cat was sitting by the front door, slightly pawing at the wooden obstacle while ignoring more invitations to play by my now confused boys.

But I knew what the feline wanted.

"Olaf, Marshall," Grabbing the attentions of the two loves of my life, I try to explain to them the best way I could. "Do you remember how you found the cat?"

"Yeah, he's pretty awesome!"

"But… he's not ours."

Olaf's and Marshall's responses were night and day. Excitement and resignation combat with those two voices, but I still have to explain this to them.

"You're right, Marshall. The cat is not ours, but I'm sure that he belongs to a very nice family nearby. That's why he wants to go home so badly." Before both faces could fall in sadness, I hurry on with my explanation. "But I know he had a fun time with you both. If you say goodbye nicely, maybe he'll come back to play."

Taking my words to heart, Olaf rushes to give the cat the warmest hug he can give. Marshall doesn't move though, and I patiently wait next to him.

"Mami?" The small word is all it takes to grab my attention. "Do you really think Marshmallow will come back?" The look of sadness reflects in his brown eyes as much as it echoes within his voice. It breaks my heart, but a little smile comes to my face as I tell the truth.

"I know so. You two have been so nice to him that he will love to play with you more. And," I crouch right next to him like I'm about to tell a super important secret. "I'm sure that he'll probably be back for more of my pasta."

It's a little known fact that I have some great cooking skills, but I really shine in Italian recipes. From lasagna to eggplant parmesan and every last Italian dish in between, I excel at them. I have no doubt that he'll be back.

The twinkle returns into my son's eyes as goes over to the currently hugged feline and scratches behind its ears. I let a moment pass as both of my boys gently say their goodbyes and little bargains for the cat's return; I even overhear Olaf promising the cat that he would buy a mouse toy for his next return.

Walking up, I was slightly sad as I broke up the trio.

"Olaf, Marshall, you still have homework, don't you?"

With a nod from both of them, I send them up to start on their school work before I'm left with the cat. I looked at the pair of golden eyes for a moment before opening the door.

But no fluff of black-and-white rushes out. He was still there. Still looking up at me. With my intuition kicking in, I bend down to hold my hand out. Going slowly, I gently stroke the white jaw before moving to scratch his black cheek. The burly, tough cat was suddenly leaning into my touch and I could feel the vibrations of his purring.

"Be careful out there, Marshmallow."

With one parting stroke down his spine, the newly christened Marshmallow strode down the steps, before suddenly turning around. Disappearing for only a moment, the feline comes from underneath the stairs with a brown blur in his mouth. I could just make it the mouse's thin tail before the large cat bounds off into the direction of the forest.

"Sneaky, little bastard." With its temperament, skill, and overall cuteness, it was easy to understand how a random wild cat got so big in the first place. And while the cat had his business, I had my own. Since I was suddenly aware of my little intruder, I might as well be prepared for the future.

With a simple text to Kristoff with a 'pretty please' added at the end had that out of my mind. Before I could think too much about what I had asked, a small cry of Elijah had completely taken my attention for the rest of the day.

And as the days turn to weeks, Marshmallow became a fixed member of the family.

He was still a wild cat, through and through, but he was a little gentleman as well. He always seemed to show up around noon, as every time I leave for my walk, he's already waiting on the porch. And every time I return from my walk, he's already got a mouse, a squirrel, or a bird in his jaws. One time, he even caught a huge rat: I gave him an extra treat on that day.

Speaking of treats, I had asked Kristoff to buy some for him. Along with some flea medication, a soft brush, and ball of string, I had a very confused husband return to me. After Olaf and Marshall excitedly explain about their newest friend, Kristoff was all for it. I knew that my husband was more of a dog person with his childhood puppy, Sven, but the moment Kristoff meet Marshmallow, he only petted the burly cat and agreed with me.

"That cat really is a gentleman."

Soon, a little mouse toy was added into the living room as well, courtesy of Kristoff.

Anyway, as I continued to cook for my family, I did some research on what cats can and can't eat to make sure as to not make him sick. The plate I first used to feed Marshmallow was now his official plate; Olaf and Marshall made sure of that with painting the cat's new name on the surface with some non-toxic paint. After dinner, there would be some playtime, and an hour later, the goodbyes came.

They were easier as Marshmallow's dependability became more and more apparent by the day. The days that the black-and-white feline was around were great. No joke. A relaxing aura never left the house while the boys never stop trying to find or make different toys for him.

If you still think that I'm over exaggerating or lying, well… I wished I wasn't.

A month after the monochrome cat entered our lives, he was gone. For five long days, there was no sight of him on the porch, his bowl remained empty, and his toys gathered dust. The cloud cover over those days seemed to reflect our moods. As hard as me and Kristoff tried, our boys took it hard.

Although Olaf was louder with his sadness, I worried more for Marshall.

Between the two, Marshall was closest to Marshmallow. Their quiet and easy-going personalities made them a perfect match. Whenever not playing, the huge feline was seated on Marshall's lap and being petted or brushed by my boys. And no matter how hard Olaf tried, Marshmallow only choose Marshall's lap.

Now, Marshall's head hung, while he slipped into silence. Olaf was the opposite; expressing his sadness loud and clear. I once caught him preparing for an expedition. His school supplies littered the floor, while his book bag was filled with snacks, juices, and blankets of all kinds. He declared that he was going to find Marshmallow and nothing could stop him. The argument that followed on that day ended with Olaf grounded and crying and with me feeling horrible.

Even little Elijah seemed to notice. He was crying more often, slept less, and absolutely refused to sleep alone once more. For that month, he began to sleep within his own crib, with the radio, of course. But all that progress vanished as quickly as Marshmallow had.

Those were… bad days.

But on the sixth day, when Olaf and Marshall were just about to leave for the bus, I heard them yell. Afraid for them, I rushed out, leaving Kristoff with Elijah. What I saw on the porch lifted my heart as easily as it burned it.

Blood. The porch was splattered with it. Clumps of fur and red paw prints led to a group of felines. One that stood out was Marshmallow, but just barely. If I had to bet, most of the blood belonged to him. An ear was torn, his long pelt was more ragged looking, and the white was painted red. Next to him were kittens. Three of them, in fact. All of the kittens looked beamingly healthy in comparison to Marshmallow, but they were really small. The group of three must have fallen asleep as Marshmallow curled protectively around them.

Meow.

Olaf was silent for once, looking desperately between me and Marshmallow. Marshall was crying. He had taken off his light sweater and wrapped it around Marshmallow as if that would protect and magically heal his cuts. Acting fast, I grab Olaf's shoulder and turn him to face me.

"Olaf, go to the upstairs closet and get the really big pillow. You know which one, right?" He quickly nods, before disappearing inside. Turning to Marshall, I gently pry him away from his beloved friend.

"Marshall, I need your help to make Marshmallow feel better." Those words were far more than enough to have his brown orbs locked on me, "Go to the bathroom and get the medicine box. It's under the sink and it's the white one with the red cross."

Left alone once again, the gold eyes closed up as I carefully rub underneath his chin. Ignoring the blood smearing on my finger, I gently pet him.

"Didn't I tell you to be careful?"

Meow.

"Yeah, yeah. You got your black-and-white ass handed to you. You're going to be just fine."

In the silence, I look over the kittens somewhat. Like I said, there were three and they were small. One was pure black, one was grey, and the smallest was orange. Before I could pick one up, I hear another set of soft paw steps. Looking up, I see white and red, but it's not Marshall with the first-aid kit.

It's another cat. But that's as much as I could get through my brain before one big fact hits me straight in the face. Even if it was not as battle-worn and bloody as it currently was, I could tell that the feline before me was pure white.

AN. Connections, people! Connections are important!

This is one of my more subtle stories, so it's slower paced and doesn't have much action. There will be, but in due time. Also, I apologize for the cat blood. If any animal lovers are offended, I do understand you. I'm an animal lover, myself, and I would never condone/allow any cruelty to animals. But the story calls for it to happen, so I warmed you.

And as always: concerns, comments and informed critiques are always welcomed around here.

So, until next time, Au revoir.