You hear her laughing as you open the door, and watch as she bounces away from the cat she is playing with. She drops to the floor on her hands and knees while arching her back.

The cat lowers its chest to the floor and raises its hind end, mimicking her.

She sticks out a finger and the cat swats at it, but she reacts fast enough to escape its claws.

"You know you'll never catch me." Her voice reminds you of honey; fluid and sweet but not sickeningly sugary.

You clear you throat.

Her uncanny resemblance to a feline causes you to think that if she had ears, they would have twitched just now, because you catch her attention.

"Oh! Dave? Oh, it is Dave!" She springs to her feet and scurries over to you.

"Yo." You hide your confusion to her eagerness to receive you and the fact she knows your name through your cool façade.

"We haven't met, have we? I don't talk to Karkitty much, but when I do, he talks about you a lot!" Her grin is akin to content cats, but with more spunk.

Karkitty? Oh…

"You must be the cat girl Karkat told me about…"

"Nepeta. Nepeta Leijon." The smile gracing her face splits to reveal her edged teeth.

"Right, Leijon."

"What're you doing here? Are you thinking of adopting a furrend?" You notice a slight accent of sorts; she rolls her r's.

"I'm looking for a specific cat."

"Well, I can help! Who're you looking fur?"

"There were three kittens at a pet store by my apartment and the employee said they were coming back here this morning."

"Oh! I know who you're talking about." Nepeta steps over to the cat she was teasing to pat it on the head, as a goodbye you guess, and returns to you. "Follow me!" She prances out the door.

You follow her to the other 'leisure room' for the felines.

"They're in here." She glances around the room. "Ginny is there." She points to a tan tabby sleeping in a cat bed on a shelf built into the wall. "Liam is…" She crouches and shuffles under a table. "Here." You stoop to see another kitten you recognize from yesterday; this one bi-colored white and orange. "And… hm."

"The black one?"

"Yeah… wait, I know where he is." She gestures to a raised catwalk above your heads, fringing the window. "He's a tree dweller and likes sunbaths."

So it's male.

"He's up there? How do we get him down?"

"Good question. He doesn't know his name, so calling him won't do."

"What's his name?"

"Cookie."

Oh jesus you're renaming him.

"Do you think treats will work?" You offer the suggestion.

"Good idea! I'll be right back." Nepeta parades out the room.

Her enthusiasm is contagious, because despite your perpetually stoic expression, you find yourself smirking.

You sit in a wooden chair.

Liam pokes out from under the table and saunters over to lay by your converses.

Animals were cool, and that was not something you found stupid to admit.

Nepeta returns. She rattles a bag of treats, which causes ears to swivel and heads to jerk.

Various felines brush her legs and she giggles as she bequeaths treats.

You keep your eyes fixed on the brink of the platform. A small, whiskered face peers over the edge.

"Oh, there he is!" Nepeta claps her hands together.

The cat retreats out of your sight, and you frown.

He reappears on the opposite side of the catwalk, descends the cat-stairwell, and seats himself among the other cats by Nepeta's feet.

"This was the one I was looking for," you state as Nepeta awards the kitten with treats. "How much would it be to adopt the munchkin?"

"Cookie? Let's see… he's less than seven months, he's neutered, microchipped, vaccinated, tested for FIV and FeLV…" You watch as she tips her head to the side and counts on her fingers. "Around one-hundred sixty dollars?"

"Holy-…" You trail off and glance at the feline by her feet.

The last bit of extra dough you had went toward the groceries yesterday. Your DJ job at the club leaves you with enough to pay half the bills (Karkat pays the rest) and a little pocket change. If you are taking this rascal home, you need to pick up more hours at the club, and it will have to wait until your next payday… this weekend.

"Leijon, I don't have the cash now, but I plan on taking this guy home." You point at the onyx ball of fur. "Can I put him on reserve or something? So other fuckers can't snag him?"

Nepeta sulks. "I'm sorry, but the shelter doesn't allow that. The policy is 'adopt and take home'. No waiting purriods allowed."

"Damn." You scoff.

You crouch and narrow your eyes at the kitten. He repays the gesture by adjusting himself to face you and locking eye-contact. His ears are upright in alertness. As he blinks his azure orbs, you swear his eyebrow-whiskers rise like he is questioning you.

That's what it is.

Seeing them both in the same day causes the epiphany.

You finally identify the unsettling vibe seeping off the animal and into your head; the impression of dubious recognition. The vexatious emotion he drops in your gut at every action.

He reminds you of John.

Why did you not see it sooner? The blue eyes, black fur, and the fact it is a cat, which means its nature is designed with mock innocence, inquisitiveness, mischievousness, and assholeism. The one thing missing is the idiocy, because last time you checked cats were rather intelligent.

You wonder if Karkat saw the resemblance. Probably not.

After a sigh, you straighten your legs and address Nepeta. "Karkat has me doing errands again so I should get going."

"What about Cookie?"

"I don't get my check until Saturday, but if he's still here by then I'll adopt him."

"Sorry I couldn't do anything to help." Her shoulders sag.

"Nah it's cool. You helped me find him." You shrug and toss your hand out in a half-assed wave. "Later."

"Okay bye!" She tips onto her toes and bends her fist beside her face to represent a paw while waving goodbye with the other.

‒

You visit a convenience store and buy a single-serving container of Häagen Dazs on the way home.

‒

The door clicks as you shut it behind you. You slip your shoes and jacket off and try to sneak through the apartment. The action is difficult while carrying a plastic bag. If Karkat is not sleeping, he still has a headache, so you do not wish to disturb him more than necessary.

You step into the kitchen, but pause when you notice a bundle of comforter on the sofa. You approach the couch. "Hey."

No response.

"Karkat?" You nudge the quilt.

It grumbles and shifts.

You scowl and tug at the bottom end of the comforter until his feet protrude, and then withdraw the carton of ice cream from the bag. You press the cold container against the flat of his foot.

He yelps, thrashes for a moment, and flips the blanket off his head to glare at you. "What the ever-loving fuck."

"I got your ice cream." You sneer at him.

He growls and snatches the container from you. When he stands, he drapes the blanket over his shoulders, and enters the kitchen.

You follow him in the same direction but sit at the bar counter between the lounge and kitchen.

He rummages through several cupboards and the refrigerator. Sprinkles, chocolate chips, chopped nuts, two flavors of syrup, whipped cream, cookie crumbs, maraschino cherries- you didn't even know you had all this shit. No wonder the groceries were so damn expensive.

"Are you PMSing or something? Your cravings are insane. You're going to get diabetes faster than that fat kid Willy Wonka hated."

"I'm not PMSing, whatever that is. A sugar rush might help with this migraine." He scoops the ice cream into a bowl and arranges his toppings in a way that makes the dish look both delicious and fatal.

You hum and walk back to the sofa to relax; his turn to follow you.

He curls against the arm of the sofa and nestles further into the quilt as he prods his sugar-overdosage with his spoon.

"Seriously? What are you doing. Get over here." Your timbre is firm but not demanding; it was your way of asking. You were giving him the option.

His brow knits as he stares at you.

Your stomach coils. You hate the moments you have difficulty reading him. What is he thinking? Your spout of insecurity is boosted when you remember the kitten he fell in love with- the one you are planning as a gift- resembles John, and that thought is still eating away at your mind and leaving a rough tingle under your ribcage.

He sighs and shuffles next to you.

Oh. No worries.

You wrap an arm around his waist and pull him closer while staying careful not to upset his bowl of cardiac arrest.

There is a quiet rumble in his throat and you cannot tell if it is a growl of protest or a hum of acquiescence. Regardless, he nuzzles against your neck as he spoons ice cream into his mouth.

"Can I have some?"

His expression is a perfect picture of skepticism. Seconds of silence tick by before he responds. "No."

"What? C'mon dude. I bought it for you."

"And that makes me indebted to the point I have to allot my dessert?"

"It should."

"You're lucky I'm even allowing you to cuddle with this awful pounding in my head." He carves into the ice cream again, this bite a deliberate choice of whipped cream, syrup, cookie crumbs and- obviously- the vanilla ice cream.

Before the spoon passes his lips you seize his wrist and shepherd the morsel into your mouth.

His lips remain open in disbelief before his face contorts in slight anger and extreme disapproval.

You chuckle and peck him on the cheek. Tightening your grip around his waist, you burrow your face into his neck.

He groans and continues to eat his ice cream.

After he finishes, he prods your side in an attempt have you loosen your clutches on him.

You comply, and he leans forward to set the empty bowl on the table.

He then turns to you with a semi-serious countenance. "What's wrong with you today? You're clingier than normal."

Your gaze flickers between both of his eyes; searching in them for answers to questions you have not- and will not- ask. You are glad for your shades.

"Well?"

"I'm picking up more hours at the club. I won't be home until early morning for the next few nights."

"Oh. So you're taking the opportunity for displaying affection while you can."

"Kinda, yeah."

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "I still have a headache…"

"I know. Do you want to go lay in bed?"

"That's a good idea." He grabs his bowl and trudges to the kitchen to place it in the sink. He halts at the beginning of the hallway to look back at you. "What are you doing?"

"What?" You raise an eyebrow at him.

"Aren't you coming?"

You blink in surprise. "I thought you'd want to be left alone."

"I don't want to do anything…" He glowers at you. "Just get your ass over here."

You follow him into your bedroom.

He crawls onto the bed and sits, waiting for you to lie.

After you do, he tosses the quilt he has been bound to for who knows how long over the both of you, and rests his head on your arm.

This is the feeling you crave in the mornings.

You press a kiss to his forehead and knead your fingers through his disheveled- albeit soft- hair.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper.

He hums in appreciation.