I like cats, so…here you go.
He was used to noises in the alleys.
But unlike the mortals, Dante didn’t fear them. Sounds were harmless—or they meant fresh prey. He was familiar with the slithering of a rat, or the rustling of a raccoon, or the pecking of a bird.
But this one…this one, he didn’t hear all that often.
Dante paused a few steps into the shadows. Under the sallow light of a nearby bulb, he could make out a handful of metal garbage cans and a set of glistening black bags.
There it was again—a soft tapping, then a crackling rustle. Then the stretch of plastic snagging on a set of claws.
A pair of amber eyes blinked up at Dante.
He saw stray cats now and then. They liked to stay in the woods, or near the neighborhoods where the sympathetic humans left out food and water. The cats were either wary of people; or they peered up at Dante with a mutual understanding—if he didn’t tangle with them, then they wouldn’t tangle with him.
But this one didn’t flinch; nor did it emit a low growl of warning, like the other ferals did.
Instead, it blinked, then padded out from behind the can.
Dante held still, too curious to scare the creature off with a sudden movement.
The cat meowed; then it lifted a paw to lick at.
Maybe it was only friendly because the restaurant staff fed it so well…
“Hi there.” Dante spoke softly. The cat still didn’t startle. He stepped forward. “You’re bold. Then again, I don’t tend to feed on your kind.”
The cat finished its cleaning, offered another mew, and padded to a heap of boxes clustered behind the trash cans.
There was nothing inherently remarkable about the container it chose. The box’s shine had faded, but its pattern remained—a cheerful stamp of bright red-and-green holiday holly. A few strands of ribbon draped across it.
The cat squirmed in a circle, then settled in.
It might’ve just found the box back here; it could’ve been a coincidence.
But…
Dante knelt. The cat rested its chin on the edge of the box, still regarding the man with no sense of wariness.
Dante hesitated, then held out a hand. The cat lifted its head long enough to sniff at the man’s fingers. “You really are friendly, aren’t you?”
Dante had heard of humans who bought pets for the holidays, surprising loved ones who tired of them before the winter snows had melted off the ground. Most were decent enough to return them to the shelters…
At the feline’s permissive head butt, Dante reached to scratch under its chin.
“What happened to you?” Its fur was somewhat matted. The holidays had passed about a month ago. “How long have you been out here, bud?”
The cat answered with a quiet, rumbling purr.
“Yeah…you can’t be a stray; unless you’ve had the cushiest life ever.” Dante moved to scratch across the top of its head. “Ooh…you like that. Yeah. What a nice boy. Or girl.”
The man inched forward in his crouch, then scooped his arms around the box.
* * *
“Yeah…my place is kinda old.”
The house was big, if worn. Dante had never minded the cobwebs and the lack of electricity; though he wasn’t sure how his new companion would feel about it.
He carried the box upstairs, where he set it upon his bedroom floor.
The cat rolled sideways, splaying a few paws into the air.
Dante knelt to rub at its neck. “You like this, huh? Yeah, that’s good, ’cause I don’t really get around to cleaning much. And I like the darkness. But you’ve got good night vision, don’t you?”
The cat purred until Dante pulled his hand away.
It looked to be sleeping. Cats slept for a while, didn’t they?
Before enacting his idea, Dante swept around the house, blocking up every opening larger than a pinhole.
Then he slipped outside, melting into his bat form as he soared into the night.
* * *
The cat was still there.
Dante breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like it’d wriggled in its sleep; but otherwise, it still slumbered contentedly in its box.
* * *
“I think I’m gonna call you Pizza.” Dante nodded as he rattled a helping of newly acquired food into Pizza’s bowl. “I know that’s not very creative…” And he didn’t much like the meal himself; but he’d found the cat behind a pizzeria, after all.
Dante lifted the bag and stepped back, then nudged the dish closer to the cat.
Pizza trotted forward, sniffed, and bit a sample. After a moment of crunching, the cat leaned down for more.
Dante smiled. “You like that? Good.” He glanced towards the pantry. “’Cause there’s a lot more where that came from.”
* * *
Pizza roamed the house while Dante was awake. The man tossed balls of fluff and waved shreds of curtain around for the cat to chase.
At night, he’d make sure Pizza had eaten and been pet to sleep in his box (his yet-preferred sleeping spot) before he headed out to feed.
It started one evening as Dante sat down to read.
Something tugged at his leg—and Dante glanced down into a pair of wide yellow eyes.
Pizza blinked up at the man; then he jumped onto the couch.
Dante watched, his book held aloft, as the cat climbed onto his lap and circled as if settling down into his box. The cat finally sank into a loaf, tucking its tail around its body.
“Uh…” Dante blinked. “Okay then.”
* * *
He didn’t always plan on reading in the evenings.
But, almost unconsciously, Dante found himself sinking onto the couch every night at seven o’ clock sharp.
He paged through his novel, awaiting the patter of tiny paws—then the tug on his pants, and the soft, warm heft of a cat in his lap.
* * *
Dante didn’t need to sleep in a bed, but…the bedroom closed in enough darkness to rival his coffin.
He woke each afternoon to see Pizza still snuggled in his box in the corner of the room.
Maybe it was his comfort zone; or maybe he just wasn’t close enough to Dante yet.
But the man kept sleeping in the bed anyway.
Something was different. Dante’s blankets were luxuriously heavy…but this pressure wasn’t familiar.
He frowned into his pillow, then squirmed around.
The lump against his back squirmed too.
Dante stifled a scream.
Oh—a laugh bubbled out of his chest next. The man shifted again, a bit more carefully.
Pizza mrrped in protest.
“Sorry, bud.” Dante rolled fully onto his back, reaching out to wrap an arm around the cat. He dug his fingers into Pizza’s fur. “Comfortable?”
He felt the purrs vibrating against his hand.
“Yeah.” Dante sighed. “To be honest, I kinda like this better than the coffin myself.”
* * *
He had an idea.
The holidays weren’t the only time of the year it happened…and Dante had plenty of room in his home.
He was going to need a lot of food, bowls, and supplies. He didn’t always mind taking what he needed; but this was going to add up.
His family had amassed a fortune centuries ago. Each generation found their own ways to add to it.
Dante had taken to painting—crafting masterpieces he took as long as he liked to complete. He hadn’t needed to touch more than a paltry allowance from his stash before now.
* * *
Slowly, the house livened. Pizza now had friends to play with—cats to chase and dogs to wrestle. He mrrped encouragingly at the newcomers who nosed nervously into the corners. He wrapped himself against someone for a cuddle whenever he settled down to sleep.
By the next holiday, the home was bursting at the seams—though Dante knew he’d manage to find room for more.
He’d never minded being alone; he had friends and family he saw as he liked.
But the yipping, the meowing, the soft furry bodies rubbing up against his legs as he walked…the warm companions snuggled into his bed in the early mornings and the late afternoons…
He wasn’t sure how he’d ever lived without it.
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