on the care & feeding of a cat who is not a cat // for John

[loficharm]

September 19 (cont'd) - September 22

Bursting out of the mansion into the insufficient relief of cool night air is only step one, and it's such a fraught step that Martin freezes up, not sure what comes next. John is still clutched in his arms, trembling but also holding still with a level of tension that would be alarming in an ordinary cat, and is alarming either way. His claws are still digging sharply into Martin's shoulder, but the pain is a distant bother, nothing Martin has any room to worry about just now. He's breathing heavily, adrenaline still up and his throat sore from shouting at Magnus to no avail. He stands out front, dimly aware he's being watched by the bouncers, and looks around like he doesn't know where to go.

He pulls himself together quickly because he has to. Focus on what's important, what's right in front of you. Think like Basira. One foot before the other. He has to get home. All of John's belongings, his clothes, his phone, his keys, it all disappeared into this new body. There'll be no accessing his flat in the Bramford. Martin has to get them to his own, which might actually be further from here. God.

"It's all right," he whispers, a bit manic, like he doesn't totally know what he's saying. "I-it's all right. I'm - we're gonna figure this out."

He starts walking. Reaches the city proper, Old Forest Rd., and he'll just follow that until he gets to the other end, to Candlewood.

"Gonna be all right," he says again, his voice trembling a little, resisting the various impulses toward comfort that might be welcome on an actual cat - stroking his fur, holding any tighter than he absolutely has to, even, mortifyingly, planting a kiss on his head, a thought he banishes in a little rush of panic atop panic. The best he can do for John is hold him as securely as possible without constricting and just. Get him somewhere safe. And then, the next step will be next. Whatever that is.

Comments

[statement_ends]

There's a moment in which Martin's laugh is the worst thing John has ever heard. He isn't sure how to parse it, and his humiliation is complete enough without adding laughter to the mix. He stiffens, shooting Martin a hurt look before the apology registers. At which point, all he can do is blink, surprised that Martin's taking this so well -- that he feels the need to even apologize in the first place.

As far as John is concerned, there really are no 'should have's worth applying to this situation. He doesn't know if Martin's ever owned a cat before, but regardless, anticipating John's every potential need, under such... fraught circumstances is too tall an order. It's not as if he'd been particularly chilled that first night, otherwise he could have brought it up earlier. He never would have expected Martin to just guess at it all.

He's expecting a solution more along the lines of 'I'll invest in a hot water bottle' or 'we'll get you a blanket' than 'nothing to do but share a bed and let you avail yourself of my surplus body heat.' Martin just... it's not even an offer, it's an outright decision, the matter apparently settled. Christ, he even frames it as John taking care of himself, which is bitterly hilarious. If he only knew what self-care too often entailed, in John's case, he might not be so quick to frame it as a good thing.

Not that John's so far up his own arse that he doesn't recognize the unfairness of the comparison. John's earlier behavior may have been invasive and a bit creepy, but it wasn't anywhere near as outright harmful as the worst things he can do. And if Martin's offering, then... that's not so different from voluntarily giving a Statement. It might even be a more comfortable concession to John's wellbeing, when all is said and done. Less psychologically distressing. Besides, he's small and the mattress is large enough; they needn't even touch.

His tail twitches, and then he hesitantly taps a paw against "THANK YOU." After another considering beat, he adds, "YES" and "PLEASE." He's still feeling a bit sick in the aftermath of all that anxiety, but he might feel better by the time Martin's made something, and he just... doesn't want to refuse such a simple kindness. Especially when he's still weighing the possibility of rejecting the more complicated one.

[loficharm]

Martin smiles at the thanks and gets to his feet, wandering into the kitchen. He'd left the flat in a bit of disarray after his search, and he tidies absently as he goes. "Eggs?" he asks.

It's a bit of a pain to drag the board in and out of every room they're in, but by now they've fallen into a bit of a rhythm of yes-or-no questions and answering trills. At John's acquiescent little chirp, Martin grins and starts setting things up on the counter beside the stove.

"Sort of ironic that having a cat around is making me actually do some cooking for once," he says. "Would have been more my style if you'd gone for the Fancy Feast. Oh, sorry." He gestures mockingly with his spatula. "'Elegant Eats.'" Honestly, the rebranding that goes on here is almost the worst part of it all.

[statement_ends]

John makes his way up onto the counter by way of a chair that Martin had dragged over for the purpose. He's reasonably certain he could make the leap without the intermediary, but not certain enough to risk another indignity to add to the bloody pile. Plus, he's still a bit stiff from huddling beneath the sink.

Being shorter than Martin is still bizarre, but at least it isn't so pronounced up here. He parks himself nearby to observe, less because he doesn't trust Martin not to fuck up something as straightforward as eggs and more because it just seems... kinder, this way. Martin's making an extra effort on his behalf, and simply leaving him to it would make it all feel too much like servitude. Which might befit an actual cat, but it would just make him a prick.

They generally stick to yes-and-no questions when not near the board, so it's a slight surprise when Martin starts to sort of... natter, a bit. John blinks, then hesitantly throws in one of his assenting trills in response to Martin's first comment. The mention of fucking Elegant Eats nets him a squint and a flick of his ears, the feline equivalent of a grimace. God, but he hates the brand replacements.

[loficharm]

Martin glances over at John, smiling as he clambers up onto the counter. Martin does like having him up higher; it feels more appropriate somehow.

"You miss being tall, don't you," he says, cracking two eggs rather deftly into a bowl and tossing the shells into the bin under the sink. He whisks them up with a fork, humming thoughtfully. "Bet you could get up to the fridge, if you wanted. I could set up some kind of... stepladder situation."

He's not sure if this is patronizing or not. He's trying to keep things light after that rough awakening, and to sympathize without being overly pitying. It's a delicate line to walk, especially when he can't read John's expressions at all.