Peter Wiggin sat at his desk, squinting at the papers in front of him. His office was the same as it always was—clinical, methodical, and slightly cold—but today, there was something else in the air. A certain... warmth? It felt strange, almost foreign, like it didn’t belong. His eyes flicked to the corner where a small, fluffy creature sat, observing him with wide, curious eyes.
He hadn’t meant to adopt a cat, really. It had been a mistake, or maybe fate, when he’d visited the shelter earlier that week. He’d only gone because Valentine had asked him to pick up some supplies. But there it was—this little kitten with fur the color of midnight and eyes that reflected the faintest hint of gold.
Peter, ever the planner, had gone in with every intention of doing his errand and leaving. But the kitten had looked up at him, and something in Peter’s chest had tightened. A strange impulse had surged through him, and before he knew it, he was signing the adoption papers, promising the small creature that it would have a home.
Now, the cat was curled up in the corner of his office, paws tucked under itself, perfectly still. Peter didn’t know what to do with it. It wasn’t as if he had much experience with animals—aside from a few childhood pets he barely remembered, he hadn’t had the need or time to care for something that wasn’t human.
But there the cat was, watching him, waiting.
Peter sighed, pushing the papers away. “What am I supposed to do with you?” he muttered under his breath.
The cat meowed softly in response, stretching its little legs before padding over to his desk. It hopped onto the chair, then onto the desk itself, and before Peter could stop it, the cat was right in front of him, its tiny body rubbing against his arm in that familiar, affectionate way only cats could manage.
He froze, unsure what to do, but when the kitten meowed again and nudged his hand, Peter felt an odd, almost imperceptible pull inside him. Without thinking, he let his hand fall to the soft fur, and the cat leaned into his touch. It was absurd, this tiny creature that had no reason to trust him. Yet, here it was, seeking his attention.
Peter’s hand moved in slow, careful strokes over the cat’s back, the sensation oddly calming. It wasn’t the kind of thing he was used to, but it didn’t feel bad either. There was something comforting about the purring, the gentle warmth of the kitten under his hand. It was simple, uncomplicated, just the way the world should be.
“Guess you’re not so bad,” Peter said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile, the first one in a while.
The cat gave a satisfied meow, as if it knew exactly what Peter meant.
