Mal - Pets (Patreon)

I woke early in the morning, my head groggy from a late night where I learned how to make dumplings. Hazel had a big family dinner coming up and Malcolm, in typical Malcolm fashion, was going to outdo her. So, starting late yesterday afternoon, we started making dumplings. A task that I assumed was only going to take us a few hours.  When it became late at night and we were still stuffing pockets of dough, I was starting to regret my choice of volunteering to help Malcolm.  He had a crazed look in his eyes as we completed the fourth pan and I finally bowed out. Because there was no reason to make that many dumplings. None at all. I should have known I was in for it when Milo had laughed upon learning my offer to help.  He of course didn’t show up to help us.

Stumbling to the kitchen, I glanced around the apartment, half expecting that Malcolm would still be there, stuffing dumplings. He was nowhere to be found and I hoped that he was not running out to get more supplies.

Starting the kettle, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The kitchen was immaculate, because Mal would never leave it dirty, and I had a momentary feeling of guilt as I realized I had crashed and left him with it all.  I would make an extra big pot of tea.  Share it with him when he got home. And–

I jumped back as I opened the cabinet door.

Inside, were three orange kittens. They stared at me with crystal blue eyes, one raising their paw to bat at me. As if I was the one who disturbed them by opening the door.

“I don’t think you belong in there,” I told them.

The front door opened as Malcolm came in, a bag under his arm. “Ah,” he paused. “You found the triplets.”

“I did.” The kettle began bubbling by my side. “Why are you keeping cats in your cupboard?”

“Because I plan to eat them.”

I whipped around, staring at him.  He had that small smile to his face. The one that said he was fucking with me.

He set the bag down on the counter, coming over to me and scooping up the three kittens, holding them in his arms. “They were outside last night. Poor little things somehow found their way into the tunnels. I couldn’t just leave them out there.”

“So you put them in a cabinet?”

“No, they put themselves in the cabinet and refused to come out.” He placed them on the ground where one of them immediately shot out, running into the kitchen island. “I’m thinking of naming that one Milo.”

I snorted a little, imagining Milo’s face at having a cat named after him.  “You can’t seriously be thinking of keeping them.”

“And why not?” he asked with a raised brow. “Got something against kittens?”

“No. Nothing against kittens but you can’t just adopt three cats that show up at your door. Don’t you think that’s suspicious.”

“Very suspicious,” he said. “Especially because they aren’t paper kittens.  Which means, if I let them wander around out there, someone is going to find them, and then that little joke about eating them is going to look like a blessing compared with what is done to that.”

“What?” I looked down at the orange furbabies. The three of them started to roll around with each other.

“Lamplight, animals, real animals, are not here in the market for a reason. They are such an anomaly now that people take them and force them to breed. Others keep them locked up as some sort of status symbol. Not to mention the ones who will kill them for sacrifice. Or take their souls to consume for their own.”

“Consume what now?”

“It’s an old practice. It used to be something hunters did to honor the dead. But it’s become perverted now.” He glanced down at the kittens. “So yeah. I’m probably keeping these ones.  Until they decide they want to move on.”

I bent down, holding my hands out for them to sniff. The little one, Milo, came up and bumped their head against my fingers, purring.  “And how will you know if they want to move on?”

“Animals have a funny way of communicating.  They go where they’re needed.”

I picked the cat up, nuzzling them to my face. “And why do you think they were needed here?”

“To stop me from making another eight pans of dumplings.”

“Eight pans? Mal.”

He held up a hand. “I know. I know. I may have a problem.”

“You and Hazel’s food wars are a bit intense.  I mean, we benefit from them but still, is there something there that needs to be talked about.”

He shrugged. “We were children that weren’t loved by our mother, who had no father figures, or in my case, second mother figure.  We were forced to grow up fast. Hazel has a boat load of trauma surrounding needing to please people and then the second something goes wrong in her life she crumbles like paper. And I may be emotionally closed off because if I showed my emotions as a young teen, it manifested into beating the shit out of people and hurting them beyond repair. So, we get a little petty when it comes to food.”

I stood, holding kitten Milo close.  There was no change in Malcolm’s face as he spoke but I didn’t think I had heard him talk that much in one breath before.  Reaching out, I cupped his face, feeling the way his jaw was tight against the palm of my hand.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I told him.

“It’s done,” he said. “Over.  Not really a thing to dwell on any further.”

“Mal,” I said softly. “Dealing with the past isn’t dwelling. You understand that right?”  He said nothing, eyes focused on the kitten instead. As if it were his lifeline. The other two were currently running around our feet. They had certainly come where they were needed. “You used to talk to me,” I whispered. “Back when I was the lights. Why can’t you now?”

His shoulders dropped as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine, his fingers coming out to bury within the kitten's fur.  “Give me time, Lamplight. Just give me time.”

In my arms, kitten Milo hissed at him, making him crack a smile.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s get these little ones fed. And then we are taking the dumplings to Hazel and eating our body weight in food.”

“Are we bringing the children?” I asked, as the kittens began to mew at the sound of the cat food.

“Billows would never forgive us.”

“It would make Milo’s night if we pissed off that cat,” I pointed out.

Malcolm set the food down for the three of them, listening as they tore into the kibble. “Nah,” he said. “I think these littles ones are something I’m going to selfishly just keep for a bit.  Something for me.” He wrapped an arm around me.  “And you.”

Little kitten Milo fell face first into the food and rolled.

“Yeah, that’s definitely a Milo,” I laughed.  Turning, I pressed a kiss to his shoulder.  “And next time you try to get me to make this many dumplings, I’ll absolutely be distracting you with more cats.”

“We’ll run a menagerie,” he said.

“Would that be so bad?”

He placed a kiss on my temple. “With you? No.”