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Peter Parker did not like cats. In fact, if you asked him what pet was his favorite, he’d probably say that he didn’t like pets at all. He preferred cats to dogs, of course, what with their barking and slobbering sending him into sensory hell, but it was more of a “lesser of two evils” to him. Cats were quiet and tended to mind their own business, so that was a plus, but at the end of the day, Peter couldn’t call himself a cat person either.
It was just one of those things that was universally known: The sky is blue, you don’t go to Times Square, and Peter Parker isn’t a cat person.
It wasn’t that there was something specifically wrong with cats per se, but something about them made him particularly uneasy.
Maybe it was the weird orb eyes or the gross tickling feeling of their whiskers brushing against his skin or maybe it was the fact that he’d been clawed by more than one cat who he’d been tasked with rescuing from a high place, but either way, there was just something off about them and Peter preferred to spend as little time as possible in their presence.
As it were, cats as a species weren’t going out of their way to be in his presence anyways, so this usually worked out well for all parties involved. On the off chance he did have some form of contact with a cat, they seemed to find his dislike mutual, puffing up like spikey little balloons and hissing and spitting like there was no tomorrow. At first, he had assumed the mask of his suit simply scared them away, but eventually, he’d come to realize that cats didn’t like Spider-Man or Peter Parker.
So there. Peter didn’t like cats and cats didn’t like him. Their feelings toward each other were mutual and they were both completely content to stay out of each other’s way. End of story.
“That,” Felicia said after he relayed this information to her over their brunch date, “Is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Felicia, despite her love for the fuzzy beasts, hadn’t owned a cat in nearly two years at that point. What with her penthouses always seeming to fall victim to the latest supervillain attack and her goons refusing to play petsitter for her, owning cats had just seemed like less and less of a priority until her relationship with Peter had become more concrete and she began to spend more time out of costume.
“It's not like I’m turning our house into a zoo,” she argued, “It's one cat. You won’t even need to take care of them unless I’m busy.”
“It's hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing giant designer sunglasses and sipping a mimosa like this is an episode of Real Housewives,” he deflected.
“Peter.”
He could feel the glare from behind the Prada lenses. Oof.
“You really want to get a cat?” he asked after a moment, pushing his food around his plate miserably.
“Just one.”
“Okay,” he sighed, “Just one… but if it scratches the couch it’s out , Fel. I mean it.”
And so the hunt for a cat began.
Three weeks of searching had turned up almost nothing, which wasn’t surprising considering how insistent Felicia was that whichever shelter they adopted their new cat from be reputable and ethical (which was depressingly difficult to find) and Peter’s frankly unrealistic standards for the ideal pet.
“I don’t understand you animal people,” Peter groaned into his pillow, laying starfished on the bed while Felicia scrolled through the latest shelter website next to him.
“You don’t understand animal people or you don’t understand Animal People ?” she asked dryly, “Because if it's the second one, I have some bad news for you, lover.”
“It has to be morally wrong for us to own pets,” he grumbled at that, not raising his head, “That has to be weird.”
“I try not to think about it,” she hummed, “What do you think of this one?”
She flipped the laptop around to face him as he slowly turned his head to free one eye from the fabric.
“Okay,” he said, voice still muffled.
“Okay? Do you like him or not?” she asked with a frown, turning the screen back to look at it herself before facing it toward him again.
“What do you want me to say?” he asked, “It’s a cat. It looks exactly like the first thirty you showed me.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you are wildly unhelpful and an absolute cynic?”
“You know what, I think I have heard that one before now that you mention it.”
“Dick.”
“Love you, too.”
Despite the lack of success, Felicia remained persistent and Peter remained despondent at the idea of sharing their home with their future pet. Even Gwen and MJ had joined in on the search, sending links and pictures to their group chat until Peter just passed his phone off to Miles and told him to like any message with a cat he thought looked good. Needless to say, Miles greenlit every candidate (“ Cat-idate , get it?” “Get out of my house, Morales.”) and the search wasn’t narrowed down in the slightest.
“I found us a cat,” Felicia said proudly one day, stepping into the house with arms full of shopping bags and a wide smile on her face.
“Oh?” Peter pushed her to continue, placing his yet-to-be-graded papers off to the side.
“Janice said one of her dad’s cats just had kittens and they can be placed in a few weeks. They’ll handle all the vaccines themselves,” she elaborated.
“Hold on, pause,” Peter said, holding both hands up, “Janice as in Janice Lincoln? That Janice? You want to get a cat from Tombstone? ”
“I might not agree with his business, but Lonnie knows cats. That, and the look on his face when I show up is going to be hilarious.”
“Lady, you’ve finally lost it.”
“I’m going to go look at the kittens tomorrow and pick one,” she said with finality.
“I’ll go with you,” he offered, rising from the couch.
“Uh-uh,” she said, pushing him back down, “ You’re going to be busy tomorrow.”
“I’m going to be busy?” he asked with a confused frown, “I’m not busy. Why am I busy?
“Well, first of all, you’re going to buy all the cat stuff.”
“But-”
“I wrote a list, so don’t start whining,” she said pointedly.
“Oy – ”
“But more importantly, you need to try on all these clothes I got you,” she smiled slyly, depositing the bags she brought in directly onto his lap, “I need to know if any of them should be returned.”
“You did this on purpose,” he said sourly, “This is cruel and unfair.”
“Take it up with HR, lover.”
And so, Peter was doomed to try on the clothing he definitely didn’t need for the entirety of the next afternoon, watching in dismay as Felicia waved cheekily from the window of her car. For a moment, he contemplated shooting a web out the window and dragging it back down the street before deciding the lecture (and subsequent petty revenge) wasn’t worth it and moving on to his assigned task.
He wasn’t even halfway through the pile of fabric before the front door opened and Felicia announced her arrival.
“ We’re home! ” she shouted from downstairs, Peter carefully eyeing the pet carrier in her hand as he descended to greet her.
“Should I alert the Bugle?” he asked, “Tell them I’ve got a hot new story?”
“A story about your funeral, maybe,” Felicia scoffed, “Did you put all of her things in the guest room?”
“Yup, filled the food bowl and everything.”
“Perfect,” she nodded, “You ready to meet her, hot shot?”
“Not really.”
“ Peter. ”
“I kid, I kid,” he muttered, “Introduce me to your cat, Fel”
“Our cat,” she corrected cheerfully.
“ Our cat,” he agreed.
The guest bedroom had been appropriately prepped for their newest resident, with the litterbox and food and water bowls on opposite sides of the room and the toys Felicia had picked out strewn out in between. Add a cat scratcher and an old cardboard box, and Peter was pretty certain their couch would survive yet.
“She’ll need to stay in here for a little while,” Felicia said as she set down the carrier, “Just until she’s used to us. Then she can be let into the rest of the house. She probably won’t come out until we leave.”
As if on cue, the kitten placed a gentle paw on the wooden floor just past the threshold of the carrier door, tapping it once, twice, then a third time before committing to exploring and taking a more solid step.
“Or she’ll come out right now,” Felicia amended with surprise.
Then there was another hesitant step, then another, and Peter almost laughed. Almost laughed. He was self-destructive, sure, but even he knew better than to laugh at Felicia’s now favorite inhabitant of their home.
“ That is a cotton ball with legs,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the white blob that was walking cautiously across the floor.
“Isn’t she cute?” Felicia asked, pretending not to hear his comment, “Her name is Irene.”
“That’s a people name. Why did you give the cat a people name?”
“It fits,” she said, glaring at him, “And no offense, baby, but I’m not taking name advice from you .”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked accusingly.
“Spider-Mobile, Spider-Tracers… Webshooters? Was that the best you could come up with?” she questioned.
“Spider-Mobile was so not my idea. Johnny came up with that, not me,” he countered, “You know that. I’ve told you that before.”
“And yet, you still use it.”
“Rude.”
“C’mon,” she tugged his hand to lead him out, “Let’s leave her to explore. I ordered dinner.”
“A woman after my own heart,” he sighed dramatically, swinging their arms in tandem, “Felicia, my dear, you are a gift .”
“Don’t you forget it.”
The kitten– Irene– spent the next week and a half in the guest bedroom until Felicia deemed her familiar enough to be given access to the rest of the house. Peter expected to see her around, chasing toys, or laying in patches of sun that slipped in between the curtains or whatever it was that cats did in their free time, but it was beginning to creep him out how much he ran into her.
“She just sits there,” he explained to Felicia one night, the two of them sitting on an office building in midtown Manhattan, “She stares and she doesn’t move and it’s creepy . She doesn’t even blink.”
“Spiders don’t blink either,” she argued, “Is that creepy?”
“Spiders don’t move closer to me when I turn the lights off like a weeping angel and then stare into my soul like I killed their parents,” he scoffed.
“She’s not out to get you,” Felicia said, rolling her eyes, “You’re just looking for an excuse to be creeped out because you don’t want to admit you like her.”
“Nope,” he fired back, “Cats are creepy like that. You know why they keep cats in old folks’ homes? Because they know when people are about to kick it. They’re completely uninterested and then one day: boom, they’re your best friend. Because they know you’re done for.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” she teased, “That they’re giving the elderly company before they move on, I mean?”
“No,” he said, “It’s creepy. They’re probably waiting for their souls to fly out of their bodies so they can suck them up.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It's a hypothesis.”
“Well,” she said, standing slowly, “I guess we won’t be able to test it until you finally go belly up and I can add ‘soul sucking’ to my resume, but until then I think we better turn in, hm?”
“It’s only midnight,” he said, “Don’t tell me you’re going for another twelve-hour coma.”
“I didn’t mean it literally, Spider,” she said, “Read between the lines.”
“Your foreplay leaves something to be desired tonight, Cat,” he informed her, rising to his feet, “This is what I mean. The weird cat energy is messing with your head.”
“We’ll see,” she hummed, tugging him closer by the fabric of his suit, “But as long as I’m better than you I don’t much care… not that that’s hard.”
“Yeah?” he asked, leaning in closer.
“Mhmm,” she nodded before pausing, her breath tickling the skin that Peter’s mask wasn’t covering, “Shame you’ll have to catch me to find out, though.”
She pushed him back before vaulting over the side of the building, the sound of her grapple almost silent over the sound of blood pumping through Peter’s ears.
He darted after her without a second thought, watching the way she’d slow to give him time to catch up and match her swings. He always appreciated how familiar their routine was, the way it was so easy to get lost in the game. She would go left, he would go left. She would drop, waiting and swinging low before arching high again, and he would do the same. It was the same song and dance, but it was never any less exciting.
She waited on the roof for him like she always did, crouched low in the blindspot where the neighbors would be unaware of their presence before lowering herself into the window, a coy smile on her face the entire time as he did the same.
“Fel,” Peter said in between the messy kisses Felicia was pressing to his lips, “ Fel. ”
“What?” she asked, pulling back and wiping the smudged lipstick from the corner of her mouth.
“She's watching us,” he hissed, the eyes of his rolled-up suit narrowing towards the dark corner of their bedroom.
“What are you–” she turned around, searching the shadows before turning back with an incredulous look on her face, “Seriously? This again?”
“Get her out,” he pleaded as Irene bounded over, purring loudly as she rubbed her head against Felicia’s leg.
“Annndddd mood ruined.”
“Wh–”
“Moment over,” Felicia said flatly, leaning down to lift Irene and pull her close to her chest, “I’m going to check her water bowl.”
Peter glared as Irene peaked over Felicia’s shoulder, big blue eyes staring directly into Peter’s soul. Thwarted by a cat.
Figures.
Small things like that started happening more and more over the next few weeks. Irene would treat Felicia as if she personally had invented canned tuna in cat-safe gravy sauce and then stare at Peter as if he had begun speaking in tongues. Every time she did it Peter would say something to Felicia, and every time she would insist his mind was playing tricks on him. He almost believed her, feeling a little insulted when she insinuated that he was being driven to the point of paranoia by a housepet until she started asking him to take over more cat duties than before.
“Finally admitting she’s creeping you out?” he challenged after she had asked him to fill up the food bowl for the fourth day in a row.
“Absolutely not,” she laughed, “My back is just killing me. God, it’s ridiculous. I haven’t lifted anything in weeks– and I do mean that in the literal way and the ‘stealing things’ way.”
“Maybe you’re just getting old,” he suggested.
“Ugh, don’t start,” she groaned, eyes screwed shut as she sipped her coffee, “It’s too early for an existential crisis.”
“It’s four in the afternoon.”
“ Exactly. ”
After that, Peter started to pay more attention whenever Irene would get particularly creepy. If Felicia got a migraine, she’d lick at her hands. If Felicia’s back was acting up, she’d sit at her feet and purr. Housepet be damned, he was beginning to get more than a little concerned.
“You don’t think she’s being too friendly?” he asked Felicia over dinner a few days later, “Soul sucking, Fel. Remember that? Animals shouldn’t act like that.”
“ Jesus Christ , Peter, it’s not like I’m going to keel over and die!” she scoffed, closing her eyes and taking a deep inhale before continuing with strained calmness, “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll make a doctor’s appointment, alright?”
“Okay,” he nodded, “Okay, yeah. I’ll take the day off and we can–”
“ No ,” she said forcefully, “I am more than capable of going alone. It’s a backache, not a bullet wound.”
“But–”
“But nothing,” she said, clapping a hand over his mouth despite the muffled protests, “Listen to me. You’re being overprotective and I love you, I do, but it’s suffocating . I don’t need you to be my mother, I need you to be my partner, alright?”
At that, he guiltily peeled her palm from his face and gave a small nod,
“Alright.”
“Thank you,” she sighed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “Everything is fine and you’re getting worked up for nothing, I mean it. I’ll call around and see if anybody's got appointments for tomorrow, how does that sound?”
“Sure,” he said because he did have a habit of making things worse for himself by getting worked up.
Her car was gone from its spot in front of the house by the time he woke up, though that wasn’t surprising when you factored in how long he lay awake worrying himself into oblivion. Paired with the fact that Felicia’s absence seemed to drag on far longer than it needed to, and he was about ready to track her down on foot.
He decided against trekking the length of the city after a while, instead scrolling through his messages and spamming any friend he could think of with questions about how long a doctor’s appointment usually took because, given his avoidance of hospitals unless absolutely necessary, he couldn’t be certain what a reasonable time way.
This continued up until both MJ and Gwen threatened to block his number and tell Felicia what he was up to, which meant he was doomed to pace the ceiling until she got home. It probably wasn’t as long as he made it out to be, but still, the minutes seemed to drag on forever until the sound of keys turning in the lock drew him out of his anxious daze.
Of course, Felicia starting with “You have to promise you’re not gonna freak out” after leading him silently to the living room didn’t particularly help.
“I mean it, Peter. If you faint I’m not going to catch you,” she emphasized slowly.
“That’s not exactly instilling confidence in me, Fel,” he said weakly, already feeling the rambling string of words building up in his throat,
“What is it? What are you- What are you sick?” he asked, his questions gradually quickening, ”Is it bad? I could talk to Reed or the Avengers or somebody else. They canprobably–”
“ Peter!” she grasped his head in her hands, holding him steady and looking him in the eye, “I’m not sick, I’m pregnant. ”
...
“I think I’m gonna faint.”
Felicia’s eyes widened almost comically, the way they always did when someone said something she wasn’t expecting, and then she laughed. It was soft at first, and then so hard Peter thought she might cry.
Irene weaved in and out between her legs, staring up at Peter with her big creepy bug eyes the whole time.
“Huh,” Peter mumbled, crouching down to, rub his finger against Irene’s fluffy cheek, “I guess you are kind of helpful, aren’t you? In a creepy suck-your-soul kind of way, of course."
Felicia laughed again at that, scooping the cat up in her arms and planting a light kiss on her head,
“Not a cat person my ass.”