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Paddy finds a stray cat on one of his night runs...he really is more of a dog person, but it was raining hard and the poor thing had twisted its leg so bad Paddy couldn't help but burrito it in his own jacket. No matter if he himself got soaked in a matter of seconds.
He goes straight to the vets. They dry the cat (a him, as it turns out.) No collar, no microchip, no one reporting a missing cat either. When the cat is finally more fur than water, they find a bunch of old scars winding up its twisted leg. A miracle he isn't dead yet, really, one of the vets says. That Paddy can relate to, too; many of his ex-army colleagues have muttered at him over the years.
They offer to keep the cat in overnight, a sprain on the leg is all. But something about the way it keeps looking up at Paddy with those big hazel eyes makes his heart twist. So at half eleven on a rainy Tuesday night, he does the unthinkable: agrees to foster the cat until it can find a permanent home.
Back in his flat, Paddy watches it. The cat didn't seem very interested in anything other than snuggling in his lap until Paddy put down a small saucer of water (he double checked on google - no milk) when it wiggled out of Paddy's hand, and its small pink tongue was now eagerly lapping up droplets. The cat's inky black fur a harsh contrast to the white linoleum of Paddy's kitchen
What the fuck am i doing, he thinks. He's barely in a position to look after himself, let alone a small animal. But as Cat (he's taken to calling it Cat in his head) rubs its tiny head on Paddy's shin, he stops worrying for five minutes, and sits in companionable silence for a while.
He makes Cat a little bed of spare blankets and jumpers on the sofa and says goodnight. But when he comes out of his bathroom, he finds Cat leisurely stretched out in his bed, already getting comfortable.
"No," Paddy says, "down," like he would a dog, pointing to the darkened hallway.
Cat blinks at him.
Paddy blinks back, unsure of what to do in the face of such blatant indifference. He picks up Cat and deposits him back on the sofa. By the time he's made it back to the bedroom, Cat has slipped back in again, now taking up residence on the pillow, letting out a reproachful meow.
This process happens a number of times. "This isn't me giving in, by the way," Paddy says to Cat as he gets into bed after the fourth failed attempt to sleep alone, "tomorrow you're back on the sofa, ya hear." Cat somehow managed to look smug as he curled up next to Paddy.
At one point in the night, Paddy woke, half suffocating in thick black fur. Cat had taken it upon himself to become a particularly fluffy scarf in the night, draped across Paddy's neck and chest like he belonged there. Paddy, too tired and too warm, drifted back off to sleep, cradling the small weight atop him.
What he was not prepared for, however, come morning, was the feel of black curls tickling his nose, or the weight of a fully grown man atop him where Cat had been. He watched in groggy horror as the man nuzzled closer to him in his sleep.
What the actual fuck. A quick pinch on the hand and a quick poke of an arm told Paddy that no, he wasn't dreaming, and yes, an actual man was lying on him.
He groaned. Bloody cats, he thought.