Work Text:
Like Herding Cats
It started when he found an ugly cat with a flat face and a snaggletooth. It was mean and spit at him when he tried to get close. He had to get stitches for the scratches he got getting it into a pet carrier to take it to the vet.
Tony named her Griselda.
Griselda did not like being an indoor cat. Tony did not like having to see her limp around after fights. There was no compromise—only screaming from both sides.
Tony thought getting her a friend might help her adjust, so he went to the shelter. He chose a black cat, because the receptionist had said they didn’t get adopted often, and brought it home. His name was Leonard.
Griselda did not like Leonard.
“Honey,” Tony said, clutching the cat to his chest. He had a chunk of fur missing from the top of his head. “I’m sorry.”
Leonard was friendly, though, so he kept Griselda and Leonard separated and went to adopt another cat.
T’Challa actually jumped when he saw it. “What is wrong with it?!”
“You’re going to make him self-conscious,” Tony scolded, clutching the scraggly tabby and scratching behind his ears. “He had a disease eating at the roots of his teeth so he had to have them all removed. His name is Dewey.”
“He looks like a combination of a dried apple and an elderly man.”
“He is an elderly man. He’s twelve.”
T’Challa stared at him for a long moment. “…Leonard is three.”
Tony frowned. “Is… is that a problem?”
T’Challa sighed. Leonard would give Dewey a heart attack.
.-.-.-.
Somehow, Leonard and Dewey got into Griselda’s part of the house.
“Please put on a coat,” T’Challa begged, because Griselda always tore up Tony’s arms but he still tried to pet her in his tank top anyway.
Tony rushed into the living room that Griselda had claimed as hers. “There’s no time! She’s going to murder Dewey!”
T’Challa sighed and clutched the coat he’d been holding to his side as he hurried after him. At the very least, he could throw it on the she-devil and give Tony a chance to escape.
He found Tony standing by the couch, looking pleasantly surprised. “Oh!”
“Is she dead?” T’Challa asked, and only felt a little terrible, because honestly why had Tony brought this cat into his home when it was clearly feral and always angry.
Tony shot him a glare that made him feel a little more terrible as he came up beside him. “Honestly, what is your problem with Griselda?”
He had the response ‘she has caused you to get one hundred and twenty-seven stitches and counting’ on his lips when he saw what Tony had been looking at. He couldn’t help relaxing unconsciously. He hadn’t realized how ready he had been to see blood and fur everywhere and was so happy that wasn’t the case.
Leonard was in one corner of the couch, sleeping. Griselda and Dewey were in the other corner. Griselda was grooming the top of Dewey’s head. Apparently even she had issues attacking the elderly.
“Aw, sweetheart,” Tony said sadly, pulling Leonard into his arms, because he was missing a chunk of fur off the top of his head again. So apparently Griselda still only liked Dewey.
T’Challa sighed, staring at the cat’s toothless face and frowning. Well. At least Griselda liked someone.
.-.-.-.
“Take it back,” T’Challa said immediately when he saw the cat carrier.
Tony scowled, hunkering down over the carrier protectively. “I did some research. Female cats tend to get along better with other female cats!”
“It was a miracle Griselda did not murder Dewey,” T’Challa insisted. “You must take that cat back.”
The brunet hunched his shoulders defensively, crossing his arms. “…I found her in a box by a dumpster.”
So he couldn’t take the cat back. Damn it.
“Wait,” T’Challa said, making him freeze with his hand on the lock. “You found her in a box. How old is this cat?”
Tony stared at him for a moment before he opened the carrier. “Run! Run! Before he stops you!”
A tiny black face poked out of the carrier, whiskers twitching, before it bolted out like a black bullet.
“How many times do I have to tell you to make you understand that Griselda is feral and violent?” T’Challa snapped. “Dewey was a miracle. She is going to eat that kitten for breakfast!”
Tony frowned. “…But I couldn’t just leave her on the streets…”
There was feline screaming from the kitchen. They both scrambled toward it.
Leonard was yelling from the counter, staring down at the kitten that was eating out of Dewey’s food bowl, because Dewey got soft food since he had no teeth. He wasn’t doing anything to her, just… screaming. Complaining. Loudly.
“…What is her name,” T’Challa sighed.
Tony brightened immediately. “Winnie.”
“I will order a new food bowl for Winnie.”
Leonard continued to yell.
.-.-.-.
Somehow, against all odds, Winnie was young enough and Griselda was old and tired enough that they got along. Mostly. Sometimes Griselda would still swat Winnie on the head, but she didn’t take out chunks of fur like she did with Leonard.
T’Challa looked up from his book, one hand petting Dewey as he eyed Griselda distrustfully on the other side of the couch. She eyed him back, then huffed and turned her attention back to the floor, where Tony was pointing a laser on the ground and watching Leonard and Winnie pounce on it. It was a nice scene.
T’Challa jumped a little when something rolled out from under the couch, pouncing on the light with one mangled leg.
Tony’s eyes shot up to him immediately. “…Oops?”
T’Challa could not even fathom where his lover had found this animal. It was missing its left foreleg and its right rear leg. He imagined that this was what a cat would look like if a cat married a meat grinder. He wondered how long it had been here. How long Tony had been hiding it from him.
“…His name is Roquefort,” Tony said.
T’Challa began to laugh helplessly. “Like the cheese?!”
“That’s the name he came with!” Tony exclaimed defensively, blushing.
The taller man began laughing so hard that Dewey crawled off his lap, grumbling, to sit with Griselda. “All of your cats have human names except for this one, who is named after cheese?!”
“IT’S THE NAME HE CAME WITH!” Tony shouted again, then huffed and gathered the legless cat into his arms, glaring at him. “Shut up! He’s eight; it’s too late to change his name! STOP LAUGHING AT ME!”
“I love you so much,” T’Challa wheezed, tears in his eyes. He couldn’t stop laughing. His lover was just so flustered and cute.
“I love you too but seriously stop laughing that’s the name he came with!” Tony whined. “You’re gonna give him a complex, T’Challa!”
T’Challa laughed until Griselda got mad and swiped at him, and then he started laughing again when Tony responded by shouting ‘Griselda, no swiping!’ like that silly cartoon. He pulled Tony into a hug, hiding his face in his shoulder to hopefully dry some of his tears on his shirt.
“Laugh it up, asshole,” Tony mumbled, still flushed bright red. “I’m gonna name the next one T’Challa and give it all your kisses.”
T’Challa managed to get his laughter down to chuckles at the threat, pressing a kiss to the smaller man’s cheek. “Do not do that. Then I will have to get a cat named Tony and give it your kisses.”
“Well,” Tony said, turning his head so he could kiss his lips. “I guess I can keep kissing you and save us both the troub—ow!”
They looked down. Winnie was wrapped around Tony’s ankle and was kicking with her back feet wildly.
“…At least it’s not Griselda?” Tony offered at his unimpressed expression.
T’Challa sighed. Right. At least it wasn’t Griselda.