Work Text:
9 Lives
Shiro likes to shop. He takes his time, walking the aisle with cat food. Dry and canned, good and bad, fancy and scientific. Purina, IAMS, Hill’s. 9Lives. He stops, bag in hand, wondering how many of his lives are spent by now. He puts the bag back down. He makes a small huff. He’s okay today.
He walks a bit further down, grabbing a bag of Blue Buffalo, and then another. He likes to make these small decisions, safe ones, although it is still about the lives of others. Nothing is too good for the cats. They went through the war and survived, too. They make him smile. The best organic cat food is not too steep a price for a purr and a set of claws in his good hand. He rubs it. It’s a little sore. Black was cranky this morning and wasn’t shy, telling him so.
He returns to his house, two bags of chow under the arm and a small potted catnip plant in his hand. There’s a big Galra cat waiting for him at the porch. It's his favorite kitten, apart from Black.
“Hey Babe,” Keith says and stretches, making Shiro wonder whether the Galra actually are related to cats. “Want some help with that?”
Black sits in the window, watching them. The old warrior glares at them, tail thwapping against the windowsill. It’s for show, mostly. Shiro lets go of the cat food so that he can pet Black. The silken fur under his fingers make him sigh with pleasure.
Keith smiles and kisses him on the cheek.
It is a good day. If he has but one life left, he’s happy it is this one.