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It was Aziraphale's idea because of course it was. The cat was maybe six months old when he found it wondering around their property. It's fur was wet and muddy and it looked hungry.
They'd talked about the cat on occasion, where Aziraphale would say they should let the cat in. And Crowley would argue that animals die and the two shouldn't go through that.
The cat was let in on the fifth week.
The poor thing was so dirty and so hungry, the angel couldn't let it stay outside! He snuck it in when Crowley was sleeping. He gave it a bath, figuring his husband (or partner/wife depending on how Crowley feels that day) wouldn't appreciate the mud on the floor. The cat slept on his lap as he read to it on the couch.
Crowley woke up in the morning where he walked downstairs dragging the comforter with him. He must have been cold.
"Are you kidding me?" Crowley scowled down at the cat.
The cat looked up and blinked slowly.
"It was cold. And it was raining!" Aziraphale argued. The cat pressed it's face against his arm. "Imagine how you'd feel if someone left you out there in the cold."
"I'd miracle myself a bloody blanket." He hissed. "And besides- what would you name it?"
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows as if to say 'well...'. Crowley gaped.
"You didn't!"
"It's Whiskey," the angel smiled, scratching the cat's cheeks. It purred. "Look! It likes me."
Crowley grumbled. He liked animals, he did, but he didn't like having pets. Animals died, that's what happens. He had a dog once, an old thing he less of owned more of fed. That was a long time ago though and he was devastated when it showed up dead.
He would be fine with a tortoise, something that could clamber around and needed minimum maintenance. Something that lives a long time. But a cat lives twenty years at most. Neither of them could handle that, he knew that. But both of them are impulsive and Aziraphale must have thought a cat would be a wonderful pet.
The cat padded around the house, occasionally meowing loudly or sleeping in the sink.
Crowley had started talking to it on the first week.
It began with the offhanded comments when it would look at him or walk into a room. He'd ask it 'what' or say hi to it. It was decent company.
One time it decided to sit right beside him. It looked up at him with big blue eyes. It's fur was white and tan, it's nose pink, fur soft. It wasn't one of the fluffy cats, or the muscular ones. The cat was a sleek, skinny and had short fur.
"What?" He asked.
The car meowed and copied the way he was laying on the bed.
"Showing off, are we?" He turns further on his back, twisting his body with his arms stretched above his head.
The cat copied him.
Now Crowley could do many things with his body, but he decided fighting with a cat over who could bend their body more was not something he wanted to do.
The cat once stole his coffee too. He was watching something on TV- no he doesn't remember what it was- when he noticed the cat had it's face right in his cup.
"Hey! Shoo!" He waved the cat off.
It meowed at him, lowering it's body as if scared. It's ears lay flat, eyes widening, fur puffing up. It was clearly afraid.
Crowley suddenly felt a pang of sadness for it.
"Oh, no, sweetheart!" He reached over and picked up the cat. "I'm sorry, oh, c'mere."
The cat gave a quite meow.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to scare you."
He felt dumb for doing this, or at least he would later, but he was scared that Aziraphale would notice the cat was scared of him. Yeah, that's what he'll go with.
They had to take the cat to the vet to get fixed eventually. The cat sat in Aziraphale's lap the entire ride.
"You're being ridiculous!" Aziraphale argued. The cat was in his arms, looking down at a bug on the concrete back porch. "Whiskey won't claw up your precious car- will you?"
The cat meowed.
"At least cap his claws," the demon argued.
They'd gotten the claw caps because Aziraphale was worried about it clawing up his clothing.
"Oh, fine." Aziraphale turned on a heel to get the caps from the cats corner of the living room. The corner had a cat bed, it's food and water, and a shelf containing said claw caps and other cat things. "There." He comes back with the cat who looks tired.
The cat sat patently on Aziraphale lap once they got to the vet. The nurse did a quick check up, asking the two questions.
"So how old are they?"
"Whiskey's about a year, I believe. Right, Crowley?" Aziraphale lifted the cat onto the exam table. It sat, waiting for the hands on it's stomach.
"A year, yes." Crowley sat his phone down.
Despite himself he did care for the cat. He felt like he had to watch to make sure it wasn't uncomfortable or the nurse wasn't being to harsh with it. He knew this was a dumb fear given she was trained for such.
"Aw, Whiskey, what a sweet name." She smiled, lifting one of the cats lips up. "What's Whiskey eating? And how often?"
"Oh, yes, a bit of a pig, our Whiskey. We get whatever we see first. It doesn't mind," the angel nodded.
The cat was asleep for the first three hours it got home. It was sat on the couch (in Crowley's spot damnit) and covered in blankets as it's entire backside was shaved.
It's tiny tail flicked occasionally.
It gave them optimal time to adore it.
It was mostly white, having the occasional tan spot. There was one under it's jaw, another on its back (stretching to the entirety of it's tail). It's feet were all tan except one of the left back toe. It had blue eyes and pale pink skin.
Again, it was adorable.
It also snored.
"Poor baby,"
"Angel, it's a cat-"
"It's our child." Aziraphale turned to Crowley from where he was laying long strokes to it's side. "And it's hurting!"
Crowley sighed. Yes, that made sense, the cat must be in pain. Or at least it will be when it awakes. A pain or a mild discomfort; Crowley hadn't ever been fixed so hell if he knew.
It was days like these, he thought, snuggled under the blankets with the cat between his thighs and his angel reading beside him, that made owning a cat better. Cats, overall, were better cuddlers than dogs (and you can fight me on that).