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“You again?”
“It seems so,” the other smiled.
Lorenzo shook his head to himself and took the empty seat next to the now rather familiar face, like it had become a routine (it had).
In the Italian's arms was his cat, a bundle of short orange and white fur and big curious eyes, that was more than comfortable in his owner’s arms rather than in a carrier or on a leash like the other few creatures in the vicinty. He was a docile thing, overly affectoinate, a lazy companion... but he was also the bane of Lorenzo's life. This week, he had swallowed something definitely not made for feline consumption, so Lorenzo had had to get an emergency appointment at the vet clinic to get Lorenzo’s ring (it was a sentimental thing) and the cleaning cloth it had been resting on out of his poor little stomach.
Luckily for him, it appeared he would have company while sitting in the waiting room.
The man next to him—a brunette that Lorenzo bumped into a few times under similar circumstances, who he had learned from their first meeting about six months ago was called Antonio—also had his cat with him, sat in his lap. Antonio’s cat looked similar to Lorenzo’s own. The only difference was in personality; Sonno, Lorenzo’s cat, was gentle and friendly; Antonio’s cat, Lobo, was generally irritable (or perhaps just bipolar) and seemed to hate being touched unless it was his owner. Good luck to the vet. Lorenzo prayed for them every time.
“What are you two in for this time?” Antonio asked once it seemed Lorenzo was comfortable in his chair.
“He thought it would be a great idea to swallow a ring while I wasn’t looking,” he told the other. The Italian plopped Sonno down in his lap so he could get cosy, though he wasn’t all that surprised that Sonno took an interest in the other’s cat and started to softly miaow to get his attention. Lorenzo sighed and let Sonno continue at his own risk. “Sometimes I think he’s doing it on purpose, you know," he mused all the while. "It’s almost like he likes coming to the damn vets.”
Antonio hummed softly in understanding. “It could be worse though, he could have swallowed something much more dangerous, or hurt himself in a different way,” he remarked. It didn’t make Lorenzo feel that much better—these visits were never really hurting Sonno (well, the cloth could be an issue), but they were sure as Hell hurting his owner’s bank account. He didn't mind looking after him—he'd do anything for his cat—but just one less vet visit a month would be appreciated every now and then.
“What about you two, then?” he said, making conversation.
“Oh, he got in a fight with another cat.”
“Shit, really?”
“Yeah… Lobo is quite defensive and I guess another cat in the garden was a bit too much for him,” Antonio said. He stroked a hand down his cat’s back and Lorenzo watched the feline close his eyes and give a quiet purr. If it had been Lorenzo’s hand, he imagined being hissed at vehemently. Never bitten or scratched—just hissed at. “He gets stressed easily. Home is safe, and I suppose he doesn’t have the best history, so he just… freaks out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hmm…?”
“About his history?” Lorenzo asked him.
They had never discussed too much about their cats so much as about themselves. Lorenzo knew the other cat’s name but otherwise, he couldn’t say much other than he was younger than Sonno. He knew much more about Antonio—which was even then limited to his family history, moving abroad, his profession and his devotion to his feline companion. He had to admit, he was curious. That cat was defensive for a reason.
Antonio duly explained it to him in two simple but disgusting words: “Previous neglect.”
Things like that angered Lorenzo so much. Sonno was a rescue cat himself, and Lorenzo had been unable to leave him in the centre after hearing that he had been a Christmas present that was then unwanted about six months later because he became a ‘burden’. No good animal deserved that treatment and that rejection. So, hearing that Lobo was similarly a victim of neglect (and Heaven knew to what extent), Lorenzo felt a pang of sympathy for the little guy—his literal hissy-fits aside. His defensiveness at home was no doubt because he was being protective of his very loving, dutiful owner—God forbid Antonio leave him, too.
Lorenzo would probably have been the same if he were a cat. Not— Not because of Antonio (I bet Lobo is spoilt rotten, and he deserves it, poverino), but because maltreatment like that was damaging. Ahem.
“He is getting better,” Antonio went on to say. He looked to the Italian while continuing to give his cat the affection he truly needed, a fond smile spreading onto his face (is that for me or the cat…?) “I know it doesn’t seem it, but when I first got him last year, he used to bite me, he would tear up my things, and once, he even weed on my bed. While I was in it.”
Lorenzo’s lips tucked in on themselves and he tried not to laugh, or even smile. Antonio seemed far from resentful about such escapades but laughing at other people’s misfortunes was not a good thing, as he had been told many times in his life. (He would laugh later instead, and be grateful that Sonno was more than content in relieving himself outside on the grass rather than on clean cotten sheets).
“At least these days, we get on a lot better. Don’t we, príncipe?” he asked Lobo, who promptly purred and moved his head up—apparently a request for scratchies under his chin, which Antonio was more than willing to give. His smile was warm. It was… nice to look at, to be honest (whatever the fuck that means). “I have to tell you, you know… he is surprisingly comfortable around Sonno. I know I have him on a leash just in case, but when you sat next to me the day we met, I expected him to freak out like immediately. But he didn’t!”
“Uhuh, I know, you wouldn’t shut up about it for the five minutes we were sitting there together,” Lorenzo reminded him, eyes rolling around in their sockets.
They hadn’t been the best first impressions—a chatterbox talking to a brick wall—but naturally, Antonio had become more tolerable as time had gone on and as they had met on other occasions in that waiting room. The third time they had met, they had exchanged numbers. After the fifth time, they had gone for coffee together and walked with their cats in the park (well, Sonno had walked, but Lobo had meowed until he had been carried. A ‘prince’ indeed).
Now they were on their eighth time in the last six months, and he had to ask himself, what would come of it? What did he want to come of it?
“I was… kind of wondering,” Antonio said, before he stopped in hesitation. He took his hand away from Lobo and let his arms simply encircle him, which the cat seemed to accept, and he turned his head back to Lorenzo and smiled again, albeit a bit more gingerly. “I was going to call you after my appointment, but since you’re here I might as well ask you in person.”
Ask me what? What does he want to ask? Is it my name, has he forgotten my name? If he has I swear I’ll set Sonno on him— ah well, Sonno would just cuddle him, let’s face it. Okay, okay, maybe that’s not it. How dumb would that be? Maybe he just wants an opinion on something? Because I am absolutely the best person to ask? Oh, but, if it’s fashion advice I am so there, Antonio needs all the help he can get. Plain t-shirts are a simple staple but, my God, they are so fucking dull when worn on their own—
“What is it?” Lorenzo asked him as his mind began to combust.
He couldn’t wait any longer for Antonio to say it, because he could feel himself on the verge of imploding with an inexplicable anxiety and a maddening need to know. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know why the other’s silence had gotten to him like that. All he knew was that… he liked the way Antonio was looking at him, smile still soft, eyes all gentle and widened slightly more than before, as though he were amazed at Lorenzo’s desire to know. Lorenzo, meanwhile, blinked a few times rather rapidly and let his gaze fall to Sonno, for fear of falling far too deep into the other’s gaze.
New question: why am I reacting like this?
“Well,” Antonio started off slowly (Lorenzo felt his eyes shift off of him and was grateful; to his left, Antonio was back to petting his cat); “I was supposed to have a friend around tonight for dinner, but he told me this morning that he couldn’t make it because of a personal family issue. Private stuff, you know?” he remarked, though he didn’t seem to mind being let down. Lorenzo was about to find out why: “So, I was thinking that… since I’ve already done all the shopping, the preparation, the cleaning… maybe you would want to come over instead…?”
Lorenzo was stunned. His mouth hung slightly open for a few seconds; he clamped it shut when Antonio went back to looking at him. Inside, he was reeling—screaming—because someone was inviting him over to dinner, and that just didn’t happen. Ever. Never. Not even as a kid. And it created a feeling in him unlike anything he was otherwise familiar with. In his lap, Sonno gave a soft meow and started to paw at his owner’s hand. Lorenzo looked at him and stroked his head. What the fuck am I supposed to say, gatino? 'Yes'? 'No'? 'Give me a minute to think'? 'What the fuck, are you mad?'.
Part of him thought he was making this more complicated. That he was reading too much into it. Antonio was inviting him over, simply because another friend had been unable to make it.
“I’m making a traditional paella—family recipe, pure seafood, lots of mussels,” the Spaniard went on in the silence. He was evidently clueless as to how talking about food was making Lorenzo’s decision harder. “And don’t even get me started on what I have planned for the entrada and dessert. I’d eat it all myself but I don’t want the stomach ache, and, well… having company is nice.”
“You… seriously want me to come over…? You don’t mind?” Lorenzo asked him, perhaps to test the waters; or perhaps to make sure before he invaded Antonio’s evening. He didn't want to inconveniene him. But if he's already done all of the prep…
The other shook his head for all of two seconds. “I don’t mind, no,” he reassured him. “And if you like, you’re more than welcome to bring Sonno along. Something tells me Lobo would like the company, too.”
“Yeah…?”
Antonio nodded down to the cats. Lobo had stood up at some point and was leaning over into Sonno’s personal space, but the other cat seemed not to care. They appeared to be sniffing each other—almost nuzzling, if Lorenzo had to be honest—and a telltale (and treacherous) purr that came from his own cat seemed to confirm what Antonio had said before: Lobo indeed liked his company, and Sonno was just as happy.
“What do you say?” the Spaniard asked him. “You can be honest with me, I won’t mind if you don't want to.”
Lorenzo watched as Sonno licked Lobo’s face and a weak smile cracked onto his face. “Alright,” he slowly nodded, lifting his gaze to meet Antonio’s; “then, being honest, I… think I’d actually really like that. Since you’re so damned desperate to not be alone.”
Antonio laughed to himself, Sonno (the traitor) left Lorenzo’s lap in favour of Antonio’s, and then Lorenzo was forced to drag his cat off when his name was called by the vet's assistant, promising as he went to call Antonio afterwards so they could arrange a time for dinner. As he walked into the consultation room, he cursed Sonno for suddenly becoming attached to the other human being, but… also sort of thanked him, in the end, for swallowing that ring.