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It was not, actually, love at first sight.
Hob had found Dream and the cat staring at one another in kitchen, with equally affronted expressions that were immediately turned upon him when he walked in.
"Right," he'd said, and addressed the cat first, to Dream's visible chagrin. "Cat, this Dream. He's very nice. And Dream, this is a cat. I don't have a name for her yet, but we've been making friends over the past couple months," and then he'd looked back down at the little black cat and said, "Haven't we? Haven't we, sweet one?" and when he had looked back up from giving her a scratch under the chin, Dream had gone.
Hob had found him sulking in the living room.
"Love," he'd said, "She was in the alley. Skinniest little thing I've seen. I've been feeding her what I can, but with the weather turning, and she'd warmed up to me so much-"
"I did not ask for this," Dream had said. And fair play, Hob had thought, because adopting a pet sort of was one of those, well, couple's decisions, wasn't it? But Hob wasn't about to let either of them go back out into the cold night.
"I know," he'd said, and sat down on the couch too. "That wasn't very fair of me." But Hob wasn't a very fair person in general, so he had tucked his body against Dream's, and wrapped an arm around him, then murmured lowly into his neck, "Although, you didn't ask for me either, did you?"
And Hob had made up with Dream that way, and the next day he brought some tuna home and the cat forgave him too.
The two of them never quite warmed up to each other, though. Sometimes, Hob would come into a room to find them both there, gazes locked in a silent battle of wills, before one stalked off and the other looked smugly at Hob. But they coexisted, more or less, and after a few months, Hob figured that was how it was going to remain. It was alright. He had enough affection for both of them. They didn't need like each other as well. It would have been nice, though.
---
The cat - Hob had never picked a name for her and Dream certainly wasn't going to offer one - so in time she went from being the cat to The Cat instead, was not an indoor, domestic creature like Hob. She had been born outside, been a kitten outside, and would come and go as she pleased.
Dream was not sure why she had traded it for days and afternoons in Hob's flat above The New Inn, but he could understand. Hob had a special kind of persistence to him. A special kind of patience and warmth. And he never made her stay in when she wanted to explore at night.
But Dream was growing uneasy with it. He knew the world of humans better than he ever had, and it was not an especially kind world for a small cat, no matter how fierce she'd assured Dream she was, time and time again. There were dogs. Cars. Long falls.
Hob didn't seem to think about it at all. He didn't look up in the evenings when brakes squealed outside. He didn't walk through the flat in the grey light of early morning looking for a small black circle of fur sleeping off her adventures in one spot or another.
Dream could not stop thinking about it. Hob loved the cat terribly. And the cat was clever, and quick, and sounded like a tiny four stroke engine when she was happy. He refused to say anything to Hob, lest Hob assume his own worries, and have the precious peace he enjoyed in the evenings be ruined by Dream's helpless fretfulness.
He tried to temper The Cat's appetite for exploration instead, to no avail. He knew it was hopeless. Cats kept their own counsel.
---
His eldest sister met him for a walk on a fine spring day.
"I hear you two have a cat now," she said, apropos of nothing, eyes sparkling.
"How?" he asked, appalled. He felt bizarrely stricken by the thought of his sister knowing about The Cat.
She jostled his shoulder playfully. "Oh, you know me. I hear things," she said. Then she looked a bit closer at his face and said, "Oh, Dream, you idiot. Don't be silly."
Dream felt his face flush and he scowled. "And I would rather it be you than anyone else, sister. Of course. When it is time. But," he said, and trailed off.
Death stopped walking and turned to face him. "But what?"
"Hob loves her," he said, pathetically.
"Most things that live are loved," said Death.
"Can you not-?" asked Dream.
"I could," she said, and smiled. "But I've already made one exception for someone you love. I can't be seen playing favourites, you know."
Dream felt several different objections spring to his lips at once, but then his sister's expression lightened into a teasing grin, "Besides, little brother, I'm sure you can think of something."
"Ever helpful, sister of mine," he said. At least he had asked. Cold comfort that it was. Perhaps he would be able to change her mind in the future.
Death kissed him on the cheek. "I have to go back to work, but tell your husband hello for me, won't you? That's for Hob, by the way. You get this," she said, and punched him softly on the arm, "It's normal to worry about the ones you love, Dream, yeah? Just because it hurts doesn't mean it has to be fixed."
And she strode away and Dream stood there feeling like all little brothers sometimes feel.
---
Hob noticed him staring at The Cat that evening more than usual. The Cat noticed him as well, of course, but pretended not to, mostly because she could.
"Having a squabble, are you?" asked Hob. He'd started making little jokes about what he thought was enmity between them. Yes, the presence of The Cat had been...discomfiting, at first. But it had not been enmity between them for months now.
Dream looked up guiltily. "We have yet to come to an understanding," he said, which was true enough.
Hob scoffed softly. Dream felt impossibly fond. "Well, I wish you two the best of luck in your negotiations." He cupped Dream's face and kissed him. "I'm off to bed. Early morning lectures, nothing worse. Both of you enjoy your nights," he said.
Dream stared after him and so did The Cat. Then the bedroom door closed with a soft click and The Cat got up, very casually, jumped down into his lap, and curled up. She found it incredibly amusing to let Hob think she disliked Dream, and the only reason Dream didn't ruin her ruse out of greater loyalty to Hob was because he feared all his feelings of concern and worry would spill out at the same time. She knew this, of course, and was tremendously smug about having her way.
She impatiently bumped her warm little head up into Dream's hand and he curled his fingers into her fur. For while they had their differences, Dream's chin scratches were objectively superior Hob's, and she had set her feud with him aside the moment she realized it. Dream had the unfair advantage of millennia of dreams of people petting their cats, and millennia of dreams of cats being pet. No other being, he thought, with some satisfaction, could pet a cat better.
Since Hob's term had started, they had done this on his early nights, settling on the couch, Dream sometimes with a book, sometimes with just his thoughts, until she had her fill of attention and got up from his lap to slip like a small shadow out the window. Then Dream would brush the fur off his clothes, and attend to his duties in The Dreaming.
The Cat stretched and hopped onto the windowsill. She stopped, and looked back at Dream, eyes bright with curiosity. You'll think of something, his sister had said.
Dream stood and looked down at her. He affected an air of disinterest. "Are you not bored of it yet?" he said, "Night after night."
She swished her tail.
"All the same. Birds, trees, insects, what else is there? Only variations on the same theme. Are they not? How tedious it must become," he said, "For a Cat such as you."
She made to take her leave, hurt and irritated.
"No," continued Dream, "It is below your station, I think. You are a fine emissary of the night. Walk with me, and explore a greater darkness. Come and witness my work, if you wish. Come prowl in the minds of men instead of their alleyways."
He turned away at once, not waiting for her reply. She hopped down from the windowsill.
They went into the night together.
---
The only consolation, thought Hob, of early mornings, was getting to read the morning edition of the paper while watching his husband complete the crossword before he even got to the business section. Dream had already plucked it out and was smirking down at it. Perhaps the clues were particularly obscure today.
Hob picked up the paper and turned it over to the front page. He took a sip of tea and choked on it immediately. Under the masthead, in sensationally large font, was the headline:
Black Cat Crossed Your Path? Proponents of Collective Unconsciousness Claim Victory After Same Cat Reported In Nation's Dreams
Dream smiled as he completed the crossword, thoroughly unconcerned with Hob's wheezing gasps.
"Darling," said Hob, after evacuating the last of the Earl Grey from his lungs. "Dream."
"Yes?" asked Dream.
"Did you perhaps invest The Cat with your powers of office last night? After I went to bed?"
"She was bored," said Dream.
"Right. So you gave her the power to walk with you through dreams. Because she was bored," he said.
"Husband. No such thing. I also did it because she is well-suited to such work." Dream sniffed, haughty. "It certainly suits her more than chasing birds and running in between cars," he said.
Hob's phone vibrated. It was a text from Rita, another Classics professor, who had been over for lunch once or twice before:
Robert, that cat of yours was in my dreams last night. She recognized me. Explain yourself.
As he read it, another message popped up. His teaching assistant, Michael:
lol hob the first year papers are getting to me, i dreamt ur cat was watching me mark them last night. allegory??
His phone vibrated again. Hob put it on silent and very deliberately placed it back on the table face down. He looked over to the living room where The Cat was stretched out on the rug and emitting tiny little snores, and then at his husband who was looking at him like he dared Hob object. Well-suited indeed, thought Hob.
"Apparently so," he said, and started in on his eggs before they got cold.
It was wonderful that they were finally getting along.