Work Text:
Millicent found her on their stoop. Despite her ragged, dirt-streaked calico fur, the kitten sat, chin up, her gaze piercing and haughty.
“Absolutely not,” Pansy said.
The cat, paying Pansy no mind, pranced inside, sat herself on the rug in front of their hearth, and bathed.
Millicent’s lips quirked. “It doesn’t seem up to us.”
Pansy huffed and left for the kitchen, presumably to fetch a saucer of milk—what she’d done for their last three rescues—her heels clicking angrily the whole way.
“You’re finding it a home!” she yelled.
“Of course.”
As if Pansy would ever let her.