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"Martin, have you seen my other purple sock?" Jon calls, digging through his socks for
A soft chirrup answers his question instead of his boyfriend, and Jon looks up from his sock drawer, smiling already.
"Hello, Sasha," he says, dropping a hand toward the ground to pet the kitten. She ambles up and rubs her face against his knuckles before insisting he scratch under her chin. "Any chance you know where my sock is?"
She rumbles against his fingers in response, and he chuckles.
"What was that?" Martin asks as he walks into their bedroom, a towel twitching between his hands as he finishes drying them. "I had the water running." He throws the towel over his shoulder and grabs his wallet from his dish on the dresser.
Jon stands up and reaches for the offending sock, laying on top of their dresser. "Have you seen this sock's mate? I swore I pulled both out before I went to get in the shower, but I've only got this one."
Martin shakes his head. "I don't think I even noticed they were on the bed when I was getting dressed," he admits. "We've got that meeting with the board of directors today, and well, you know—"
"—how you get before those, yes," Jon finishes for him, smiling fondly. "No worries, I'm sure it's in the laundry or something. It's not important, really, just felt like the purple ones today."
Martin presses a quick kiss to his forehead and leans down to run his hand down the length of Sasha's back. "She can help you search, yeah? I've got to run."
"We'll find it," Jon agrees and then leans forward. "Love you."
Martin bridges the distance between them and presses a brief but warm kiss to his lips. "Love you, too. Don't forget your lunch, I already packed it and left in on the counter."
"You're the best," Jon replies, already thrilled for whatever note Martin tucked under his tupperware of leftovers.
Martin just laughs as he hurries back down the hallway. A few moments later, the sound of the door opening reaches Jon's ears, followed by a shouted goodbye, and he and Sasha are alone in the house.
"Well, shall we?" he asks, gesturing to the doorway. Sasha meows back, bright and loud. She's grown in the last few weeks, of course, but she's still very much a kitten, and her meow doesn't let him forget it.
Sasha trails after him as he heads to the laundry, and he begins to poke around, starting with the dryer—his purple socks had been in the last load, if he's remembering correctly. Sasha climbs up onto the folding, where a small pile of socks is waiting to be sorted and a handful of towels need folding.
"Do you think it's over there?" he asks as he watches her stuff her nose into the pile of socks. She gives a chirp but continues her sniffing. He watches her for a moment and then moves over to start looking in the pile.
There's no sign here, and he's just deciding to give up the search and wear another pair today when Sasha emerges from the pile, something clutched between her teeth. It isn't his purple sock, but it is one of Martin's highland cow patterned ones.
Jon laughs. "That's not quite the one I was looking for," he tells her, reaching a hand out to rub her ears. He doesn't quite get to make contact, though, before she's jumping down, sock still in her mouth.
"Sasha?" he asks, surprised. "What on earth are you doing?"
Despite her small size, she's deceptively fast, and Jon's got to keep a sharp eye her fluffy gray tail to keep her in his sight. She weaves around scattered belongings and up the stairs. Jon follows her into his office, where he just catches sit of her ducking into her covered cat bed.
"Sasha," he starts, crouching down to peer inside, "what are you—" A laugh bursts out of him. "Good lord, Sasha, how many socks do you have in there?"
She's crouching on top of her latest find, and around her, Jon can see at least six other socks, including the purple one he's been looking for.
"How long have you been doing this?" he asks, reaching in to grab his purple sock. "Hey!"
He withdraws his hand quickly after the sharp prick of her teeth. She hadn't properly bitten him, but he's not thrilled to discover she's so protective over stolen socks.
"Listen, we can renegotiate your ownership of socks later," he says, trying to reason with her. "But if I don't finish getting ready soon, we'll be late to class, and it's not a good look for the professor and the professor's assistant to be late, is it?"
She doesn't respond, of course—he hadn't expected her to, he isn't that far gone yet, Martin—but she also doesn't nip him again when he reaches in a second time. He pulls his sock free and begins the process of getting off the floor.
"We'll be heading out in ten minutes," he tells her as he gets to the doorway. "Please enjoy your sock hoard until then."
A small meow follows him out, and Jon grins to himself as he makes his way down the stairs. Life really is better with their cat.