Work Text:
Beaux Rêves
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Trash night came on the heels of a warm winter evening. California knew how to do a warm winter, at least some days.
Sammy Lawrence dropped the bag of kitchen trash into the can before slamming down the lid and dragging it with gritted teeth to the curb. The scraping of metal to sidewalk stung his ears, but it was his turn to drag the cans. It wouldn’t be fair to make his wonderful Henry, his little sheep, drag the heavy cans week in, week out. Not with his back trouble.
“Ugh. Never let it be said I don’t suffer for my love.”
A perfect F sharp floated up from the ground.
Sammy paused, and squinted as he tried to pick up the source of the noise. A mosquito? But… no. Even in the warm California winter, those little bastards had long gone. Besides, the sound came from around his knees, not right at his ear. What could have it been?
He got his answer when something ghosted his pant leg.
“Gah! What?” The slender man froze, bright eyes finding the source of this night time disturbance. “Oh. Well, hello.”
She was the ugliest cat he’d ever seen. Standard face and body, even had a normal tail, but her pelt was filthy. The poor little thing looked like she’d run under a truck during a messy oil change! Her orange fur was splattered in freckles of black.
“Hello? Who are you?” He bent at the knees, extending a spidery hand to the fuzzy being that had rubbed all over his leg.
The cat didn’t answer, save for butting her head into his palm as hard as she could.
“Goodness. Aren’t you friendly.” A soft, half-smile crinkled his eyes.
“Who’s friendly, Sammy?”
The squatted blond didn’t startle, turning to look at Henry, who stood in the doorway. “This ugly thing spooked me, little sheep. She must have hidden behind the trash can.”
Hazel eyes flicked to the cat. “That explains where you went.”
The cartoonist didn’t get the chance to call the cat over, as she made a beeline for his leg. He ran his hand down her back with a wince.
Sammy stood, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong? Is your back hurting again?”
“No, no, it’s… well. She’s sweet, but she’s underweight. Looks young, too.”
His brows furrowed. “Underweight? Her belly is hanging halfway to the ground.”
Henry nodded. “But her spine is easier to feel than yours, Sammy.” With a squint and a deep breath, the spectacled man scooped the little cat into his arms and smiled warmly. “Awful cute, healthy or not.”
She made no protest at being flipped onto her back. The cat meowed, golden eyes bright, and all her little teeth caught the street lights glow.
He chuckled. “We can at least get her fed and cleaned up. Give her something to eat, too.”
Sammy stood, making his way over in three, long strides. “Friendly, and vocal. Little girl looks like she gives the tomcats a run for their money.” Waggling his fingers just out of reach, his grin held no blades as the cat batted at him.
“Let’s see how she handles a bath.”
/
Fleas were a thing. Horrible, bouncy black dots that bit and hid in fur. The positive spin to the bath was that, no, the cat didn’t care. She seemed to enjoy it, purring contentedly as the warm water and suds worked out rust-colored flea dirt, dozens of the hideous little parasites sinking to the murky bottom of the kitchen sink.
Another thing? She wasn’t filthy. She had fleas, true, but that was solvable. The freckles of black all over her orange pelt were, in fact, part of her. Tortoiseshell, if the cartoonist remembered right.
Henry sighed, giving the wet creature a friendly shake of his head. “How can a little cat have so many fleas?”
She looked his way and blinked slowly.
“What. Nothing to say? You were pretty chatty before the bath.”
She mewled and pawed her way out of the sink.
“Hold it-”
The cat shook herself, yowling unhappily when the man scooped her back up.
“You’re not done yet, silly. Still got suds in your fur.” A quick drain of the sink, and the fleas and grime were gone. Henry, rolled sleeves soaked even when he tried his best, rinsed the cat with warm water. “You are a cute one, though. Sammy sure liked seeing you.”
“Indeed, little sheep.” Sammy stood in the kitchen doorway holding a bath towel open. He squinted. “You’re sure she’s clean?”
“Yup.” He dumped the wet cat into the towel and shook his head. “That’s just her fur.”
The blond let out a low hum, getting to work on drying the little creature that rolled about the fabric like it were a game. Pulling back the towel, Sammy frowned at the damp cat now staring up at him. “I’m sorry I called you ugly.” A lithe hand ruffled a dry patch of towel on her head, smirking slightly at how pleased she seemed at the attention. “You are ugly as sin, though. But, not your fault.”
“Sammy!”
He shrugged, glacial eyes twinkling with mirth. “It’s true. It’s not her fault.”
Henry peered over his glasses. “We could put her back out if you want?”
The musician quickly but carefully grabbed the toweled cat to his chest. “No. She’s hideous and she’s mine.”
“Yours?”
“I found her.”
“She found you by the trash cans.” His smile grew, arms folded. “Besides, I gave her the bath.”
“That you did, my little sheep.” He held the cat up so Henry could see her face. “Behold. Our new child. She has your eyes, I think.”
“Oh, god, a third one?” The man chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “My kids are grown, Sammy. I don’t think I can do it a third time at my age.”
“Henry, look at this little face. Look at these little paws,” Sammy deadpanned, holding up the cat.
Her legs dangled in open space, tail flicking at the tip. She looked at the cartoonist with wide eyes and blown pupils, before letting out a scratchy meow.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not already in love.”
Henry laughed gently and gave the little cat a scratch under the chin.
Her purr, a raspy, rattling grinding noise, could melt the coldest of hearts.
“Okay. She’s ours. We can get her some food and toys in the morning.”
“Hear that, little one? You’re stuck with us.” Sammy grinned, all teeth and joy. “I wonder if she’ll like piano. Or the banjo.”
Henry ran a hand down the blond’s back. “We’ll find out.”
\
“She looks nothing like a Daisy, Henry!”
The man chuckled and set the bags on the floor with a thud. “Molly doesn’t work, either.”
The blond snickered as the little cat raced past his legs to come back inside the house. They’d let her out while they were gone, only to find her perched by the door and waiting for them. Sammy stepped into the living room and stood by the television. “Let’s settle this.” A slender hand raised to point opposite him. “Stand over there.”
Henry shook his head. “We have groceries to put away.”
“This means so much more, my little sheep.” His smirk twisted into a playful grin. “We are going to let her pick her name!”
The auburn stood with his back to the couch. “How?”
“Well, if she runs to you, she can be Daisy. If she runs to me, it’s Molly.”
Across from each other, the couple waited.
The cat strutted into the room, head high and tail hooked. She paused, bright eyes glancing between the men with a tilt of her head.
She promptly flopped onto her side and rolled on her back, belly up and purring like mad in the middle of the room.
Henry laughed, shaking his head at her antics and the stunned look Sammy was shooting her.
“That… did not go where I wanted.”
Henry crouched, rubbing her belly. “Life rarely does, but…” He peered over his glasses with a shrug. “...Maisy could work?”
“Mm. Perfect. Maisy it is, then.”
Maisy, for her part, squeaked from her prone pose on the floor, front paws kneading the air absently.
She slept, spread across the piano keys after scarfing down a can of wet food as noisily as possible.
Sammy’s latest jingle was delayed and he could not scrape up a complaint if he tried.
\
The three of them had adjusted to life together in a few days. It was almost like Maisy had always been there, a staple of their lives. If one were to ask her, she’d agree.
She’d then demand belly rubs. Of course.
Laying in bed together, the cat nestled in the chasm between their legs, Henry gave her velvety forehead a ruffle.
But Sammy noticed the wrinkle in his brow. How couldn’t he, having seen that face thousands of times? “Is something the matter?”
“...I’m just thinking. About this little girl, mostly.”
“What of her?” Sammy leaned closer, blue eyes honed hard on his partner.
“It’s… silly. To worry about taking care of her, I mean.”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t have to be.”
“After all we’ve been through, it seems silly to worry about taking care of a cat.” Hazel eyes drifted Sammy’s way. “She’s so… small. Compared to the studio and loops, I mean.”
Raking his fingertips across that fuzzy belly and getting a soft swat in response, Sammy Lawrence smiled. “We escaped an ink soaked hell together. I have faith that we can handle whatever else comes our way. Be it as big as all that, or small as a cat." He huffed a chuckle at the rhyme.
Henry smiled, warm as the autumn sun. “Think so, Sammy?”
The blond pecked his beloved’s freckled forehead, smile soft and free of blades. “I believe it, my little sheep.”
And what do you know? They did.
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