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It was a perfectly normal morning in the bookshop. Crowley had woken up alone, as per usual, from a lovely dream about ducks. He wasn’t exactly sure how one could dream pleasantly about ducks in particular but always found it best not to question dream-things too deeply. As the aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the loft, Crowley found himself absent-mindedly following the trail.
He was still half-asleep on his way, any deep thought would have to wait for caffeine. Everything had to wait for coffee, even clothing, but since the bookshop would remain closed for the morning his pyjamas were a non-issue. His only audience would be his angel, who after months of living together was used to seeing Crowley in various states of dress (and on a few accidental occasions, undress).
“Aziraphale?” Crowley slurred half-asleep from the top of the loft stairs. He slumped his way down and headed for his favourite napping couch where his favourite angel was sure to be seated at his favourite desk.
“Ahh, good morning Dear!” Aziraphale chipped as he watched his partner saunter downstairs (every walk that Crowley had was a saunter in Aziraphale’s eyes). For a being who hardly slept it was a wonder he was always so bright this early. Aziraphale was the paragon of a morning person. Then again he was also quite the night owl on account of the “no sleeping” thing. It seemed like every time of day was his favourite time.
“Mornin’ Angel.” With couch and angel in sight, Crowley had his goal but as he meandered over he felt something brush past his ankle.
“Mrrreeeow?”
“Mornin’ cat…”
Cat?
“Cat?” Crowley verbalised the thought on its second ring through his head.
The cat meowed proudly, affirming that it was indeed a cat.
Since when did they have a cat?
“Angel?” Crowley called out apprehensively, “how long was I asleep?”
“Just the night My Dear,” Aziraphale responded without lifting his nose from his current read. It was an absolutely riveting tale of two pirate captains who fell in love in the 18th century. It reminded him of some old acquaintances of his from the era.
“Aziraphale…” Crowley stepped from behind a bookshelf, the cat already snuggled in the crook of his arm, “What’s this?”
“Ohh… we have a cat now,” Aziraphale stated plainly. “Her name is Muffin.”
“ Ohh, we have a cat now ,” Crowley mocked. “When were you going to talk to me about this decision?”
“You were asleep. And it was cold out there!” Aziraphale cried. “She came by in the night and kept meowing at the door until I let her in. She curled up in a chair and immediately fell asleep. I couldn’t put her out again now! Besides, she happens to be a lovely reading companion.”
“How’d you know she’s not some demon in disguise?”
“I… well… look at her!”
It would be near impossible to believe that such a tiny creature could be a demon. Size was merely suggestion to celestial beings but no demon would opt for a form as adorable as Muffin. Muffin with her folded ears and tiny little legs. She was incredibly soft with her fuzzy textured coat, softer than a demon could even imagine (besides Crowley who had a lot of first-hand experience with a certain softness). Curled up asleep in a ball in his arm, Crowley could see where the name Muffin came from. She was the colour of a perfectly golden muffin with tiny flecks of darker brown and cream.
He still didn’t completely trust the cat.
“Yeah she’s adorable. Wanna test her out further though, I’m getting the holy water.”
“You can't!”
“I can and I’ve gotta. What if she is a demon spying for Hell? What if she calls up an army of lesser demons to finish what they started all those years ago?”
Muffin shifted, still tucked away in Crowley’s arms, and yawned. She woke to reveal bi-coloured amber and hazel eyes briefly before she tucked herself back in and back to sleep, completely unaware of the impending threat of a squirt with holy water.
He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Aight, fine! She’s not a demon! Demon’s aren’t this adorable ,” said Crowley, the last word spat with sarcasm.
“How’d you plan on taking care of a cat anyway?” He questioned, “I'm pretty sure you've gotta feed them and stuff? Give them a place to crap or whatever these animals tend to do.”
Aziraphale snapped his fingers. Nothing seemed to change in their immediate surroundings but there was a rustle in the back office. Muffin perked up and leapt from Crowley’s arms and headed towards the source of the sound.
Her new humans-but-not followed her back to where she had begun eating from a food bowl that was new to the store but felt as though it had been there forever. In other rooms, there were a few more additions: a miraculously self-cleaning litter tray in the bookshop’s bathroom, a second food bowl in the loft kitchen, some cat-appropriate toys, and a plush pillow by the foot of their occasionally shared bed.
“See?” Aziraphale boasted. “All taken care of!”
Crowley shrugged and finally poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down at the table, where he was soon joined by an angel across from him and his new feline friend brushing against both of their legs.
Aziraphale gently pried one of his partner’s hands from the warm mug and cupped it within his somehow even warmer hands. They sat this way for a quiet moment while Crowley worked through his coffee and Muffin kept up her rounds of brushing between their legs.
Aziraphale broke the gentle silence.
“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this first. I realise it’s a big decision to make for the both of us on my own and I should’ve involved you in it. She just seemed so cold and I didn’t want to wake you and have you get out of bed and be cold as well. And I was worried you might say no.”
Crowley sighed, “it's fine Ange. Ideally, for future reference, I’d rather we talk about this sort of stuff but as someone who loves you with every fibre of my being I will support any choices you make. Especially since I can see how much you care about the damn fuzzball already.”
“You like her too!” the angel teased. “And she seems to have taken quite a liking to you.”
“...yeah. She’s cute. And of course you name her something ridiculously sweet like Muffin. Surprised she’s not called ‘Crepes’ or one of your other favourite foods.”
“I did consider it. Doesn’t really look like a ‘Crepes’ though,” Aziraphale noted.
“Ehh she might’ve… eventually. Maybe if you left her out in the middle of the street much longer?”
“Crowley!”
“Sorry! Had to, little demonic humour goes down well with coffee,” the demon snorted.
The perfectly abnormal morning drifted into what would become their new normal afternoon. Reading about 18th century pirate lovers and listening to old vinyls while lounging together on the couch in the back of the bookshop was as usual, only now there was a tiny cat moving from one lap to the other every so often, and occasionally finding ways to lay across both of her new cat-dads at the same time.
Muffin had finally found her forever home, and at the same time made the bookshop feel even more homey than ever before. Neither she, nor the laps of anyone in the bookshop whether it was her family, a visitor, or customers, would ever go cold again.