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It all started with a cat.
Well, really, Linus knew that this whole situation was caused by Arthur’s deeply giving heart. Not to mention his inability to not take in any stray that passed by—be it gnome, sprite, wyvern, or…whatever Chauncey was. And now, a cat.
Helen had driven up in the well-loved old truck, bringing with her the cause of all of Linus’ problems. Of course, it hadn’t seemed that way, at the start. The offer of a three-month-old kitten, the unwanted offspring of one of the townspeople’s cats, was too much for any of them to resist, and the children were ecstatic. Even Lucy had been caught cooing over her—though he was quick to assure them that it was only so that she would be by his side when he split open the earth to unleash hellfire upon the world. And of course, Sal had been delighted when the kitten chose to curl up on his lap as the family sat together on the first evening with the cat, as a heated debate raged over her name.
“Behemoth! Leviathan! Abaddon!”
“No, Lucy, absolutely not. What about Sparkles?”
“Arthur! If I can’t name the kitten Behemoth, Phee cannot name it Sparkles! That’s not fair!”
“Children. Please. Let’s work together. I think we can find something suitable that everyone likes, no?”
Linus, curled beside Arthur on the couch, quietly watched the proceedings. He was entertained by the children’s suggestions, some much more…reasonable…than others. Even Theodore voiced his opinion, though his chirps quickly were silenced by the others’ clear distaste for his suggestion of Dolores (“Theodore, that’s a name for grandmas. Not kittens.”). The debate continued, verging on an argument, when—
“Cleo.”
The children all turned to Sal, who blushed but said nothing more. He looked down at the cat, gently stroking her orange-striped face, avoiding Linus’ gaze.
Chauncey’s eyestalks wavered. “Actually, I think—”
“I like it,” Arthur interrupted firmly, “it fits her perfectly.”
Linus grinned. It did.
Arthur was so often busy with the children’s schooling and Lucy’s private lessons, so Linus, having owned one cat already, quickly volunteered to be in charge of her care. “I know all you children have your own pursuits, and I’m more than happy to be of service.”
Linus was confident that socialization would not be an issue—not with Sal’s almost-incessant doting, and Lucy’s attempts to convince her to ride with him on his chariot as he commanded the souls of the damned, and Chauncey’s kind—but perhaps misguided—attempts to teach her the basics of bell-hopping (“Linus! She got hair on the laundry! What should I do?”).
But Cleo was still a kitten, and an energetic one at that. There were bound to be some hiccups in the road, but Linus was an experienced cat owner, and was ready to take these in stride. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong, could it?
The first issue arose when Talia tried to take Cleo outside to show her the garden, where flowers were beginning to blossom and release their sweet scents. Not five minutes later, she burst into the house, panicking in a way that Linus had never seen her before.
“Linus! She ran away, I’m so sorry, I was only trying to show her the tools and I think I might have scared her somehow and I’m sorry! Please, help!”
Linus froze for a moment, worry flooding him as he imagined the tiny, defenseless kitten alone in the woods. He quickly remembered, though, that Zoe wouldn’t allow anything to happen on her island to something that the children considered so precious.
“Talia. It’s quite alright. You know very well that Calliope spends much of her time here outside, and she’s perfectly fine. Cleo will be as well. You know what? Let’s talk to Zoe. I’m sure she’ll be able to tell us where she is right away, and we can go find her.”
Zoe led them through the forest. With every step, Talia seemed to grow more concerned, despite both adults reassuring her that Cleo was, in fact, alright, and that she didn’t do anything wrong. It was only when the trees parted and they entered a sunny clearing that the reassurances meant anything to Talia. There was Phee, holding Cleo up towards the trees as she quietly coaxed them to grow buds, then leaves. The scene would have been peaceful, if not for Talia’s relieved shout as she ran towards the pair.
“There you are, Cleo! Oh, Phee, we were so worried. Has she been here for long?”
Phee grinned. “A while. I was sitting here, talking to the trees, when she came wandering out of the forest. I decided to teach her about the trees and what they give us. It’s only right, if she’s here on the island, I think.”
Zoe nodded. “Yes, I would agree. Thank you, Phee. I think, though, that Linus here was worried about Cleo’s whereabouts. Shall we stay out here a little longer, you and I, and Linus and Talia and Cleo can head back?”
Phee nodded, handing Cleo over to Linus. As he carried Cleo away, he was comforted by the steady presence of Talia at his side, and Phee and Zoe’s gentle murmurs growing quieter as they returned home.
The next night, Linus was awoken by a thumping coming from around his room. He sat bolt upright in bed as, still half-asleep, he tried to determine the source of the noise. Surely, there must be some intruder, or the fire alarm had rung? As his eyes adjusted to the dark—and his mind to wakefulness—he realized that the noise was coming from the kitten, who had been sleeping peacefully when Linus himself had curled up in bed. Cleo, who was most certainly no longer asleep, was batting a toy mouse around the room. And there, in the corner, was Calliope, clearly avoiding the chaos in kitten form that was taking up most of the rest of the room.
“Psst!” Linus tried, “Go play with her!” But, of course, Calliope obstinately didn’t move, choosing to ignore him instead.
Linus sighed, turned over in bed, and tried to fall back asleep. To his consternation, the sounds didn’t stop—in fact, they only seemed to be getting more enthusiastic.
With a puff of air, Linus stood. Perhaps, if he played with her for a few minutes, she would run out of energy and give him the chance to fall back asleep. He grabbed a wand attached to a string for Cleo to chase and hoped to dear God that this wouldn’t take long.
Linus walked into breakfast the next day carrying Cleo and feeling as if a truck had run him over. Who knew that such a small animal could make so much noise, and have such boundless energy in the dead hours of the night? He responded to the children’s typical questions as best he could, but his eyelids kept drooping quite without his permission, and he could feel the touches of a headache around his temples. Nonetheless, he tried his hardest to keep a smile on his face as Talia regaled him with the details of the newest flower she hoped to plant in her garden, and as Chauncey meticulously explained the process of calling a cab for guests. Linus was secretly delighted when the meal was over, and he could escape back to the guesthouse for a few minutes of quiet before the day began.
Before Linus walked out of the room, Sal, ever-observant, quietly asked him if he was alright, but Linus assured him that he was perfectly fine, thank you, just a little over-tired from their Saturday adventure. Sal gave him a look that plainly showed just how little he believed Linus, but stood to help clear the table, finally giving Linus the opportunity to make a quick exit.
It was only a short reprieve, though, for it was only later that afternoon when Linus was walking upstairs and passed the open door to Arthur’s office. He glanced in, looking to enjoy the view of the ocean for just a moment, when he realized that he wasn’t the only one enjoying the room. Cleo, it seemed, had somehow managed to climb onto Arthur’s desk and was using her paw to swipe papers onto the floor one by one.
Linus froze. Cleo turned to him, and they made eye contact for a moment before she gently placed her paw on the top paper of yet another stack and, green eyes locked on his own, pushed that one onto the floor as well. And Linus? Linus had had enough.
“Arthur!” Linus stopped, chest heaving, cradling the offending beast to his chest so as not to hurt her. “Are you aware of the chaos this animal has caused? The amount of stress that I am under right now, so help me—why are you laughing?”
“Linus, my darling. She’s a kitten! She’s hardly bigger than my hand. What trouble could she possibly cause?”
“She got into your office, and made a mess—”
“You can already hardly move in there as it is, really, I needed a good excuse to get in there and clean it—”
“And she’s been keeping me up all night, and she got out, and I’m worried that she’ll hurt herself, or break something precious, and how are we supposed to make sure she’s safe—”
Arthur interrupted him. “Oh, dear. I see.”
“What!?”
“Just because something is difficult, my dear, doesn’t mean that it’s not worth it.”
Linus spluttered. “I never said that—”
“Yes, I know. But I know that Cleo has been causing you some trouble, and I know that you’re already under stress from your other projects. I’m more than happy to take on some of her care, you know.”
“Arthur, you already do more than I could ask for. You’re the one that makes this place a home, for the children, for me…I just wanted to be a part of that as well.”
“Oh, Linus. You are a part of this home, this family, just as much as any of us are. The children love you—they need you—just as much as they love and need me. She loves you too, you know, but she’s still a kitten, and you’re tired, and trouble is always going to be something that kittens get up to.” Arthur chuckled a bit, “Just like children. And I don’t expect you to be perfect.
Linus shifted, causing Cleo to begin to squirm in his arms. He absent-mindedly bent down to let her go, not taking his eyes off of Arthur.
“I—” he paused, not sure how to go on, “I think…I needed to prove this to you. That I can be who you need me to be. I want you to rely on me, Arthur, and I know that I’m not perfect and that I’ve made mistakes, but I love you and the children and—”
Arthur smiled, stepping into Linus’ space and taking his hands gently. “Linus. I already know that. I love you too, my dear, but you’re allowed to take up space in this house. You’re allowed to ask for help.” He paused, bringing Linus’ hand up to plant a kiss on the back of his palm. “You are wanted here. Not what you can give us, not what you can do for the family. Just you, however that may be.”
Linus turned his face away, though Arthur’s grip on his hands stopped him from moving further. “Yes, but—”
Arthur dropped his hands, and Linus panicked for a second, before cool fingers gently touched his cheek, turning his face back to meet Arthur’s steady gaze. “No buts. You are more than what you can give us, my darling. A little mess is fine—you have seen Theodore’s nest, have you not? I think that we can deal with that. Together. You don’t have to do it all alone.” And oh, Linus was so in love he could cry.
Linus closed his eyes, overwhelmed, for a moment, by Arthur’s ability to make being so kind seem so effortless. “I—thank you. Arthur, truly, you have no idea how much I love you.”
Arthur’s eyes softened. “I think I might have some idea.” He turned to Cleo, who had begun wandering around his legs. “Now, little thing, I think that you and I better go and clean up a bit, hmm? Let’s let dear Linus here have a bit of a break. He looks like he needs it, the poor thing.” He looked again at Linus, and Linus wanted to kiss him, but God, he was so, so tired. “Go take a nap, Linus. I’ve got it from here.”
It turns out that, after a good night’s sleep (and perhaps a little cake), kitten-related irritations somehow seem less hugely overwhelming and more par for the course, all things considered. As Linus watched the children bond with Cleo, his heart only grew fonder and—somehow—his appreciation for the once seemingly-troublesome kitten only grew.
The first change Linus noticed was in Sal.
While Arthur worked with Lucy, Linus decided to wander the house to check on the others, who were working on their personal pursuits. As he passed Sal’s door, he was unsurprised to hear the clacking of typewriter keys, but what did surprise him was that the door was cracked open—just the right amount for a kitten to wriggle in or out. Curious, Linus tapped gently on the doorframe, careful not to startle Sal. It wouldn’t do to have a pomeranian trying to write poetry, after all.
“Come in,” came a whisper from inside the room.
Linus pushed the door open more but stayed in the hallway, mindful of Sal’s need for privacy.
“She really likes you, you know,” he told Sal.
Sal grinned. “They usually don't. Because of the dog, you know?”
“I know.”
“But Cleo. And Calliope. They both do, for some reason.”
Linus nodded. “And I can see why they like you so much, my dear boy. Your kindness makes them feel safe.”
Sal looked away. “I guess.”
Linus decided not to press the issue, deciding instead to leave Sal to his writing. “Would you like me to close your door?”
Sal shook his head. “No, thank you. But I want her to be able to get out; it’s not good to feel trapped…”
Ah. Linus smiled tightly, reminded once again of Sal’s damaging upbringing. “Of course. Well, enjoy your writing. I’ll see you at dinner soon.”
Sal didn’t respond, already turning back to his keyboard, but Linus didn’t mind. It was encouraging to see how comfortable Sal had become in his presence, not feeling as though he always needed to be deferential to authority. Perhaps he could still learn how to be a teenage boy—even one who occasionally took the form of a dog.
When Cleo had first been added to their family, Linus had feared for her safety, just a little bit. Although he’d known logically that Lucy would never harm a valued member of their family, the near-constant threats of sacrifice and suffering would wear on anyone after a while. Really, what he expected was for Lucy to somehow turn the kitten into a fire-breathing war beast—or at least train her to hiss on command. One wouldn’t necessarily think—and Linus certainly wouldn’t—that the so-called Antichrist would melt at the sight of a kitten. But, of course, Lucy was nothing if not contrary to expectations.
Linus didn’t expect Lucy to take an immediate liking to Cleo. And he certainly didn’t expect Cleo—the very same cat that had kept him up for hours at night, and caused immeasurable amounts of chaos under his care—to act as though Lucy was a soporific, regularly curling up and dozing on his lap, especially during his sessions with Arthur.
It seemed that, maybe, Cleo helped Lucy to control the spiders in his brain. His nightmares became less frequent as soon as Linus allowed Cleo to begin sleeping in his room, and Lucy seemed significantly less agitated by the visions of hellfire that had always plagued him. He was still the same enthusiastic, precocious boy he’d always been. However, there had always been something soft there—which had only been augmented by a new love and appreciation for Cleo.
And, of course, there was Arthur.
Linus loved watching Arthur with the children. With his children, really, no matter what the DICOMY would have to say about that. Arthur had taken in each and every one of them with a smile, reassurance, and endless kindness. And, unsurprisingly, he took in a tiny, unwanted kitten and loved it with all his heart, because he was Arthur, and what else could he possibly do?
It became Linus’s new favourite activity to spend time quietly reading or chatting with Arthur after the children had been tucked into bed, Cleo on Arthur’s lap and Calliope (who had grown to grudgingly accept Cleo’s presence) on his own. Though simple, this time was a joy, and something he greatly appreciated after long days spent adventuring on the island.
As they sat together one evening, the chill air from the window reddening Arthur’s nose despite the quietly crackling fire they’d built in the fireplace, Linus smiled.
“What?” Arthur asked.
“I just love you,” Linus answered. “There’s no place I’d rather be than right here, now, with you.”
And it was true. It was a quiet kind of love that they fostered here, one hard-won, built on gardens, and records, and two cats. There really was no better place anyone could be.