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“Pspspss- Come here, pequenino.” Pac hums, hand held out as he whistles and calls. His gaze is fixed on the little silhouette across the street. It’s staring back at him with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights.
The stray had wandered into their town a couple of days ago, having taken refuge underneath the neighboring house’s porch. It's a younger cat, a tuxedo with white paws and slim yellow eyes. Its long fur is matted, and a chunk of her left ear is missing. Despite looking like a feral stray, the cat seems too curious for an animal without human contact.
Since Pac first spotted it, he made it his new mission to befriend the little critter.
“Have you tried serving food? Worked wonders for me.” He hears a deep voice beside him and Pac looks up from where he is crouching, seeing Fit gazing down at him with cheeky, half-lidded eyes. Pac stands up and grabs his chin with a playful smile.
“I’m not trying to catch a man, just a gato.” Pac chuckles. “But you’re right, without your cooking I never would’ve stayed here.” He teases and releases his grip. They look back towards the cat and Pac scratches his head in thought.
“Do we still have that canned fish?” He asks.
Fit shudders at the mention and Pac wrinkles his nose in agreement.
“I know. But the cat might like it better, you know?”
“I mean, yeah, I guess. Another man’s trash could be a stray cat’s treasure.”
Pac snickers and nods.
“You’re right, you’re right.”
Fit chuckles, then looks at the cat skeptically.
“Do we really need a cat though?”
“Yes. Yes, we do, Fit.”
A week later, Fit and Pac are cuddled up on the couch like any other evening, only this time Pac’s attention is fully caught by their new roomie prancing around his lap. He scratches underneath her chin with a soft smile and runs his fingers through the soft fur.
"Is this how it's gonna be from now on?" Fit asks, sounding unimpressed.
"Yup!" Pac chirps.
Fit grunts and hides his face in Pac's shoulder, arms looping around his waist.
"I don't like sharing, you know?"
Pac laughs.
"Fit, you're not jealous of a cat, are you? Wow, I don't even wanna know what you’d be like if we had neighbors."
Fit snorts and presses a kiss to the crook of Pac's neck.
"I'm just not much of a cat person."
“You’ll come around. Right, Xereta?” Pac asks the cat who looks at him with a confident meow as if to agree.
“Pac,” Fit mumbles and shifts in bed, hand searching for Pac underneath the sheets. He eventually finds his shirt and tugs at it. The meowing outside the bedroom steadily increases in volume, the door doing little to muffle the sound.
“Pac, get up.” He groans but Pac only bats his hand away.
“Caraca- s’your turn.” He slurs, voice hoarse with sleep.
“It’s your cat.”
“Our cat.” Pac corrects.
Fit glares and grumbles under his breath as he rolls himself out of bed, but not before throwing a well-deserved pillow in Pac’s face. The man groans in response and buries himself further into the mattress. Fit scoffs softly before heading to the door, opening it up, and slipping outside, quick to not let Xereta in by accident.
“God, you're just a pain in the ass, aren’t you?” Fit mutters while Xereta circles his legs, tail held high. She’s stopped meowing now, only staring up at him with blank, expectant eyes.
“What is it? You hungry?”
Xereta remains frozen, slowly blinking at him. Fit sighs and runs a hand down his face.
He remembers this rodeo. He’s gone through it once already albeit in a different form. Early mornings, a growing lack of sleep, all because of a little, sweet-looking thing demanding his attention at all times. Add this to the list of things he never guessed would make a comeback years later.
Fit sighs again, hands landing on his hips.
“Come on then.” He huffs and finally makes his way downstairs. Xereta is immediately hot on his trail, the sound of paws rhythmically tapping against the wooden floor.
“Look at this!” Fit cries, gesturing wildly to the bed. “See? This is what happens when you let pets into your bedroom. It looks like a zoo came through here.”
Xereta sits on top of the covers, licking her paw, indifferent to the layers of cat hair and sliced-up bed sheets everywhere. Fit groans in dismay and sits down on the edge, pinching the bridge of his nose.
At some point, they had given up getting up at 4 am every morning and began leaving the door open for the cat. Big mistake, as Xereta had developed a nasty habit of scratching up every single thing and surface she could get her little paws on.
Fit is already in a bad mood after an argument with Pac about something stupid in hindsight. He had gone off to work on his car while Fit resorted to aggressively cleaning the house, both blowing off steam in their own ways.
Fit allows himself to be careless, slamming equipment together and dropping items to the floor with great thuds as he dusts off surfaces. Anything to help fill the quiet. Because the quiet is awfully loud when there are only two people around to replace it.
It’s always worse when they’re at odds with each other, and it’s easy to slip into old habits of the mind, even when he knows they will talk things through and be back to normal by morning.
Fit is only brought back to earth when Xereta starts persistently rubbing her head against his arms and hands with a low purring rumbling from her chest.
“What’s up with you now? Trying to butter me up?” He asks, running his hands through the cat’s fur as per her insistence. “Sorry, that’s not gonna happen.”
Xereta blinks as if unbothered and lingers close by as Fit continues his cleaning. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, the presence does help settle his nerves. Instead of listening to the clock that ticks away in the hallway, he listens to the engine-like sounds that are Xereta's purring.
“Pac will come back,” Fit assures her as he sweeps the floor with more vigor. “And when he does, I’m sure he’s gonna have words for the both of us. I’m not defending you though, you’re responsible for your own messes.”
Xeretea narrows her eyes at him as if she understood, then continues to rub her head against him with purpose, tail curling around his leg. Fit only rolls his eyes.
“Like I said, flattery ain't gonna do shit.”
“Fit? Fit, where are you?” Pac calls out early one morning, looking for his partner around the house.
Eventually, he hears a soft muttering from outside and notices that the door has been left slightly ajar. Pac creeps forward and sticks his head out through the space. There he spots Fit sitting on the lowest porch step with Xereta sprawled out in his lap, getting showered in pets and affection.
"Who's a sweet little baby, hm? Who's a little cutie?" He hears Fit mutter in a doting tone that Pac has barely ever heard before. His cheeks heat up at the sound, like a teenager with a crush, amazed that Fit still manages to surprise him after all this time.
Pac clears his throat from his spot in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Fit's eyes widen at the sound before relaxing into an embarrassed yet fond smile.
"Fine, I guess she grew on me. Still, she's a fucking asshole for destroying every furniture and item I’ve ever owned." He says but swiftly softens as the cat stands on her hind legs to rub her head against the underside of his jaw.
Pac walks over, and gives Xereta a stern look, wagging a warning finger.
"But remember, Xereta, he’s mine first. Don't you come between us, you little piranha." He then sits down beside Fit and leans his head against his chest. Fit’s hand lands in his hair, carefully carding through it.
“Aw, here he is. My favorite.” He uses that same cutesy tone from before and Pac’s face turns red at the snap of a finger. Of course, Fit notices. He always does, for better or worse.
“What? What’s wrong, Pac?” He asks, voice teasing.
Pac groans into his hands and quickly dissolves into flustered giggles at Fit whispering doting sweet nothings in his ear.
Xereta looks at them with silent judgment that only a cat could pull off with such grace. She stretches and yawns before promptly falling asleep on Fit’s lap.
The summer sun shines bright even on a day like this one.
Pac is having difficulty walking these days but it’s not the end of the world with Fit by his side. Their arms are hooked, fingers laced together over Pac’s arm on the short walk to their backyard.
Soon, they are standing outside by the little handmade cross stuck into the freshly dug-up soil. Fit was responsible for the woodsmanship, while Pac added details, like carving Xereta’s name onto the front, and giving it a nice coat of paint. Her red collar is hung nicely over the top.
They stand there in silence for a while, Pac’s head leaning against Fit’s arm as his eyes trace the little gravesite.
He’s going to miss her.
They could never have kids on their own, but Xereta had been the closest they would ever get to one in this life—a cute but mischievous little thing, demanding food and love at every waking hour of the day.
Every item in the house carried her marks and their hearts were no different.
Pac sighs softly and turns his head to the side, looking up at his partner. He’s about to say something but stops at the look on Fit’s face.
“Fit- Oh. Are you crying?” Pac squeezes his arm before reaching up to his face.
"No." Fit huffs and Pac smiles, caressing his bearded cheek with the back of his hand.
"She was a good cat."
"Mm. On most days." Fit hums and leans into Pac's touch, allowing him to brush a stray tear away. "I've gotten soft and gooey with age, sorry."
"I think you're beautiful, Fitch." Pac tells him without missing a beat. He’s long since dropped any filters, speaking every sentence that comes to mind. Especially ones true to his heart.
Fit looks at him and shifts to cradle his face in his hands. Always gentle. A detail that remains unchanged over time. Pac rests his hand on top of his and closes his eyes to Fit kissing his forehead.
Even as the house loses another one of its sounds and the silence gains another win, Pac knows in his heart that he will never be alone.
But still as if to assure him, Fit sings their song on their way inside. And Pac still strains to hear and cherish every word.