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Neil was squinting at the living room floor like it had personally offended him.
“You lost him again?” Andrew asked from the couch, not even looking up from his book.
Neil groaned, dropping to his knees to check under the coffee table. “He’s small, Andrew. He can get into all kinds of places.”
“Unlike you, who gets into trouble that comes looking for him.”
Neil smirked despite his frustration. “I thought you liked my trouble.”
“I like having to do less work.” Andrew turned a page, unimpressed. “Now stop talking. You’re louder than Sir’s hunting instincts.”
“Sir’s instincts suck,” Neil muttered, crawling to the next piece of furniture. “He gets stuck in laundry baskets.”
There was a rustling sound from somewhere behind the bookshelf. Neil’s ears perked up, and he carefully shuffled toward it.
“Come on,” Neil whispered. “You can’t just—”
A small, black blur darted out from behind the shelf. Neil yelped, scrambling backward.
Andrew watched with vague amusement as Neil lost his balance and fell flat on his ass.
The kitten—a tiny menace Andrew had no idea why he agreed to adopt—sat calmly on Neil’s chest, tail flicking like it owned the place.
Neil, wide-eyed and breathless, blinked up at the ceiling.
Andrew raised a brow. “Defeated by a cat. Embarrassing.”
“He’s fast,” Neil argued, holding the kitten gently. “And he has no fear. I respect that.”
“That makes one of us.” Andrew closed his book and stood.
Neil sat up, carefully cradling the kitten in his hands. “He’s a lot like you.”
Andrew stared at him. “You’re delirious.”
“Think about it,” Neil continued, grinning. “Tiny, full of rage, only answers to one person—”
“I will throw you and the cat out the window,” Andrew interrupted, deadpan.
The kitten yawned, unimpressed by both humans.
Neil chuckled, nuzzling the small fluffball before gently setting it down. “He’d survive. He’s fearless.”
Andrew crouched next to Neil, picking up the kitten by the scruff. “This is why I didn’t want another cat.”
“You like him.”
“I tolerate him,” Andrew corrected, placing the kitten on the couch. Sir, their older cat, watched from the corner with barely veiled disdain.
The kitten immediately pounced at Sir’s tail. Sir swatted it with minimal effort, looking mildly inconvenienced.
Neil grinned. “You know what we should name him?”
Andrew gave him a flat look.
“King,” Neil declared. “Since Sir needs a worthy rival.”
Andrew shook his head. “We are not naming him King.”
Neil leaned closer, eyes shining. “King Fluffkins. It’s perfect.”
Andrew sighed, reaching up to flick Neil’s forehead.
“King it is,” Neil whispered, triumphant.
Andrew didn’t bother arguing. He was already outnumbered.