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It had been a long day at the library. Mike’s duties had varied between the usual technical help, annoying the printer into functioning properly, cleaning up a rather suspicious spill in the kids section, and whipping up foam for a sensory bin with dish soap and a dollar store mixer that smelled like it was 3 seconds away from catching fire. But he’d been there when one of their regulars finally got a housing voucher, and one of the children he’d been helping with reading had finally caught onto the fact he’d been a librarian for almost 30 years and knew exactly what books they’d like. They’d checked out a pile almost too big to carry.
Library magic was like tumbling a handful of stones; bumpy and gritty, but at the end of the day there was something truly wonderful, and it felt like he had actually done something for the world, small as it was.
Mike sprawled across the couch, wrapped in freshly washed flannel pajamas with books and pride flags scattered across them, his hair dripped onto the collar because it was too short to bother drying it and his cat had a special affection for licking wet hair.
Sprinkles hopped up with a trill, and Mike pet him as the cat mercilessly licked the top of his head for a minute.
He’d gotten the cat from Superman. Because in Metropolis if the cat distribution system didn’t get you Superman would, with his watery puppy eyes and promise to pay for the bottle baby’s care because the shelter was full and one of his coworkers knew Mike was thinking about getting a cat.
The plan had been to foster.
But librarians as a whole were not exactly well known for lacking attachments and Mike was no exception to that rule, so after a near adoption fiasco, Sprinkles stayed.
Sprinkles’ attention snapped up, his gaze focused on the sliding glass door that lead to the balcony, where a slight breeze ruffled the handful of herbs he usually forgot about.
“You are not allowed on the balcony.” Mike ruffled the fur below the cat’s chin, the floor was too high, and the gaps in the railing were too wide, and Sprinkles was very, very orange , “It isn’t safe for kitties. No, it’s not.”
There was a quiet knock on the door and Mike glanced to the apartment door first, instinctively, despite the knock coming from glass. Sprinkles trilled and stalked towards the balcony door where Superman hovered, his body arched protectively around a tiny black kitten.
“Would you be able to foster?” Superman blurted the second Mike let him in. “I know you took the last bottle baby, and I can pay for supplies again.”
Sprinkles sniffed at the kitten in the hero’s arms, the white tip of his bright orange tail flipped slowly. Superman scratched under his chin with a smile, “You kept Sprinkles?”
“I can’t foster.” Mike dragged a stool over to the cabinet where the ‘just in case’ supplies waited for a reason to be used. Sprinkles scrambled off the couch and careened into the kitchen in a little orange blur. He scrambled up Mike’s leg and attempted to get the kitten milk as Mike set the kettle to a warm, but not too hot heat. Superman drifted towards the door, his shoulders wilted around the little black kitten cradled close to his chest.
“Where are you taking my cat?”
“You can’t foster.”
Mike gestured to the kitten supplies sprawled over the counter, “I can’t. With Sprinkles I cried so hard the family who was going to adopt the cat shredded the papers and gave me an apology fruit basket.”
“Sorry.” Superman wilted, just a little, as if he was guilty.
“Nah. I love my brainless orange boy.” Mike stirred the milk into the tiny bottle. “So, got any names for this one?”
“Trout?”
“Trout.” Mike repeated slowly. He followed Superman’s gaze to his granddaughter’s rainbow trout plushie on the couch and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“You had sprinkles on the counter last time.” Superman shrugged with a smile.
“Well, glad to know your weakness lies in your naming skills.” Mike chuckled. “Want some cocoa?”
“Sure.” Superman replied, he was still cradling Trout, his gaze almost reverent. Sprinkles had abandoned the milk to climb the poor hero to lick the rain off his hair. Superman glanced at the bottle of milk with a flicker of hope, which he quashed quickly.
It roared back to life when Mike handed him the bottle.
“So, do you have any pets?” Mike asked. Mike watched Superman feed the kitten expertly, his face so softened by love it left a lump in Mike’s throat.
Mike focused on making hot cocoa— the good kind with cocoa powder and maple syrup from his nephew’s farm up in Michigan.
“No, I shouldn’t.” There was a wistfulness in Superman’s eyes and Mike waited for him to continue. “There’re too many risks. I can’t spend the amount of time with them they deserve, and there’s always…” Superman glanced back at the kitten, who’d put a paw on his hand, tiny razor claws out and useless against the Man of Steel’s skin.
Mike nodded, he could just about hear the unspoken ‘ There’s always the chance I might not come home. ’
It had happened before, after all. Though it had been temporary— he’d only been disappeared. But there’d been enough close calls, and likely far more Mike knew nothing about.
Superman brought the bottle to the sink and washed it, Sprinkles perched carefully on his shoulder. Mike handed him the mug of hot cocoa and the two of them settled on the couch, Superman back to cradling the kitten, who’d fallen asleep. Sprinkles hopped into his lap, licked the kitten a couple times and head bunted Superman’s arm until he pet him.
Not that it took much.
Superman was a well-known pushover when it came to animals. And people. And, when it came down to it Mike was pretty sure he’d be polite to a tornado if it wasn’t hurting anyone.
He jolted to attention a second later, his head tilted, Sprinkles jumped down with an irritated flick of his tail. Mike had a kitten in his arms and an empty mug on the table a second later, a ‘thank you’ called from the sky as a red and blue streak raced away to another disaster.
“Be careful!” Mike fought the urge to raise his voice, Superman would hear him, and anything louder than a conversational tone would wake the kitten, who had snuggled perfectly into his palm.
Sprinkles, sensing Mike was about to get up to take care of the dishes and set up a kitten nursery, made himself comfortable across Mike’s knees with a rumbly purr.