Work Text:
There once lived a demon in Mayfair
Whose soft heart just refused to play fair.
When it thumped in his chest,
He decided it best
To embark on soul-searching wayfare.
He intended a journey of thought—
Could there be situation more fraught
For a demon in love
With angel from above
When ‘twas clear the celestial cared not?
But alas was his travel cut short—
Just off Cromwell nearby Earl’s Court—
When a streak of white fluff,
With a hiss and a puff,
Caused the Bentley its trip to abort.
Worry not: the small cat was just fine.
Didn’t lose even one of its nine!
Through the window it leapt,
And did Crowley object?
Yes, but you try to best a feline!
So the demon returned to his flat,
Now accompanied by a white cat,
For he knew that the road
Could not match his abode
For comfort—simply put, that was that.
In no time had the cat settled in.
With a frown, Crowley asked, “Her or him?”
He was met with a glare,
A most withering stare.
Crowley laughed: “They it is, little friend.”
Well, the cat made themself quite at home
And their bathtub of choice? Crowley’s throne.
When he entered the room
Where he found them—mid-groom—
Crowley sighed, “Guess this chair's not my own.”
So the demon did his best to deal
With a creature immune to appeal.
They ignored all commands,
They knocked over his plants,
And they turned up their nose at each meal.
Beaten down, Crowley finally resigned,
Called the angel who’d been on his mind.
Crowley said, “Got a… guest.
Who just won’t let me rest.
I need help—if you’d be so inclined.”
It was maybe ten minutes, no more,
That Aziraphale knocked on the door.
When he entered the flat
And he spotted the cat,
He exclaimed, “It’s a kitten? Good Lord.”
Crowley growled, “I don’t care if you scoff.
I’d prefer Hastur to this standoff.
So you go on and tease—
Shall I drop to my knees?
Or will you help me out, you great toff?”
“Now, there’s no call for names,” huffed his friend.
“Just relax—take a breath and unbend.
They can sense fear, you know,
So do mind how you go.
Put your hand out, my dear, and pretend.”
Trepidatious, the demon reached out
To be met with the bump of a snout.
Then a cheek rub followed.
A soft purr was bestowed,
And the angel's face looked pleased and proud.
But Aziraphale doted and cooed,
Over both of them—really, how rude!
Crowley’d had quite enough
And he said in voice gruff,
“Angel, I’m really not in the mood.”
With a hiss, the cat went on the run.
Said Aziraphale, “Look what you’ve done!
You have broken the peace
We had nearly achieved,
And I worry that now you’ll have none.”
Then the cat reemerged with a book
Which Aziraphale reached out and took.
From beneath the leather,
There fell out a feather—
Snowy white—and the angel’s hands shook.
Asked Aziraphale, “What’s this dear boy?
And please tell me the truth, don’t be coy.
Need to summon me here?
You could just ask, my dear;
There’s no need for this secretive ploy.”
“Summon you? I would do no such thing!
If I need you, I’d give you a ring—
Which I did, just today.”
“And I came—right away—
So then why the feather from my wing?”
Crowley sputtered, searched for a response.
He decided he’d try nonchalance.
But the words that spilled out
Left no shadow of doubt:
“The heart wants,” he muttered, “what it wants.”
“Oh my darling,” Aziraphale cried.
“How I’ve wanted to tell you; I’ve tried!
But the brave one was you.
Still, my dreams have come true!
Won’t you kiss me?” And Crowley complied.
When they parted, no cat was in sight.
But unseen outside—someone in white.
Muriel walked away;
“Jolly good,” they did say,
“About time—my next move was a bite.”