Chapter Text
Rosabelle wolff pov:
I've always had a certain preference for cats.
On Ark island, cats were the only "animal" that wasn't completely overturned and controlled by the establishment. One of very few, I may add. They were one of the few animals who didn't have a surveillance camera built inside them, monitoring and surveilling everything around action.
I would put this up to the fact the cats were too skittish—goverment officials could never catch them to put in the proper precautions and cameras. If they did, soon enough the cats would reproduce with the non-servaled babies, and put the work they did to shame.
This was quite an unknown fact among the community—the only reason I knew was because my mother had a certain nick for for accidentally telling me things I didn't have any business knowing. I like to think she did it on purpose just to spite my father.
Hence, when my mother introduced me to a stray on the street, I felt something similar to ecstasy. The first creature who wouldn't be livesteaming every word I said. It was like a dream I thought I could never live out.
Everyday before my assigned training with Solad, when I walked past the same alleyway and saw the feline, I felt myself become more secure. It was the only constant in my life. Everything around me was constantly changing, tugging and pulling at me until I felt raw. I could see my parents separating, Clara growing older and sicker, the people being overthrown in fear and resentment, but my cat. My cat was always in the same alleyway. With that same sweet little meow.
I don't know why I felt secure enough to tell Sebastian about my cat.
I was shortsighted.
I should've known better—and I would soon face the consequences.
The day after I told him about my family stray, I skipped into the alleyway with pure bliss ignorance. I managed to sneak some extra fish scraps from last night's dinner into a small plastic bag. I figured my cat would like to snack on it, she looked oddly skinny recently. I really did that my cat would be waiting for me like always, ready to receive pets and rub along my legs until they feel warm and scuffed.
Instead, I was met with its decaying body. Flies swarming around it with warm liquid puddled around its tiny body.
I made the large and unforgivable mistake of revealing how much I liked the cat; Sebastian didn't like that. In fact, he hated it so much he stabbed it until its organ came loose out of its tiny body. He was too overbearing, controlling. Seeing me enjoy company with anyone but him made him upset.
He revealed himself after I found the body, blushed cheeks and bloody hands. He smiled at me, handing me the bloody tail as evidence. He tried to hand it to me.
He muttered something along the lines of “I didn't like how much you liked it.” But I wasn't listening at that point.
I'm not sure what was going through his head. I'm not sure he knew either.
Years later, after particularly brutal missions with Solad, when I was exhausted and barely holding myself together, I'd swear I heard its tiny, innocent meows echoing from the dark corners of alleyways. Every time, guilt settled sickeningly deep in my chest.
I never got another cat.
Attachment was never my thing anyways. I had better things to focus on then finding fish scraps.
But now, I'm facing a different lifestyle. Getting used to the laid back regime of the New Republic.
But the same old problem.
“Meow.”
The sound makes me pause abruptly, blinking rapidly until I can finally think clearly again.
Was that what I thought it was?
I glance around slowly, squinting through the thick overwhelming downpour of rain. It drummed against my umbrella, creating a constant steady rhythm that has been filling most of my consciousness for the past twenty or so minute walk. I'm currently supposed to be on my way home after a highly charged meeting with Aaron Warner. The argument today was about plan of attack on the reestablshment—but we didn't exactly see eye to eye on the targets.
During the middle of the meeting, I made a point to mock his shoes, then his ignorance, then his ridiculously perfect coat, then his overbearing and honestly utterly disrespectful—
The point is I'm not in a very outstanding mood. I’m irritable. And somehow, even with this useless umbrella, I'm still wet? How am I still wet? I would actually argue this invention ceased to be the most useless thing I ever encountered in my months with the new republic. It's comically large, frustrating to open, and unappealing to look at.
I force myself to contain my irritability-and focus on the problem at hand.
Why did I just hear a meow?
I'm on a quieter street, cars passing by every two minutes. They are slow and cautious. When they do, they crawl through the rain, water spraying from their tires. I don't know why I decided that detail is important. I'm walking between a few food stations, which I learned are called restaurants. There's an alley two steps away from me, and if my brain hasn't mistaken me, the sound came from that direction.
Which is Hauntingly ironic.
I sit there for a few silent moments, evaluating if that came from my tired brian or if there is in fact a feline in my radius. It's likely the first one. I'm tired. My brain loved to torture me—
“Meow”
I swallow a large and painful lump in my throat. This really isn't my problem, if I'm being blunt. I don't have a need to go and find the cause of the sound. Really, it would be a waste of my time. What would I even do with it? Care for it?
I fell short of that in the past. I don't like to repeat my mistakes.
I regain consensus, exhaling deeply as the cold rain trickles past my cheek and down my jacket. I went thrifting with James a few days ago, and he somehow managed to convince me to buy this oversized charcoal work jacket. I thought it was practical for the different elements—clearly I'm mistaken.
The rain is pouring down hard; if I'm soaked, imagine how it is with no umbrella. And being floor level with no shelter.
“Meow!”
I should just get home and take a nap. That would be smart. It's been a long day, no need to act out on my unnecessary emotions.
I continue stepping forward, gripping onto my umbrella with force. Every step I take—its like walking in a never-ending puddle. Water flies up, further saturating my fitted jeans until they become a completely different color. It's like a miniature flood.
I halt again, biting my lips.
Cats don't like being wet—do they? It's been a while, but I think I can remember that fact. Their coats get heavy and cold. I remember when it rained, I would always find my stray cuddled up in a dark corner. When it saw me, it would start purring. They would crawl into my shirt and clench to my warmth until it stopped shivering.
I glance back behind me, at the alleyway.
Hm.
I could lend it my scarf—just so it doesn't get hyperthermia. Can cats even get hyperthermia? I'm not sure. Iv had hyperthermia before, specifically after being waterboarded for a few hours straight.
It was the epitome of unpleasantness,
I'm not sure that translates to cats.
I think Winston may own a cat. Or was it a dog? It could've been one of those tiny gerbil things. A hamster, is it?
I do remember threatening to feed it to a bird once.
Nonetheless, should I be calling him? He would be suited for this. Not me.
I grumble under my breath.
I'm less of a mile away from my studio apartment. Winston lives at least thirty minutes away near the city. I can't call him for something of this much unimportance.
I'm a grown woman, and I handled worse than a small cat. I'll call him Winston I get home. He can pick up the cat if he cares—because I certainly dont.
There's another subtle meow from the alleyway-I barely register it over the rain.
Tsk.
ill give it my scarf.
I turn on my heels, dunking my head out of pure utter embarrassment. Ruthless Reestablishment assassin seen giving a cat her scarf. This is pathetic.
I enter the alleyway-scanning over the heaps and stacks of wet boxes. Some are cardboard, while others are ripped plastic cheap plastic. They all are starting to deform in the constant rain. Seems this is one of the restaurant's trash dumpling areas.
No sign of the cat.
I bend down onto the cold pavement—sheilding my face with my hand as I squint into further into the stack of boxes.
Silence.
I inhale, staring at a box tucked into the very back. It's small, dryer, more concealed. I'd imagine it would want to be hidden and tucked away while trying to stay warm. I use the tip of my finger to open the edge of the box up.
"Mrrp."
oh.
A tiny pair of green eyes blink back at me from beneath a sagging cardboard box. Its white fur was plastered flat against its body, making it look like they were out here for more than a few hours. Rainwater dripped from its whiskers, and one little paw stayed tucked beneath its chest as it stared at me with equal parts fear and curiosity.
It didn't look like a kitten—but it wasn't old either.
But it did look scared. Wet. Shivering.
I slowly unravel my scarf from my neck, the light pink contrasting to the dark color of the box. But it did go nicely with the cat's light fur. Kinda made it look like some kind of frosting.
“Brrrrt?” The cat made a strange chirping noise as it cautiously sat up inside the box.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I whisper, my scarf still clutched in one hand. The words came out automatically, with barely any thought to it. I missed hearing meows.
The cat blinks at me once—then twice.
Without warning, it climbs out of the box. It places its tiny paws on my bent knees, stretching upward till its face is directly in front of me. Then, slowly, it sniffed the tip of my nose.
I just sit there-registering.
Cats on Ark were never this friendly. It took days to gain my strays trust. Guess the people and the animals of the new republic are naive.
I freeze.
It freezes.
We're just... staring at each other.
I don't move.
It doesn't seem afraid of me—unlike other people. They hear the words "reestablishment" and suddenly I'm a live example of a heartless killer. Guess a cat can't see those lines.
If anything, it looks like it's trying to figure me out.
It's some sort of refreshing. Not taking my past and…spining it.
The kitten lets out one more tiny meow before reaching up with its front paws and grabbing onto my jacket.
"...Hey."
Before I can react, it begins climbing. Its tiny claws hook into the thick fabric of my jacket as it awkwardly hauls itself up my arm and onto my shoulder.
I sigh.
The cat answers by burrowing into the hood of my jacket, circling once before curling itself around the back of my neck like a makeshift scarf.
Slowly—theres a slight purr, radiation off my neck. Like my stray.
Like my cat.
Emotions threaten to bubble up on the surface, something pressing behind my eyes until I have to burn it with the tips of my fingers.
I toss the useless umbrella to the corner of the alleyway, wrapping the scarf around my head as another layer to the makeshift hood. The cat does not move, it doesn't even make a sound. It just purrs slowly. its white tail moves around calmly on my shoulder.
I rase to my feet, kicking one last time at the disappointing umbrella for good measures. truly—useless.
Looks like I'm not going home alone tonight.