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Coffees still in hand, Crowley walked into the bedroom and stopped dead in his tracks. “What the deuce is that?”
“A cat,” Aziraphale said, still petting it. “How was your drive? Was the coffeeshop crowded?”
“Drive was great. Loads of customers at the coffeeshop, but I chased ‘em out by setting off a car alarm.” Crowley gestured with one of the coffees, then froze again as caramel latte lapped eagerly at the lid. “Why is it a cat?”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose that in a sense, we’re all whatever we were created to—”
“Nnnnh, angel. I didn’t mean in a philosophical sense.” Normally, Crowley would jump on an interesting philosophical discussion. But right now, there were more pressing questions. “I meant, why is there a cat in our bedroom, and what’s it doing in your lap?”
“Oh.” Aziraphale looked down at the cat. “Well, um. I suppose you could say that he followed me home.”
“He wot.”
“He followed me home!” Gently, Aziraphale petted the black ball of fluff. The black ball of fluff purred and rubbed against his hand. “I was outside checking on the pumpkins, and was accosted by this lovely little creature. He followed me back through the garden, meowing all the way, and wanted to come inside.”
“And you just couldn’t turn him away?” Crowley asked, setting down their drinks on the bedside table.
“Turning him away would have been rude!”
“Right. Of course.” Shaking his head, Crowley flopped down on the bed and leaned against the headboard. The black ball of fluff gave him a little chirping meow. “Does he have a name?”
“Well, I’m still contemplating it.” Aziraphale petted the cat, who was currently devoted to putting as many holes as possible in his expensive trousers. The enthusiastic kneading continued. “Something literary, I think. After a character, you know.”
“Of course.”
“But the problem is that there’s simply so many options!” Sighing, Aziraphale turned his attention to the bookshelves, and then to the considerable stack on the bedside table. Two more books sat next to him on the bed. “I tried to narrow it down to my favorites, but I simply have so many favorites.”
“You do,” Crowley said fondly, leaning against Aziraphale’s side. He was pretty well acquainted with all of Aziraphale’s favorites. “Were you thinking modern or classic? Regency’s always a good pick.”
Aziraphale sighed again. “I don’t know. I need to contemplate it.”
“Hn, okay. Guess we can call him ‘Cat’ for now.”
“Very inventive.”
“Thanks.” Animals didn’t always like Crowley much—it was the snake thing—but Cat just kept purring while Crowley petted his head. “Not exactly your usual color, is he?”
Aziraphale chuckled at the contrast between his outfit’s light colors and Cat’s dark fur. “Well, not for myself, but I must admit I am quite used to black-clad creatures snuggling with me.”
“Ngk. Demons don’t snuggle,” Crowley muttered, curling closer to his warm, soft angel. “At least when Cat sheds all over my clothes, you won’t be able to see it much.”
“Very true. Um.” Aziraphale gave him a vaguely anxious look, and Crowley raised a questioning eyebrow. “So, it’s okay with you if we keep Cat, then? You won’t object?”
“I definitely won’t object,” Crowley said as Cat stood up, stretched, and moved from Aziraphale’s lap to his. Cat kneaded Crowley’s thigh briefly, meowed again, and then laid down. “Although we should maybe give him a name besides ‘Cat’ eventually.”
Aziraphale laughed, snuggling closer. “I suppose we should.”
Content, Crowley ran his hand across the black fur. Cat was vibrating happily, not to mention incredibly warm. And whether or not he ever got a literary name, he would be a welcome addition to their family.