x.2 Avett and Casa-Ilgash

To Avett, cats are an anomaly.

He’s seen cats, of course. Casa-Ilgash has tons of them. There are mountain top temples and gilded altars dedicated to them. To the Kattish, cats are the purest form of existence, and a native would worship them just as the average Therian worships the stars. Cats are sacred, cats are what the Kattish should aspire to be—but Avett doesn’t know any of that. For all of the xenophobia that he’s had to endure regarding his home realm, he’s never even been back to Casa.

There are no cats on Therius, because cats are sacred beings that belong to the home realm of Casa-Ilgash. All he knows about cats is that they should never, ever groom themselves. That’s the priestess’ job, and it’s also the priestess’ job to feed them, mate them, dress them in silk finery and display them to the realm.

He watches this cat—a jet-black and aloof bastard—continuously lick itself over and over. Despite being wild and therefore unsanitary, its fur glosses up in the midday sun, and there isn’t a speck of dirt on his coat. It’s not scared of him either, in fact it seems more like it hates him; it keeps its distance and casts a dirty glare everytime Avett dares to inch closer. Eventually he gives up and sits cross legged in the grass, content to watch the cat stretch itself along the fallen tree trunk.

A thought comes to him, and he scrabbles to unzip the pouch across his chest. In times of dire guidance, he remembers that the Kattish would offer gifts crafted from the finest of spiced cod to their cat deities. Though he doesn’t have any fishy snacks on him right now, he does have a swatch of hot jerky on him. He holds it out towards the cat.

It doesn’t notice him. Or rather, it doesn’t bother noticing him. Why should it? The importance of this measly morsel of meat dwarfs in comparison to its personal hygiene.

He sighs and bites down on his snack. There are no irregularities present in the area, and his ethermometer’s coming up grey—this section of the Hive is totally safe from any A rankers for now. Which means that there’s no reason for him to hang out with his new friend anymore.

Back on the ship, Lilith is blabbing away about fae lords and their headstrong human queens. Avett lounges across the stale couch, spreading himself across the stiff pillows just as the cat had demonstrated for him. He’s not quite listening; his mind’s elsewhere. He’s thinking about how Lilith’s gotten really good at maneuvering the commercial junkers even on manual, and he’s thinking about cats.

Lilith is midway through her tirade about how awesome it’d be if she were to be whisked away to the fae realm when Avett starts eyeing up his tail. It’s jet-black, as per his Ironsturm heritage, and it’s also less than well-kempt.

He’s scuffy.

The thought sinks in like an anchor. He recalls the way the cat had licked its fur to perfection, the way its coat rippled in the sun like a field of waving wheat. It’s obvious to him now why the cat was apprehensive, even slightly afraid of him—he might as well have been a street scamp in the presence of nobility.

He brings his tail to his mouth, but he doesn’t put it in immediately. Kattish fur is more hair-like than fur-like, and nobody wants to lick their own hair. Avett already goes to extreme lengths not to have hair in his mouth. It’s why he keeps everything in a ponytail most of the time.

And yet.

Tentatively, he gives himself a quick prod with his tongue. Then, recalling his fateful meeting with the cat from Earth, he licks his tail all the way from his midsection to his tip. This isn’t so bad; the cat should be proud of him for such a feline act. He gets why every cat—from either Earth or Casa—prides themselves on the way that they groom, because like the sharp snap of dark chocolate or the squeal of steam from a kettle, this shit is satisfyingly addictive.

Then he catches Lilith’s gaze. Her disappointed, shocked, and silent gaze.

He drops his tail. “I wasn’t—this isn’t what it looks like.”

She turns back to the monitor. “You’re positive that your meter came up grey?”

“Fuck you. Yes.”

“Alright.”