Chapter Text
Abner was always bad at saying 'no'. Maybe that was a result of living with his mother, or maybe, in this case, it was the big eyes the scrawny black cat had cast up at him when he'd told asked it to leave.
It was a little thing, with one fang overlong and the other seeming to be missing entirely, and dark as the night, with bright pumpkin-colored eyes. Everything you think of when you hear "black cat", really.
He'd meant for it to stay long enough to get it some food and- milk? water? What did cats drink? (A quick google told him it was water, thankfully.) But it'd rubbed along his legs after it'd licked the cheap plate clean of the canned tuna he'd dumped out for it, and Abner had made his final mistake: petting it.
He hadn't had pets when he was younger; unsurprisingly not an opportunity his mother allowed him or his siblings, and he didn't know the first thing about taking care of an animal. But.
Abner's therapist told him several times that he was 'allowed to want things', and 'deserved to be happy' as much as anyone else did. And there was something nice about petting the cat and having it seek out more of his touch. Even if it was just after more food. That was a small price to pay for affection, after all. He'd paid much higher ones in the past.
And, if he focused (remained 'in the moment', his therapist would say), it was just a cat. A cat that wanted him to pet it, and even stepped up into his lap when he sat down on the floor, cross-legged.
And so, the next day he found himself googling good cat names (he'd never named something before, what if it didn't like the name?!) and picking up cat food, bowls and, at the employee's careful, skillful insistence, a litter box and litter.
Tentatively, the cat was called Mr. Toast. The 'Mister' made Abner feel a little better, like the cat might care.
He was forever taking pictures of Mr. Toast, and he suddenly realized he understood why there were so many cat pictures on the internet: Mr. Toast was never not worth taking a picture of.
His next therapy appointment was just him talking about the cat, making sure to show his therapist the pictures he'd taken: Mr. Toast eating, sleeping, a video of him playing, drinking. It was the first time there wasn't an immediate shame, immediate anxiety about oversharing. It was a cat. People did that with cats. Not just him.