#the cat is a metaphor for Roy's suppressed internal self of course. and is important throughout the story

[mitskijamie]

👀👀👀

“You’ve got a kitty!” Jamie exclaims, a stupid, fuck-drunk grin practically splitting his face in two. “What’s his name?”

The scraggly old bastard hops into Roy’s lap and knocks its head against his knuckles.

Roy scratches the space between its scraggly old ears, and it settles into a ball atop his lap, purring a scraggly old mucousy purr.

“Dunno,” he answers. “‘S not mine. Found it fucking about in my back garden a couple weeks ago. Just been feeding it, ‘cause it's got no tags.”

Jamie scoffs.

“Then why’s he in your house and not in the garden?”

His tone is accusatory, like having a cat is a goddamn crime, and he's trying to back Roy into a corner and weasel a confession out of him.

Roy shrugs.

“I didn't bring it in. Just came in the cat door.”

It's the wrong thing to say, and he realizes his mistake as soon as the words have left his mouth. There's hardly damning evidence of cat ownership than installing a fucking cat door; if he wasn't caught before, he certainly is now.

Jamie's stupid eyebrows shoot up.

“And why do you got a cat door for a cat that ain't yours?”

Roy picks up the pillow behind him (gently, so as not to disturb the cat) and chucks it at Jamie's face.

“Fuck you! Why don't you name it, then, since you’re so fucking invested?”

“Chester,” Jamie answers immediately. “Always wanted a cat named Chester. Like the Chestercat from Alice in Wonderland.”

“Chestercat? It's called the Cheshire Cat.”

Jamie picks up the pillow Roy had thrown at him a moment ago and uses it to whack him upside the head.

“Fuck off. Chester. Final answer.”