elrhiarhodan

Title: Here Comes That Sinking Feeling
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: G
Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, Elizabeth Burke
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Surprisingly angsty crack fic. Of the kitten!fic variety.
Word Count: ~5000
Summary: It usually happens to Neal. In fact, it happens so often, no one freaks when it happens to Peter. No one, that is, except Neal.

A/N: If you’re going to blame anyone, blame rabidchild67 for this one. It was her suggestion. Beta’d by my lovely friends, coffeethyme4me and jrosemary, so naturally all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Your comments are always adored and appreciated.

__________________



It was supposed to be just another ordinary day. The Bureau had gotten a lead on Egyptian antiquities that were being smuggled into the States. The intel they had indicated that the antiquities were actually very good fakes being sold as the real thing to less-than-legitimate collectors. The plan for today was to go to a warehouse in Long Island City, seize the goods, capture the bad guys and go home, all happy and self-satisfied.

Actually, since it was Friday and Elizabeth was out of town for the next two weeks, the plan was for Peter and Neal to have dinner together. Neal had agreed to cook and there was some discussion of a movie (Neal wanted to see Shame, but Peter wasn’t sure if he was up to looking at Michael Fassbender’s junk on the big screen), or maybe some batting practice down at the Piers (Neal had promised to play for the White Collar division when they went up against Organized Crime for the inter-office softball title. Peter wanted Neal to work on his swing).

They both should have realized that plans like that would never come to fruition. Not when antiquities are involved.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Don’t touch that!”

Neal reached out to prevent his friend from making physical contact what was probably the single most cursed item he had ever encountered, an alabaster statue of the Egyptian cat goddess, Bastet. During his years with the Bureau, he’d been turned into a cat on at least a dozen occasions and he had developed an acute sensitivity to those objects that would trigger a transformation. A sensitivity that somehow never seemed to prevent it, though.

But he was too late.

A flash of light and a soundless burst of air, as if the pressure in the small storage facility suddenly changed, and there was Peter, sitting on the floor amidst his clothes, licking himself. Or should he say there was a cat - long and lean with a distinctive ticked coat, large ears and gold eyes was sitting on the floor and licking himself. Peter had turned into an altogether rather lovely example of the Abyssinian breed.

Diana and Clinton came running and skidded to a halt. They stared at the cat and chuckled.

“Well - it was bound to happen to Peter one of these days.” Diana commented as she holstered her weapon. The cat - Peter - looked up and gave her the feline equivalent of the stink-eye.

Jones got down on one knee and held out a hand for the animal - for Peter - to sniff.

Neal looked at him in disgust. “Hey, he’s not a dog.” He felt an urgent need to protect Peter’s dignity.

“Yeah - I can tell that. But you never know. I really don’t want to get bitten.” To Neal’s chagrin, Peter actually extended his neck, sniffed Clinton’s hand and nudged it with his head. Clinton started petting him. Peter started purring.

“You know - that’s your boss. You’re petting your boss’ head.”

Clinton chuckled. “And for the moment, my boss is a cat. I like cats.”

“You never pet me when I turn into a kitten.” Neal bit his lip - he sounded petty and jealous.

“Well, if you didn’t freak out when you turn into a kitten and make us chase you all over the place; maybe we’d pet you too.” Diana’s tone was filled with logic and reason and Neal gritted his teeth.

“Turning into a kitten is stressful. Next time, it’s your turn to touch the cursed item.”

Peter chose that moment to let out a small yowl and bat at Clinton’s hand.

“What do you think he wants?” Jones tried to scoop Peter up, but the cat - the FBI agent in the cat’s body - scrambled away. He gave Jones a look - a very Peter Burke don’t-you-dare-try-that-again look.

“Well, when I get turned into a cat, I know I’m confused and upset and frightened. All I want to do is hide.” Neal offered up his own opinion, based upon extensive experience. It truth, it always surprised him that he had the same panicked reaction every damn time it happened.

“And this cat doesn’t seem to be upset at all.” Diana noted.

No, he didn’t. Peter-the-cat seemed remarkably copacetic for being a cat. Maybe because he was full grown, not a kitten. Or maybe because he was Peter Burke and nothing fazed him.

“What do we do now?” He looked and Clinton and Diana, who were paying attention to the cat. To Peter. To Peter-who-was-now-a-cat. Damn it. Stop thinking in hyphenated phrases.

“Well, you’re the expert in human-cat transformations,” Diana noted.

“You know, I really don’t know what Peter does when this happens. I’m usually a panic stricken kitten.”

“True – I guess you really don’t know how to handle the human end of things. You’re supposed to call Moz, and he comes by and takes the magic artifact and a week later, you become human again.”

While Neal wasn’t too sure that the solution was that simple, calling Moz sounds like a good idea. He stepped away from Diana and Clinton. Both agents were on their knees, playing with Peter-the-Cat. Diana was actually dangling her keys in front of Peter’s face, and Peter was batting at them. Stupid cat.

Disgusted, he turned his back on the three of them and dialed Moz.

“Havisham and Co., purveyors of fine wine, artisanal cheeses and exotic fruits. How may I help you?”

“It’s me, Moz.”

There was a pause. “Oh, it is you. Why are you calling me at this number?”

“Because it’s the last one you called me from - and why does that matter?”

“Because …”

“Never mind, Moz - it’s not important.” He cut his friend off. “Look, I have a problem that maybe you can help me with. It’s sort of an emergency.”

“Don’t tell me, Peter’s been turned into a kitten.”

Neal was floored. “How the hell could you know that?”

“Seriously - he got turned into a kitten?”

“Yeah - a full grown cat, actually. When did you become psychic?”

“I was joking. Peter calls me about every six months or so and tells me that you’ve been transformed into a kitten after touching something you shouldn't have. He usually prefaces his request for assistance with ‘I have a problem that maybe you can help me with. It’s an emergency.’ Sort of your exact words, mon frère.”

“Hmm - well, now it’s Peter’s turn.” And Peter had apparently gotten bored with Clinton and Diana and wandered over to him. He was stropping his ankles and making urgent yowling noises. “And I don’t speak cat - so can you hurry?”

“Well, I have to know a few things first.”

“What, Moz?” Neal was getting exasperated, Peter was now trying to play with the tracking anklet, lightly clawing at his pants. He shook his leg and tried to step away. Peter followed, intent on leaving short cream-colored hairs and snags all over the fine wool.

“Like, where are you, for starters. What Peter touched, when he touched it. That sort of thing.”

“We’re at the Big Yellow Mini Storage in Long Island City, on the corner of Astoria and Steinway, fourth floor, aisle b, unit 132. Get here as soon as you can - I’ll explain everything then.”

“Okay, okay - but I still need to know - what did he touch?”

“It looks like a statue of Bastet - Lower Egypt, Old Kingdom. It was supposed to be a fake. They were all supposed to be fakes.”

“Good, that’s what I needed to know. I’ll be there in about twenty - have the Suits clear a parking spot for me. I am not in the mood to deal with Muni-Meters today.”

Moz disconnected before Neal could say thank you. He looked down at Peter-the-cat. “Moz will fix this.”

Peter yowled, and if Neal wasn’t mistaken, he actually nodded in agreement.

Moz better fix this.

Peter jumped up on one of the cartons and batted at Neal to get his attention. As if that was necessary.

“How come you’re so … so okay with this?”

Peter ignored him and started grooming his foreleg, licking himself from shoulder to paw.

Did I really expect an answer?

Clinton and Diana came over. Diana started scratching Peter under the chin.

“Moz coming?”

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon. Someone should go down and meet him.” Clinton shrugged and took off.

“Umm, Diana?”

“What, Neal?” She was back to fondling Peter, who was purring again, like a Rolls Royce engine. The kind that go into jets.

“Never mind.” He watched with bizarre fascination as she stroked Peter from head to tail, over and over again. Diana petting Peter disturbed him in ways that he didn’t want to contemplate.

There was a clattering from the far end of the building, and agent, consultant and cat looked up. It was Clinton, with Moz and a cart full of equipment in tow.

“Good thing I was at Saturday - it had everything I needed.” Moz was way too cheerful. “Hello Suit.” He nodded at Diana. “Hello, Cat Suit.” Peter hissed at Moz, but Moz just laughed. “That was just too good to pass up. Now, point me to the object that caused this problem.”

Neal led them over to an opened crate with the head of a cat statue just visible under the mounds of wood shavings. “Careful, Moz - you don’t want to end up like Peter.” Peter jumped up on the crate next to them, looking for all the world like he was supervising the operation.

“Please, Neal - I’ve done this plenty of times. I think I know how to handle this stuff. Though how come it was Peter who was transformed, not you?” Moz used a pair of tongs made of alder and birch to extract the statue.

“Does that matter? Can you fix this?”

“Hmmm - don’t know.”

“What you do mean, you don’t know.” Neal was aware of the rising note of hysteria in his voice.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. Not just yet.” Moz pulled out a high powered flashlight and a magnifying glass. He peered at the inscription on the base of the statue.

“Hmmm.”

“Anything, Indiana Jones?”

Moz didn’t answer, he just kept hmmming to himself.

“Well?”

Moz finally looked up, a smile of satisfaction gracing that cherubic face. “Good news. All you have to do is return this statue to its rightful temple and Peter will be restored to his Brooks Brothers-loving self. It’s that simple.”

Neal didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or strangle Mozzie. “Return the statue to its temple - and how do you propose to do that?”

Moz didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed or puzzled or even worried. He glanced at Diana and Clinton who were grinning back at him.

“What?”

Diana explained. “This has happened to you so many times, we’ve established contacts in the embassies for Japan, China, Nepal and of course, Egypt.”

“And don’t forget the shadow mission for Tibet, Moz added. “That one has a direct line to the Dalai Lama.”

“Basically, any country that had an ancient cult or religion that worshipped cats.” Clinton chimed in. “You get turned into a kitten on such a regular basis that it became essential; Peter’s got the heads of the relevant antiquities departments on speed dial. The Bureau has built up a lot of international goodwill with the return of all the ancient artifacts you’ve touched.”

Peter meowed in agreement, then sat back to groom his tail.

Neal felt himself turning beet red. He hadn’t realized that his transformations had become something of a routine offense. But since he wasn’t the problem this time, it would be a good idea to be part of the solution. “So what now?”

Diana took charge. “I’ll reach out to Dr. Meskinit at the Egyptian Consulate here in New York, explain what happened…”

“Again.” Clinton had to rub salt in that wound.

“Again - and ask her to expedite the return of the statue to Egypt.”

Neal interrupted. “Wait - wait. But the inscription says that the statue has to be returned to its temple. It’s pretty unlike that the temple still exists.”

“Will you stop worrying?” Moz reached out and stroked Peter’s head, scratching him gently under the chin.

Neal gritted his teeth to stop him from telling Moz that he shouldn’t be doing that to Peter, it was undignified. “How can I stop worrying? Peter’s been turned into a cat because he touched a five thousand year old statue that has to be returned to a temple that probably hasn’t existed since the Romans conquered Egypt. I really don’t want to be the one to tell Elizabeth that her husband is now an exotic breed of house cat.”

They ignored him in favor of playing with Peter. Diana had her keys out again and they were all admiring how deftly the cat was snagging them with his claws.

“Jeez - look at you. You’d think …”

Peter-the-cat let out another yowl, this time loud and to the point. It actually sounded like he was saying “Neal.” Hell, he probably was.

“Neal - we’ve been through this before. There is nothing to worry about. Dr. Meskinit will take care of everything. Just relax,” Diana told him.

Neal didn’t quite believe her - but short of a very unproductive temper tantrum, there was really nothing he could do. “All right, I believe you. But what do we do with Peter?”

His friends - his colleagues - the people he trusted - all took one giant step back. Diana pocketed her keys. Moz busied himself with repacking the statue and Clinton started sneezing. It was obvious who was going to be left holding the bag.

“Look, Neal - think of this as finally being able to return the favor to Peter. He’s looked after you when you’ve been transformed - what, ten or twelve times. Now it’s your turn.” Diana’s tone brooked no dissension. “Besides, Christie is allergic to cats.”

Neal turned to Clinton, who held up his hands. “Sorry, my lease has a no-pets clause.”

Leaving Peter with Moz wasn’t a solution worth considering.

Diana took a little pity on him. “I’ll tell Hughes and we’ll have your radius reset. You just take Peter home, tell Elizabeth what happened and be patient.”

They were all looking at him. Neal swallowed - it wasn’t that he didn’t want to do this, but this was Peter and Peter wasn’t supposed to be a cat. With a tail. And claws. And fur. Peter was supposed to be tall and calm and in charge. Giving orders, expecting them to be obeyed.

Hell, he was supposed to be making venison ragout for Peter tonight. Served with a nice burgundy. Looked like that wasn’t going to happen. “Fine - I’ll do it. I’ll take care of Peter.”

Diana smiled and Clinton clapped him on the shoulder. Moz didn’t say a word. Peter made a sort of chuffing noise - Neal wasn’t sure if he was approving or was about to give up a hairball.

“You may want these.” Moz had picked up Peter’s clothing and shoes, and handed them to him. In a way, this was the weirdest thing of the whole day. The tie was still knotted, the shirt buttoned, the socks inside the shoes, and the shoelaces tied tight - there still should have been a body inside them. With a little distaste, Neal fished Peter’s keys out and dangled them in front of the cat.

It - he - Peter - looked at Neal like he had lost his mind. And maybe he had.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

Neal didn’t wait to see if anyone was following him - Peter had jumped from his position atop a box and scampered to the waiting elevator. He yowled at Neal, and it actually sounded like he was saying “hurry up.” Neal deliberately took his time.

Peter’s vocalization continued on the trip down, and out of the building. Thankfully, no one was monitoring the front desk - he wasn’t in the mood to answer any questions. Neal pushed the door open and Peter went out before him, trotting down to the Taurus as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

And maybe he didn’t. He was a cat.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Remember that conversation we once had, when Moz got himself involved with Christopher Navarro? About the dry mouth, the sick stomach, the shaky feeling? You told me to remember it.”

Peter chirruped.

“Yeah - it’s back. In spades. I don’t know why the others aren’t worried. I don’t know why you’re not freaking out.”

The cat stretched, revealing an impressive set of claws, then simply curled up on the seat.

“And I don’t know why I’m so freaked that you’re taking this so well. Is it practice? All those times I turned into a kitten? And why am I always turned into a four month old kitten? Is that some commentary about my age? My emotional state? My maturity?”

Peter opened one eye and closed it.

“Hmmm - you’re not being very helpful. And I’m talking to a cat, expecting answers.” Neal turned onto the BQE, and hit a wall of traffic. “Oh, great. Just what we both needed.”

Peter batted at the car’s GPS controls until a traffic map appeared. Apparently, the congestion would clear out after the Kosciusko Bridge - in about six miles. Neal sighed and resolved to find some patience, all the while trying not to think about the current situation. Except that he couldn't not think about it.

“I suppose I should call Elizabeth.”

Peter vocalized his agreement, and went back to fiddling with the console until El’s cell phone appeared. At least he let Neal hit the dial button from the steering wheel control. It rang twice before she answered.

“Hey, hon.”

“Um, hi. It’s me - Neal.” He found himself strangely tongue-tied.

“Neal? Why are you calling on Peter’s phone?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Is Peter all right?”

Peter meowed. He was just fine - Neal was the one who was a wreck.

“El - Peter will be okay.” So they tell me.

“What happened.” There were threads of steel in her voice.

The words rushed out. “Peter touched an ancient statue. He became a cat. Moz, Clinton and Diana are taking the statue to the right people at the Egyptian consulate. Peter will be human again in a few days.” I hope, I hope, I hope.

“Oh - I thought it was something serious.”

“Elizabeth - it is something serious. Peter’s a cat.”

“Oh, sweetie … it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“You aren’t upset that your husband is small and furry with very sharp teeth and claws?”

“It’ll resolve itself. Moz will get the thing he touched back to its rightful owners and Peter will become human again. It takes about a week.”

“Yeah - that’s what they all said.”

“They?”

“Moz, Diana and Clinton.”

“Well, they’re right. We’ve all had a lot of practical experience. There’s no point in getting upset. It’s not like Peter’s been injured or kidnapped or missing.”

Neal gritted his teeth. Why was everyone treating this as nothing more than another day in the office? “No - he’s perfectly healthy.”

Peter made a collection of sounds; chirrups and yowls and meows.

Elizabeth responded. “Hi, hon. You doing okay?”

Great, the lovebirds were having a conversation.

They chatted for a few minutes, and Neal did his best to ignore them.

“Neal –”

“Hmm – what?”

“The cat stuff is in the bottom of the pantry closet off of the kitchen. There should be a half a case of Blue Wilderness there. You really enjoyed that the last time, and it’s grain-free. When you feed Peter, keep Satch outside if you can.” El gave him a few more instructions. It seemed that both of the Burkes had become experts in cat care during his many transformations.

“You’re not going to come home, are you?” He had to ask, but that was pretty much a foregone conclusion.

“Nope, no need. You’ll do just fine, Neal.”

“What if …”

“Neal – you’ll be fine. Peter will be fine. And I’ve got to go.”

El made kissy noises to Peter, who meowed back. The phone went dead.

“Well, if your wife isn’t worried and your colleagues aren’t worried, and Moz isn’t worried, then why should I be worried?”

Peter, in typical cat fashion, ignored him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal settled down on the Burkes’ couch. Satch was curled up on the floor, highly unconcerned. Just like everyone else.

Peter was prowling around, exploring. Sniffing at the baseboards, the basement door, the cabinets. Neal hoped he wasn’t scenting any mice. He didn’t think he could deal with watching Peter kill them. It wasn’t that he was such a gentle, tenderhearted soul - far from it - it was just that this was Peter. And Peter …

Probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill a mouse in his house.

This cat was still Peter, by and large. The car ride home proved that something of Peter’s memory and intellect still existed inside that little cat head. Which seemed par for the course. Peter and Elizabeth had told him that once he settled down into his kitten state, he was still pretty much Neal Caffrey, even down to a preference for the most expensive brands of organic cat food.

He sat there and pondered his partner. Peter hadn’t been happy about being carried from the car to the house, but Neal wasn’t about to let the first encounter between him and Satchmo go completely freestyle. Some of his only memories in cat state involved his introduction to the Burkes’ normally gentle, placid Labrador. Satch didn’t have a canine’s natural aggression towards cats, but he was eager, curious and defensive of his territory. Neal recalled climbing the draperies in his need to get away from the loud barking and big teeth, and he didn’t want Peter to suffer that type of trauma.

Naturally, because this was Peter and Peter was always in complete control, nothing like that happened. Neal had opened the door, struggling cat in his arms (and getting caramel colored fur all over his suit jacket), fully prepared to deal with animal-caused chaos. Satchmo heaved himself off the floor and trotted over to investigate, and try as he might, Neal couldn’t keep Peter away from his dog. As he tried to block Satchmo, cat and dog simply touched noses.

Peter made that odd chuffing noise and Satch let out a small wuff. The dog went back to his place by the couch and Peter sprang out of his arms and started exploring.

“Are you hungry?” That was a reasonable question.

The cat stopped what it was doing and bolted to the kitchen. He jumped onto the island and gave a single syllable cry that Neal translated as “yes.” Peter’s tail flicked back and forth as he watched dinner preparations with laser-like intensity.

Satchmo, whether he smelled the food or heard the can lid pop open, lumbered over to investigate. Neal wasn’t sure if their bizarre inter-species treaty would survive dinner. He followed El’s instructions and cajoled the dog out onto the patio with promises of special treats and a belly rub.

Peter ate quickly and neatly - like a cat. Neal remembered something about tummy troubles after drinking milk, so he set a bowl of water on the counter. Peter gave him a look and jumped from the island to the counter, turned on the cold water at the sink and drank his fill. Neal didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He just let Satchmo back in, cleaned up Peter’s dinner dish and wondered about how he was going to survive this with his sanity intact.

Back in the living room, Neal pulled the television remote out of the couch cushions and started channel surfing. Early evening programming was uniformly depressing. He flicked past the highly partisan news programs, then spent ten minutes in appalled fascination watching something called “Hillbilly Handfishin’ ” before switching the set off.

It was going to be a long few days.

Peter joined him on the couch. Man and cat sat there looking at each other, and Neal was suddenly reminded of an old childhood memory.

He couldn’t have been more than five, and his mother had taken him to visit an old woman. Not his grandmother, maybe an aunt. He could even remember what he was wearing - brand new jeans, a blue collared shirt and a pair of sneakers with Bugs Bunny on them. His mother sat him down on a couch - it was covered in clear plastic - and told him not to move or touch anything. There was a bowl of peppermint candy on the table and he remembered wanting to take just one. He had reached out, when a thump distracted him. The biggest cat he had ever seen had jumped on the couch. It was black and grey striped with orange eyes.

Neal had pulled his hands back and hid them in his lap. The cat had frightened him, but the old woman just laughed. “He won’t hurt you, sweetie. He likes little boys.” Neal held out a hand and the cat came closer, butting it with his head. “Give him a scratch between his ears,” the old lady encouraged.

He had to smile at the memory - that cat was as friendly as a dog. Within minutes, it was sitting in his lap, rubbing itself all over him, purring away. Neal remembered that he was happy that his mother and the old woman were talking and talking and talking because he could play with the cat without anyone telling him not to. They had been there for so long, he had fallen asleep with his arms wrapped around the animal. When his mother woke him, he had thrown a tantrum because he had to leave the cat behind.

His mother had been annoyed, but the old woman was very sweet. She gave him a glass of milk and some cookies and told him that Tiger would miss him too. They had never visited again and his mother …

Well, best not think about his mother.

Peter yowled, dragging him back into the present day.

“Did you just say my name?”

He yowled again and it did sound like “Neal,” particularly when Peter (the human version) was exasperated.

“Look, this isn’t my fault - I tried to warn you about touching that statue. But it was too late.” Peter stared to groom himself and didn’t seem too interested in Neal’s explanations. “I’m sorry. I should have been quicker.”

Neal didn’t know how much Peter understood, but the words “I’m sorry” seemed to trigger something. Peter jumped into his lap and butted his chin with his head. Neal raised a reluctant hand - petting Peter still seemed wrong, but Peter seemed to want something from him.

Peter made a mournful sound; Neal’s breath caught in his throat. “Peter - are you okay?” He made the sound again and Neal suddenly wanted to cry. It all became clear. “You’re scared, aren’t you? You’re putting up a good show, but you’re really just freaking out.”

Peter rubbed his cheek against his jaw. Neal could no more keep himself from stroking Peter than he could stop himself from breathing. He could feel the tension in that sleek, strong body. “It will be all right, trust me.”

Neal kept up a soft, slow dialogue, telling Peter about all the times he’d been transformed. He rubbed his thumb behind Peter’s ears.

Peter looked up at him, golden eyes liquid.

“Yeah, I bet you’re more than a little freaked right now. You’re frightened. You’re worried and you don’t know what to do.”

Peter sat back for a moment, and then began kneading at Neal’s chest. Neal just continued to stroke Peter, trying to convey all the comfort and assurance that he could.

“You’ll be all right, trust me. I’m not going anywhere.” Those seemed to be the magic words. Peter finally started to relax. He draped himself across Neal’s chest, tucked his head under Neal’s chin and began purring.

Neal relaxed too. This was Peter, this was his friend and he needed him. It was that simple.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal woke to the sound of his ringing phone and a face full of cat fur. At some point, Neal had stretched out on the couch and Peter had made himself comfortable on the cushions next to his head. He sat up slowly, careful not to dislodge the sleeping cat, and extracted his phone from his pocket.

It was Moz.

“Tell me you have good news. Please.”

“The statue is on its way back to Cairo. It’s a very important piece, apparently and Dr. Meskenit is escorting it personally. She’ll take it to Tell Basta and reinstall it in the ruins of the Temple of Bastet. Apparently, the statue was stolen from the site during the recent upheavals. The Egyptian government is very pleased to have another missing artifact returned.”

Peter woke up and made his presence known in a happy series of meows.

“When do you think she’ll get there?”

“No more than three or four days. Five at the most.”

Neal turned to Peter and gave him the good news. Peter stretched and curled up again.

“How are you two doing?”

“We’re doing just fine.” Neal looked down at Peter, who had gone back to sleep.

“You know, I could come over - bring a few toys. Some catnip. A laser pointer.”

Neal appreciated Moz’s desire to help. There was no doubting his affection for Peter. “Thanks, maybe tomorrow. I think we’re okay for now.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

He chatted with Moz for a few more minutes before ending the call. Neal got up, stretched and his stomach rumbled. Peter opened his eyes; they glowed in the dim light. They looked at each other, man and cat.

Like he told Moz, they’d be just fine.


FIN