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Tommy never enjoyed Christmas in his human form.
No one ever offered shelter to a teenage boy in dirt-covered ripped rags. He wasn’t met with any open arms or pitying coos if it were greasy blond hair on his head rather than orange fur.
So in the winter, he stayed in his cat form. He took advantage of the bleeding hearts of people on the street who offered him scratches behind his ears and scraps of their food. Sometimes they even let him inside their homes and was it technically stealing if he was invited inside first?
He didn’t know the ethics of robbery but regardless, cats couldn’t serve time behind prison bars so it wasn’t a problem.
However, he didn’t expect the house he had chosen to pester this winter to actually be nice.
It began with him using their garden as his personal bathroom just to piss off the pink-haired one who glared at him whenever he went near the potato patches. He dug holes and made burrows in their laid grass. Then, a litter box seemed to be placed at the end of the garden, something they had bought just for him.
Next, it was his mission to harass the birds who ate from the feeders hanging off tree branches. The following day, the blond man—the weird one with the hat—put a container underneath the trees. Little stuffed animals were inside, knitted plushies that looked like pigeons and ravens. Tommy found that these were more fun to attack than the living ones since they couldn’t fly away.
Strangely, it was the house member he always hissed at who finally let him inside. The one with messy brown hair and ugly glasses. Though, it seemed he only did this for his own benefit. Seeing as the man immediately picked Tommy up and directed him to swat at the spider currently living in the corner of the ceiling.
Being pest control was what it took for this house to leave the kitchen window open so Tommy could come in whenever he wanted.
He learnt their names quickly. Phil, the one who liked to make those kissy sounds to get his attention that Tommy swore did not work on him (it did work on him). Techno, who fed him treats under the table and blamed his brother for it. Then, Wilbur, the brother, loved nicknaming him things that cats should not be affectionately called—Menace was his favourite.
Tommy thought he fit in well with this bunch. Stealing their food and giving back with his presence seemed enough for this family. He wasn't kicked out, not shoved out the door or locked outside.
Weirdly, he liked it here. Liked how it kept him from the cold in more ways than just the chill outside. It was warm. Comfortable. Something he'd been denied for years. Up until now.
Though, it only took these people a week before trying to dress him up. For the past ten minutes, Phil had tried to fit a Christmas hat on Tommy's head. It was uglier than the one Phil wore. But the man looked a bit sadder each time Tommy shook it off. So eventually, he just let it stay on him (out of pity, he promised himself, was why).
"Phil, stop tormenting our cat."
Techno walked into the kitchen with Wilbur trailing after him.
Wilbur scoffed and picked Tommy up from the floor. "Menace isn't our cat, he's a free spirit. He simply roams and doesn't pay taxes or rent."
"Wilbur, cats don't do that anyway," Techno said.
"And that says a lot about our society."
Tommy meowed to agree.
They made a home for him in the corner of their living room. One furnished with blankets and a hoodie he swore belonged to Phil. But, Tommy preferred his den under the Christmas tree.
Yet, only because it allowed him to attack the legs of anyone who walked past. (His victim was usually Wilbur).
"Phil, Dad, he fucking tore another pair of my socks!" Wilbur yelled after Tommy went for his ankles the second time today.
"It's a good thing I'm getting you some for Christmas," Techno butted in.
Wilbur gaped at him. "You're not supposed to say what you get people!" then he hit his shoulder. "And socks? Really?"
"Just stop walking past the tree," Phil shrugged as he petted the back of Tommy's fur. His ears flicked as Phil smiled down at him.
"I'm going to strangle him with tinsel."
"We got rid of that in this house after Menace tried to eat it last week."
Tommy's tail curled around his paws, he did do that.
"Alright then, I'll use the string from the baubles—"
"Those are gone too," Phil said. "Had to, after the near-death ingestion incident."
His claws extended at just the mention of that. The incident was when he also tried to eat the Christmas decorations and almost choked.
Wilbur sighed and glared down at Tommy before his eyes eventually softened.
"Fine, fine, I won't make plans to murder him anymore," Wilbur muttered as his fingers stroked from Tommy's nose to his forehead. He leaned into it, despite Wilbur's previous death threats against him.
After all, it was usual for him to torment any family member and simply stare at them before they forgave him.
He sat down in his second favourite place in the house: right beside the fireplace. All wrapped up in the Christmas jumper Phil had convinced him to not shake off. Wilbur had come for a moment to irritate him (he kissed the top of his head and called him a little guy) and then left Tommy to sleep curled up near the flames.
It was hours later when he woke up by something poking him. He yelped, paws quickly going to his face to wipe at his eyes but instead of fur meeting fur, it was human skin.
Oh fuck.
Techno stared down at him, hockey stick in hand.
Double fuck.
He rushed to move, to run, only for the hockey stick to hound closer in his direction. Fear paralysed him because this was bad. He was supposed to stay hidden, hiding in this form so he could belong somewhere. But he had messed it up. Now Techno knew and soon the entire house would.
They'd know he wasn't just some cat they loved to shower in affection, nicknames and treats. Rather, he was Tommy. Someone with battered skin, undeserving of any kindness near his way. Only to earn the scars upon him and that was it.
He prepared himself for that hockey stick to come down to hit him. To cave into his body, this body, to hit and heave a lesson to never come back. For Techno to race him out of the house and shout into the streets. Because he was wrong. An abomination and unlovable in any form.
But then Techno's mouth opened.
“Why is your hair not ginger?”
He blinked.
Tommy was supposed to be bleeding now, hurt in some way, any way. Maybe crying from harsh words he believed to be inevitable. But instead, he was asked why his hair wasn't fucking orange.
“What?”
“You’re an orange tabby cat. Why are you blond?”
“Why is your hair pink?” he spat back, still cowering into himself.
Techno shrugged. "Hair dye and a spite to never be mistaken as Wilbur again."
The two stared at each other. Tommy couldn't stop shaking because it wasn't supposed to happen like this. He thought, maybe at the end of winter or New Year's, he'd reveal himself, perhaps as a neighbour's kid just to test the waters. To see if this love from the Crafts family carried over to a Tommy with blue eyes and blond hair rather than ginger fur and a bitten-off ear.
Techno poked him with his hockey stick.
“Ow! The fuck?”
“Needed to make sure I’m not hallucinating this.”
Tommy glared and Techno poked him again.
“Stop it! I’m not a hallucination.”
“I know, that one was just to piss you off."
He scoffed and got up from the floor.
“Anyway,” he began, shifting on his feet, “thanks for letting me use your home, I’ll leave now and never return—"
"Phil will be upset if you leave," Techno interrupted with narrowed eyes. Tommy flinched. "And Wilbur will probably cry."
He found himself shaking his head because they wouldn't. They wouldn't care. Sure, maybe if it were Menace the cat to never showed up again, they'd be concerned. But not Tommy, never over him.
"I'd miss you a bit too," Techno lowly admitted, avoiding his eyes for a moment.
Tommy gaped at him.
"I said a bit, don't grow an ego," Techno grumbled. "You're staying."
He bit on his inner cheek, stomaching all the words he wanted to say. All the insecurities he craved to spill, the reasons he had for why he shouldn't stay.
"I'm not a real cat," he muttered instead.
“Phil and Wilbur don’t know that," Techno said, confusing him. “Keep visiting when you're in that cat form, I don’t care. You can even visit in this form if you tell them too.”
He hesitated for a moment. Doubt flashed in every flicker his eyes did across Techno's face, his search for any sense of insincerity, that this was all a lie to make fun of him. But he found nothing but honesty.
“I’ll keep visiting then,” he said, still nervous, “as a cat though. For now.”
“Good." The two nodded. “What’s your name? We call you Menace, which still sticks by the way, but...”
The question caught Tommy off-guard. He expected Techno to still call him the nickname Wilbur had placed on him rather than want to know his human identity. He hadn't been asked for his name in years, he'd never had to say it and it was easier this way. Easier to separate himself when he eventually left the families his cat form benefited from.
Yet, he didn't want to leave this family yet, or at all.
“Tommy."
“Hm," Techno grunted, staring at him, assessing.
“What?” he asked, scowling.
“It suits you.”
He flushed red.
“Well, it is my name," he snapped.
"I take it back Menace is better.”
Techno poked him with the stick again until Tommy shifted back and attacked his ankles.
It didn’t change much around the house with Techno now knowing that the cat who wouldn’t move from the top step of the stairs was a human teenage boy. (Though, it meant Techno didn’t hesitate to shove him aside this time).
Tommy stayed like he said. He stayed until it was the night of Christmas Eve, well, the morning of Christmas Day technically, as it was two a.m.
He stood in the living room with Techno and a massive gift box.
"So why am I here and not in REM sleep?" Techno asked as he rubbed his eyes.
“What if we get him a cat?”
Techno sighed into his hands. For the past week, Tommy had been pestering him for what to get Wilbur for Christmas. (He got Phil a build-a-bear so he'd have something else to dress up rather than him).
“Tommy.”
“Yes?”
There was a brief moment of silence, the two just staring at each other—more Techno glaring and Tommy confused. Techno then reached for a present under the Christmas tree, a gift bag, and grabbed what was inside.
It was a cat toy with a jingly bell.
“Oh yeah.”
“Yeah. We already have a cat," Techno deadpanned as he rolled his eyes.
But Tommy couldn’t help but be happy with this new information—regardless of Techno’s mocking attitude. Because he liked it, being a part of their family and home. Belonging.
Yet, then he stared at the cat toy. “Wait that’s your Christmas present for me?”
“You deserve to have the surprise ruined.”
He gasped at the man. "I break into the library, on all fours, mind you, to steal a present for you and you get me this?"
"I got little cat socks too,” Techno grinned.
"I hate you."
Techno shrugged and focused back on the massive gift box in their living room, changing the subject.
"That was the second part of my plan,” Tommy explained. “Wilbur and Phil don’t know I’m the cat. So what if I’m the present?”
Techno squinted at him. “You want to wrap yourself up.”
“No, no, you’re wrapping me up,” he corrected. “You know how people get pets for Christmas and put them in those boxes? Put me, human me, in a box and surprise! I am actually a cat. This reveal is the present.”
“I think Wilbur would prefer a new guitar.”
“Shut up and help me get in the box!”
“How will you breathe?”
“You’ll put holes in the box.”
“What if I don’t want to?” Techno asked.
Tommy glared. “Stab the fucking box, Techno.”
Techno took great care in stabbing the box to pieces.
Later, when it was an appropriate hour to call it Christmas morning, Wilbur frowned at the gift box with many, many holes made in the top. It even scratched at the big red bow.
"Open it," Techno said, gesturing.
Phil gave him a look. "Techno, if this is like last year, I swear to—"
"It's not!" Techno insisted.
Last year he had wrapped up a massive cardboard box for Wilbur only for it to be an H&M voucher with five pounds on it. Wilbur kept throwing the empty box at him for the rest of the evening.
Wilbur scoffed and opened it.
Tommy—wearing clean human clothes this time and freshly washed hair—jumped right out of it, promptly scaring the shit out of everyone.
“You said you got me a cat," Wilbur whispered, gaping at the human boy now in their home.
“I did," Techno said.
“This is a teenage boy.”
“Yep.”
Phil smacked his hand over his mouth, face now full of realisation, whilst Wilbur still looked lost.
Techno sighed. “Tommy, shift because he’s dumb.”
After shifting, he shivered and lept out of the box. His ears pinned as Wilbur met his gaze. Because it was Wilbur.
“Oh my God," Wilbur muttered, mouth agape.
Tommy's claws dug into the floor, expecting something. Something bad since that was normal for him.
"Why are you blond when human?”
His claws unsheathed themselves, stumped. He blinked up at him, at them all, because no one made a move, to swat him away. Instead, they questioned that.
He gritted his teeth and shifted back to whack Wilbur around the head.
“For fuck’s sake, why is that the question you people ask instead of how it’s possible that I shift into a fucking cat?” he asked, scowling at them all.
Yet, laughter filled the room, not mocking or taunting laughter. This was sweet, warm. Cackles came from Techno who found this entirely more funny than it actually was.
“So all this time, it was a human boy attacking my legs and not a cat,” Wilbur realised and Tommy froze. “You have five seconds to run.”
“No, give him ten, it's Christmas," Phil cut in.
Tommy shrieked and shifted back, running out of the room.
“This is cheating!” Wilbur yelled as he dashed after him.
Tommy had observed many Christmases in different family homes. He'd never been included, not truly. Sure, sometimes they'd throw some turkey strips in the cat's direction or let him rip at the wrapping paper. But it was never like this.
He was accepted, even when he could speak and had a name other than the one they had made up for him. They accepted him.
Phil gave him a seat at the table and laughed when Tommy failed to use the cutlery correctly. Then with Phil's attempt to pull a Christmas cracker with him too when in cat form.
"Cats don't have thumbs, Dad, this isn't going to work."
“It will work.”
Tommy still managed to win.
“What the fuck.”
When the sky got dark outside and Wilbur stopped putting on obscure remixes of Christmas songs, the household settled into the living room. Apparently, it was tradition to watch the worst Christmas films and judge them repeatedly.
Tommy stood by the doorframe connecting the corridor to the living room. He hesitated to join them because he was human this time. He didn't know where to sit, how to sit with these people since usually he'd be draped across someone's lap—Phil's so his ears would be scratched, Wilbur's to be clutched close or Techno's so he was warm.
But he was human now. Unsure, even now, if the treatment would be the same regardless of what form he suited. So he stood, thinking.
Wilbur noticed his loitering. He frowned and patted the empty seat next to him. Tommy's heart pounded just a bit louder than before as he still hesitated to move.
A kind smile aimed its way towards him as Wilbur gestured again. "Come on, join us, Tommy."
It was the first time Wilbur had said his real name.
Slowly, a smile tugged at his lips and he sat down next to him.
He was still tense, unsure of how to sit if that made sense. Yet, as minutes of the Christmas film passed, Wilbur shuffled closer to him. Shoulders brushed against his own and Tommy liked this—human contact, the prickling of skin.
It didn't take long for him to rest his head on Wilbur's lap, their brushing shoulders giving him the confidence to reside into what he knew. His feet draped over Phil's legs and Techno kept throwing Christmas sweets at his head (he took this as Techno's way of affection).
Wilbur's hand kept hovering over his head, almost as if he were hesitant. Fingers skimmed past his hair, always a second away from landing on his head to ruffle them. Tommy huffed and grabbed Wilbur's hand, laying it there for him. Wilbur paused, but quickly began to twist at the locks of Tommy's hair, stroke patterns that he'd do as if Tommy were still a cat.
He smiled because nothing had changed.
They still loved him, still did the same things. He was still here and he had no plans to leave.
Tommy decided at this moment that he liked Christmas. He liked the warmth that this stable home brought, heat in the knowledge that this wasn't just temporary—that he'd stay for as long as he himself permitted it.
So, for the first time as a human, he slept peacefully into the morning of Boxing Day.