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Matt was behind an apartment complex near their dumpsters – as he usually found himself on evenings like this – dragging a man by the collar of his shirt to deposit him where he belonged. He was drunk and had been for days, just based on the smell alone. He had hit his wife in a drunken rage and Matt had heard her cries two blocks away.
The man made a groggy noise and Matt punched him in the head to make sure he was completely unconscious before picking up his limp body and tossing him into the trash can. He had already told the wife to call the police and get out of there. He turned and listened to her heartbeat fade as she hurried down the street in her bathrobe and pajamas, her voice hushed and frantic as she spoke to the 911 operator on the phone. Yes, he was hitting me. Um, Three-four-seven…
He turned back to the man. His heartbeat was erratic and irregular as he entered what Matt assumed was Afib. That wasn’t Matt’s doing though, so he didn’t move to help him. He did that all on his own with his years of drinking and smoking and unchecked rage.
Matt turned to leave, his foot hitting an empty box. This caused a whole series of events that spanned two milliseconds and was in slow motion simultaneously.
A creature jumped from the box – a spasming mass with a heartbeat that was so fast and light that Matt didn’t register it right away. Matt thought it was a rat, but it was too big to be a rat even by Manhattan’s standards. Then he thought it was a raccoon, but he had never witnessed a raccoon move like that before.
And when it ping-ponged into the wall of the apartment complex and then into the side of the dumpster only to plunk back to the ground with a high howl, he realized it was a cat.
“Sorry, kitty,” Matt mumbled and stepped out of its way.
And most of the feral cats in the area would’ve darted away under the dumpster or at least tried to get away from Matt.
But this cat didn’t. This cat kind of…stumbled around like it was drunk like the man that Matt had just beaten into unconsciousness and thrown amongst the garbage. It tried to gain traction on the pavement and propel itself forward only to splat headfirst into another trash can with a bang. It was a very confusing and abnormal little beast to Matt. Most cats just scurried away against the shadows of the wall, only pausing for a second to take Matt in before disappearing completely.
Matt intercepted it and grabbed it by the scruff of its neck. He realized how light and small it was holding it. It couldn’t be much older than a kitten. Instead of hissing and writhing to get away it gave this scratchy mewl like it was accepting defeat and hung there in Matt’s grasp. Matt could smell blood and infection on it.
Matt heard sirens approaching and debated putting the cat back on the ground or taking it with him. He opted for the latter, not wanting the cat to get in the way of the police arresting this abuser. He tucked the cat into his arm – which the cat just mewled at again – and headed up to the room of the apartment complex.
He jumped to a different roof and then crouched to inspect this cat. He pinched the pointer finger of his glove between his teeth and pulled it off before running his hand along this cat’s back. It was bony and Matt could feel its ribs and spine through its skin, but nothing was broken. He touched the cat’s head and for the first time in their fifteen-minute relationship, the cat hissed at Matt.
“What’s wrong with you?” Matt whispered and glided his hand across its face, across its eyes. But, instead of feeling the intentional blinks that cats made and the rough, pokey whiskers he felt a crust, a scab . It was oozing blood or pus or both and seemed to have overtaken the upper part of the cat’s head, turning the skin around it bald and patchy. That’s why it was running around into things – it couldn’t see.
Matt sighed as the cat tried to hop out of Matt’s arms and seemed to stumble drunk again, losing its footing and falling sideways. Matt wondered if there was something wrong with its inner ears as well and that’s why it was moving like it was on a rocky ship. Matt picked it back up and it bumped its scaly, scabbed head against Matt’s armor.
“Shit,” he cursed. He couldn’t very well leave this blind cat out here, now could he? He wasn’t much of an animal lover. When he was a kid he asked his dad for a puppy because it was the sort of thing kids do and got a goldfish that lived for 3 weeks instead. Matt remembered watching it swim in circles thinking how pitiful a life it must’ve led. And then it died.
Matt tipped his head up to the sky. The air was starting to get dense and it smelled like it was going to rain. “God,” he started, “why is everything a test with you?”
God responded by opening the clouds and raining on the both of them.
Matt huffed out an ironic laugh because out of all the times he felt pinned to the table like a frog about to be dissected like a high school science experiment with God holding the scalpel above him, this was probably the most comedic. At least God had a sense of humor as he orchestrated the shitshow that was Matt Murdock’s life.
He tucked the little dumpster cat into his arm and unzipped his suit to pull out his cell phone. After Matt and Foggy’s last fight after Matt failed to get in contact with Foggy after days and days, Foggy insisted on Matt taking his cellphone with him at night. He kept it in an interior pocket that sat just under his armpit where it couldn’t get broken by a flying foot or punch. He couldn’t afford to replace a broken phone right now.
He opened it and told it to call Foggy at the same time he started moving to find some cover from the rain that was starting to pour. Matt felt the little needles of cat claws in his arm through his armor as Dumpster Cat mewled with its scratchy voice at being rained on. The poor dear also had the most godawful, pathetic meow on top of being skinny, blind and tipsy like a drunkard.
“Matt?” Foggy asked, his voice groggy. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Matt said and kind of mushed the cat into the crook of his arm to keep it out of the rain as he hopped across a gap to a different roof. Dumpster Cat adjusted a bit and then settled. “Um, what are your allergies again?”
Foggy gave a confused snort. “Uh, penicillin and kiwi fruit, why?”
“Not cats?” Matt stopped and ducked into a fire escape.
“No?”
“‘Kay, thanks. Love you.” Matt hung up before Foggy could ask too many questions. He tucked his phone back into his suit and then the cat and zipped it back up.
Matt’s mind was already made up about what to do. Especially now that the creature was purring with a noise like a chainsaw against Matt’s chest. He tipped his head back up to the sky, feeling the rain hit his face and slide off his cowl. He sighed at God and decided to hit this head on like he did everything else that was thrown at him. He wasn’t an animal person, but now he was tasked to take care of this animal and make sure it was okay.
“That’s what you want, right?” Matt muttered sourly.
The only response he got back was a muffled meow.
Foggy didn’t know what that phone call was about, but he was up now anyway. He clicked on all the lights as he walked to the kitchen and started a tea kettle. It was raining outside, which always kind of made the billboard light filtering sparkle like disco ball across the living room floor. He was watching the lights dance and waiting for the kettle to squeal when he heard the roof access door open and close.
Foggy came out of the kitchen to greet his boyfriend, who was coming down the stairs and removing his cowl at the same time, his fingers running through his dark hair.
“Hey, Matty,” Foggy greeted.
“Hey,” Matt greeted back as he dropped his helmet. He shook his hands and sprayed rainwater all over the place.
“So, is there a reason that you called to ask about my allergies?”
Matt was unzipping his suit – it was all clasped up in these complicated hidden zippers that seemed cumbersome to Foggy – while Foggy talked. He pulled out a cat from his suit. Or well, what Foggy assumed to be a cat before it was hit by a truck and then backed up over. Twice.
“What is that ?” Foggy asked, horrified.
“It’s a cat.” Matt said and tucked it into his arm.
It was a tiny thing, covered in a black grime that was darkest at its paws and worked its way up in layers and layers of filth. It had patches of skin that poked out and underneath that he could see outlines of bone. But, being malnourished and dirty was the least of its worries because it looked like it had been mauled in the face at some point because where its eyes should have been there was instead 2 open and nasty wounds and half of one of its ears was missing.
“Matt,” Foggy sighed. “Are you sure that’s a cat?”
“It’s actually really sweet,” Matt defended and approached Foggy with it and held it out for Foggy to take. It smelled like a trash can and gangrenous flesh. Foggy made a face. “It just needs to be cleaned up.”
“It needs more than that,” Foggy argued and took the cat anyway. It felt like taking a sack of bones and it bonked its head unceremoniously against Foggy’s sternum in greeting. “It looks like its eyes have been clawed out by something higher up in the food chain.”
The cat meowed – scratchy and throaty like it had spent its entire life chain smoking menthol cigarettes. As if it couldn’t get any more charming, Foggy thought and flipped it over to inspect underneath its tail. It let itself be manipulating, only meowing in low, chesty grumbles.
“It’s a boy cat,” Foggy announced and then sighed. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You smell like a trash can.”
At that moment, Foggy’s forgotten tea kettle screamed, signaling that the water was boiling. This startled Foggy, which in turn spooked the cat. The cat exploded out of Foggy’s arms and did this ungraceful flip over his forearm before diving headfirst towards the floor.
“Shit!” Matt exclaimed, going for it.
“Oh no!” Foggy said and went for it at the same time.
The two men collided – Foggy braining himself against Matt’s shoulder – and were both only saved from hitting the floor themselves by Matt’s reflexes that kept them both upright on their feet. The cat, however, splat onto the ground on its belly, proceeded to clamber to its feet and run itself into the wall with a clunk ! The whole ordeal was pitiful and painful to watch.
“I think something is wrong with his ears too,” Matt said, his arms still around Foggy. “He’s walking like he’s drunk.”
“Matt,” Foggy sighed and rubbed his forehead where he bumped it against his boyfriend’s muscular shoulder, “what hopeless cause have you cursed us with this time?”
“Well,” Matt defended lowly, his smile creeping up on his face, “you know how I have a soft spot for hopeless causes.”
“I know,” Foggy sighed again, “you and your bleeding catholic heart.” He watched the cat do a shaky sidestep as it regained balance.
Matt just chuckled and separated. He walked to the kitchen and removed the screaming kettle from the stove, silencing it. Foggy scooped the cat up into his arms and petted it the best he could without touching any of it wounds. It gave a little huffy mrrp as a response.
“Come on Trash Goblin,” Foggy said to it. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Matt and Foggy spent an hour and half wrestling this cat into their bathroom sink to wash it. When they finally did, they scrubbed him the best and the fastest they could while avoiding tiny needle claws. Foggy watched layer after layer of Manhattan pollution and filth wash off of him down the sink, revealing 1) how deeply malnourished this kitty was and 2) that he was actually an orange tabby.
Foggy then sat down on the floor of their bathroom and spent an hour drying and combing fleas off of him. He wasn’t sure how he got so many that he did, given that the cat was so scrawny. But, Foggy pulled at least fifty if not more off of him.
A little ways into getting dried and combed, the cat flopped over in the middle of Foggy’s lap, going lax in the towel and purring like a weed wacker trying to start.
“You’re not feral,” Foggy mumbled and shook his head. “A feral cat wouldn’t be this chill.”
Or maybe it was actually feral. Foggy wasn’t sure and it was three am and he was currently combing a scrawny orange cat that looked like it had been scraped off the highway as roadkill and resurrected as a zombie version of itself.
“I found a can of tuna,” Matt said as he stepped back into the bathroom, changed into some sweatpants and socks, his hair now wet from showering instead of the rain, “and I brought water too.”
“I’m almost done. I think I got every flea I could find.” Foggy said.
“He smells better,” Matt commented as he sat cross legged next to Foggy in front of their bathtub. He put the opened can of tuna down and the saucer of water on the wood floor next to the bathmat. He gently picked up the cat and then set it on its feet in front of the can.
The cat sniffed the tuna once and then started wolfing, making wet gnawing sounds as it tried to inhale the whole can of tuna in two bites. Foggy inhaled deeply and exhaled watching this cat. It smelled better but the bath didn’t do much for his appearance. It still looked like an eldritch being that was drug up from some hole somewhere.
“I brought you some tea,” Matt said and offered him a mug which Foggy gratefully took. “We will need to get actual cat food tomorrow.”
Foggy hummed sleepily as he sipped his tea only half listening to what Matt was saying.
“And he needs to go to the vet,” Matt said.
Foggy sighed at that. “We can’t afford a vet right now, Matty.” He shook his head. “We should surrender it to the humane society. Then the city will pay his vet bills.”
Matt stiffened next to Foggy. “We’ll just take him and see how much it would be to treat first.” He said.
“Matt,” Foggy sighed. “You’re not thinking about keeping it, are you?”
“ No ,” Matt said quickly, “I just want to get him checked out before we just hand him over to the pound where he might get put down if his injuries are too extensive.”
Matt had a point. Foggy tried to imagine showing up to a shelter with this thing. They probably would just tell them to put it back where they had found it – a dumpster.
“We can put some fliers up,” Matt suggested weakly. “He might be someone’s cat?”
Foggy actually had to laugh at that. “You’re fucking joking, right?”
“Well-,” Matt tried and then stopped himself when the cat finished the can of tuna and instead of turning back towards them, started for the closed door in a jerky dart. Matt intercepted it by the scruff of its neck before it hurt itself. Again.
The cat whined in protest as Matt put it in its lap. He petted it gently, his chin tipping down and his dreamy eyes filled with affection and the cat was doing the thing where it kneaded something soft like dough with its paws and that thing happened to be Matt’s belly and goddamnit . Foggy had to avert his eyes before he fell even more in love with his stupid boyfriend and his stupid bleeding, catholic heart because if he looked any longer Foggy would agree to something stupid. Something as stupid as adopting the ugly orange cat version of Oscar the Grouch.
Foggy sighed noisily. “I guess we can go by the pet store tomorrow,” he said tiredly, “and the vet.”
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Veterinary offices were every horror of a regular emergency room yet somehow worse.
It smelled like industrial cleaner and sickness layered with a thick odor of animal that clung to Matt’s skin in a suffocating way. There was a cry of some yappy dog in a backroom as it got its shots – a shrill, painful sound that pierced through Matt’s skull into the meat of his brain. There were meows of cats and barks of dogs. The vibration of the x-ray machine made his skin crawl and itchy.
God did Matt hate clinics. He hated them so much.
He held Dumpster Cat in his arms as he tried not to let the overwhelming assault on his senses drown him. He instead focused on rubbing a bald spot behind the cat’s ear with his thumb. The cat seemed to enjoy that and purred loudly and happily in Matt’s grip.
Foggy was filling out the intake form next to Matt. They were in the lobby of this low-income vet office that was around the corner from Matt’s place. They were going to go to the vet first and then the pet shop and then to work.
“We need a name for him,” Foggy said and stopped writing.
Matt had been calling him ‘Dumpster Cat’ in his head and Foggy was oscillating between ‘Trash Goblin’ and just ‘Stinky.’ There was a part of Matt that was resisting naming him. Naming him meant ownership. Naming him meant that Matt’s care extended past the immediate need. That wasn’t in the deal he made the night before with God.
But, if they didn’t take care of this cat, who actually would? He had a fine temperament and seemed like he would make a happy apartment cat for someone. But, who would look past all of the care he needed? Blind cats needed accommodations.
Who would empathize better with a blind cat than a blind owner?
“Dumpster Baby? Roadkill? Mr. Fluffikins?” Foggy guessed. “Uh, Jeremy?”
“I don’t know,” Matt groaned. “Can’t you leave it blank and we will name him later?”
“Alright,” Foggy said. “I liked Jeremy, though.”
“We’re not naming our cat Jeremy ,” Matt said.
“ Our cat?” Foggy asked as he continued to write on the clipboard. “What happened to ‘I just want to get him checked out’? Huh?” Foggy said as he finished up the form and stood up.
“You’re the one suggesting names!” Matt retorted.
At that moment they were called back by a tech. Matt stood up with the cat, wrapped in a towel in one arm and his cane in the other. He followed Foggy down the hallway and Matt passed a room where a puppy was getting a boil lanced or something because it let out a cry that had Matt physically cringing against it.
The cat gave a concerned meow at the same time, his nails digging into Matt’s forearm. Matt wanted to pet and comfort him, but his hands were full with his cane. He gave it a little pat instead.
“We’re turning left here,” Foggy directed Matt and they turned into an exam room and the door was closed by the tech.
“So, what brings you both in today?” She asked in a chipper voice.
Matt’s cane hit the metal exam table with a clang that wouldn’t have affected him normally but with the setting had a chill going down his spine. He carefully placed the cat on the table and unwrapped the towel from around him.
“Oh my,” the tech said, “that’s quite a kitty cat you got there.”
“I’m actually pretty sure this was a raccoon that was hit by an Uber driver,” Foggy said dead seriously and the tech gave an awkward, unsure laugh back.
“Well, let me get some vitals and we will have the doctor come in and look at his eyes,” the tech said.
The tech weighed him and listened to his heartbeat with a stethoscope and looked into his ears, commenting on the state of them. The cat couldn’t get a grip on the slippery metal of the exam table and kept stumbling over and almost fell off the table once.
“Oh, are you a wobbly kitty cat?” the tech cooed at him as she righted him back up and scratched his face. “My cat also has cerebellar hypoplasia. Although, she’s a little steadier than your guy, here.”
“What’s that?” Matt asked.
“Cerebellar hypoplasia? Wobbly Cat Syndrome?” The tech asked. “It’s where the kitty’s cerebellum doesn’t develop properly so the cat ends up wobbly like he’s drunk.”
“Is that…treatable?” Foggy asked.
“You can’t cure it,” the tech said with a shrug. “But, most kitties do just fine with it. I’ll go grab the doctor.” She said and left the room. Matt took her place keeping the cat from stumbling off the table.
“You are,” Foggy started to talk to the cat, “a mess.”
Matt pat its back. “Dumpster Cat.”
“We could just name him Garbage,” Foggy suggested.
“We can’t name our cat Garbage .”
“Why not?” Foggy said. “It would pay homage to his humble beginnings of being a dumpster cat.”
“No,” Matt shook his head. “He needs a good name. He’s a good cat.”
The vet walked in at that moment – a short lady that smelled like wet dog – and greeted the both of them followed by the tech.
“Oh my,” she said just like the tech did. “You have seen better days, haven’t you?”
The doctor inspected the cat – petting him and feeling him over. She also listened to his heart with a stethoscope and looked at his teeth and into his ears.
“Well, his eyes have been clawed out,” The vet started. “He may have gotten into a scrap with some other animal, a bigger cat or was attacked by an owl or a hawk. It’s hard to say for sure but it looks like he’s fighting hard against infection there.”
The vet continued – mange, an ear infection, they took a sample to test for worms, she gave him his routine vaccines, picked a hidden tick off of his ear, cleaned his eyes and applied a ointment and a bandage, and then ended the appointment by lancing an infected boil underneath his tail, making the small office smell like rotten meat and pus. It let out the most pained, godawful noise that had Matt cringing against the wall.
“Alrighty,” she said with a final pat. “with good food and some antibiotics, he should be right as rain.”
“Great,” Foggy managed between teeth, the place smelling like death.
Matt wrapped the cat back up in its ratty towel and tucked it against his chest. The cat shifted around until his paws were on Matt’s shoulder and his head was tucked under Matt’s chin. He started to purr loudly like a helicopter starting its rudder like he knew he was safe now.
Matt’s heart flip-flopped in his chest. Maybe this cat was meant for them.
“Aw,” the vet said, “you’re a good cat dad.”
“Yeah,” Foggy agreed with a wistful sigh. “He is.”
But, Matt wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. He wasn’t paying attention to the smells or the puppy crying while getting its shots or Foggy or the vet or anything else for that matter.
He was just paying attention to this little soul in his arms, at the happy purring that vibrated through Matt’s whole being into his core, and the warmth he felt in his chest.
“Well, five hundred dollars later,” Foggy sighed as they walked around the cat section of the big box pet store in the neighborhood over, “and you still don’t have a name.”
Matt had held Garbage Boy in his arms the whole time they checked out at the vet’s office, shifting him over with one hand to swipe his credit card to pay for the enormous vet bill they accumulated just getting this creature looked at and cleaned up. Then they headed straight for the pet store so they could buy food and supplies for this roadkill zombie.
Matt was humming to himself as he shifted the cat around into a more comfortable position. Foggy recognized the tune as Smelly Cat from Friends . He would get this little, contemplative smile on his face every time the trash goblin would headbutt his chin or his chest and Foggy was slowly realizing that Matt was falling in love with what looked like a mutant sewer rat.
This would not be good later when they give him up to the humane society.
“Smelly Cat would be a good name,” Foggy offered, appealing to the closeted Friends fanboy in Matt as he threw a small bag of cat litter into the cart.
“ Smelly Cat ,” Matt sang gently, “ Smelly Cat, what are they feeding you ?” He hummed the rest of the verse as the cat bonked his head affectionately against Matt’s chest.
“But,” Foggy pointed out as they stopped to survey the different brands and types of cat food. “Naming him would make it harder to give him up later.”
Matt stopped singing abruptly. “We’re getting rid of him?” He asked.
“We’re not keeping him,” Foggy scoffed. “Obviously.”
“We just spent five hundred dollars getting him treated at the vet,” Matt argued, his eyebrows pulling together.
“I thought you just wanted to get him looked at.” Foggy argued.
“Foggy,” Matt said, “he had ticks and had to get his wounds cleaned up. He needed a vet.”
“So, we got him a vet!” Foggy burst with frustration. “I’m not arguing with that. I’m just worried because you seem to be getting very attached to this hellspawn creature thing.”
“He’s a nice cat,” Matt sniffed. “He’s very loving.”
“Oh my god, you’re such a sap!” Foggy said.
“I am not!”
“You are!”
“He needed our help!” Matt said.
“A week!” Foggy put his foot down. “If we don’t find him another home in a week, we’re giving him up to the pound. I know you have a soft spot for hopeless causes, but be practical for once. We don’t have the time or energy or money for a pet right now.”
Matt’s expression steeled behind his red specs and his jaw clenched and Foggy braced himself for a full blown argument in the middle of the PetSmart cat food aisle, but Matt nodded. “Fine,” he said, “a week.”
“Fine, thank you.” Foggy echoed and then turned back to the cat food. “Do you think it’ll like Fancy Feast or Friskies?”
Karen was usually the first to the office. She started coffee (which wasn’t as bad as everyone made it out to be, the coffee maker was just a million years old), opened the windows to let some light in, and was watering Foggy’s little potted houseplant he forgot he had about 80% of the time when the men both crashed through the door together.
“Doesn’t Taylor Swift have cats?” Matt asked.
“You mean Meredith and Olivia?” Foggy scoffed. “Yes, but Taylor is also worth like five hundred million dollars. Those cats get treated better than most children, I’m sure.”
“You know Taylor Swift’s cats’ names?” Karen asked incredulously as she finished watering the plant. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Taylor Swift.”
Matt snorted. “Karen hasn’t seen you sing Back to December at karaoke night.”
“Excuse you,” Foggy retorted, affronted, “my Back to December rendition is legendary .”
Karen giggled and turned around her bosses and best friends, only stopping when she saw Matt gently place a scrawny, feral-looking orange cat onto the hardwood. “What is that?”
Foggy sighed and dropped some PetSmart bags on the floor next to it. “I’ve been trying to find the answer to that question all day.” He pulled out a plastic litter box and a bag of cat litter. Matt leaned his cane against its place next to the door and removed his jacket.
“Did you guys…get a cat?” Karen asked and squatted to pet it. It was tiny and walked like it was a marionette being controlled by an invisible puppeteer and it had ace wrap tied tightly around its head where its eyes were. It mewled as it arced its back into Karen’s hand.
“I found him,” Matt said, “near our dumpsters.”
“Are you sure he’s not feral?” Karen asked, but already knew the answer to that question. This cat was too nice to be feral. She scratched the spot she knew cats liked above their tails and the cat knocked itself against Karen’s leg.
“No, I’m pretty sure it was a science experiment that escaped the biohazard waste bin,” Foggy said as he tucked the litter box next to their kitchenette and then pulled out a water dish. He stood up to fill it at the sink.
Matt blew an annoyed breath and squatted next to Karen to pet the cat. “He’s really friendly.” He offered.
“What’s wrong with his eyes?” Karen asked.
“They were clawed out,” Foggy said, “we have to apply ointment on his face every four hours until the swelling goes down.”
“Oh, poor baby,” Karen cooed.
“Do you want him?” Foggy offered brightly from the sink. “We’re not looking to keep him.”
Matt pulled out a little red collar with a bell on it from one of the bags. He handed it to Karen to put on and Karen did so, making sure it wasn’t too tight around his skinny neck. The bell tinkled a light sound with the cat’s head spasms. He was ugly, but in a cute way.
“I would, but I’m really bad about taking care of animals.” Karen admitted sheepishly. “Are you sure you guys aren’t going to keep him?”
“No,” Foggy said firmly. “We don’t need a pet.”
Matt didn’t look so sure, however. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows were furrowed behind his glasses as he pet the small cat.
“Matt?”
“No,” Matt said, sitting back on his heels. “Cats are a trip hazard for me.” He didn’t sound at all convincing. “We’re just nursing him back to health and then we’ll find some good owners to take him.”
Karen watched Foggy place the full water dish next to the cat and then swirl his finger around in it to get the cat’s attention with the noise. Matt continued to pet him, a slightly sulky look on his face. The cat’s bell tinkled with his wobbly steps and headbutted Matt’s thigh with affection.
It seems like he already has good owners , Karen thought but didn’t say.
Foggy made a noise of dissension. “Can we not let the open, gangrenous wound sit on the couch? He’s going to get medicated eye ointment on the cushions.”
“Foggy,” Matt said as he pulled Smelly Cat onto his lap for belly rubs. “I have literally bled out onto this couch multiple times.”
“That’s different,” Foggy said, “it’s your couch. This thing is mooching off of us without paying rent.”
Smelly Cat – Matt’s new mental name for him – flopped ungracefully onto Matt’s lap to receive scratches on his belly. His purrs were jackhammer loud, but he was warm and soft and he liked Matt. Animals didn’t automatically like Matt like they did with others. He always thought it was because he was a little standoffish with them and carried a large, scary stick. Or maybe it was because he never grew up with pets so he didn’t know the proper way to go about making friends with them. Dogs and bodega cats always walked right up to Foggy for pets, but ignored Matt.
But, this little creature loved Matt. Maybe it was because it was Matt who saved him. Maybe he understood at some level that they were one and the same with their blindness. Maybe it was because Matt was the only person willing to comfort him. Whatever it was, it clung to Matt all day, sitting in his lap or on his desk while he worked, following him around the office, mewling loudly for scratches behind the ears.
He sighed internally. He was getting too attached. Foggy was right – they didn’t have the time or energy or money for a pet. This wasn’t the original deal he made with God. He was going to take care of this cat, but it needed to find a home – a permanent home.
Matt pulled the cat up into his arms. He smelled – hence the name – but it was leagues better than last night. The vibrations from his purrs felt nice against Matt’s chronically sore and fatigued body. God, why? He just lamented as he came to grips with the fact that he did not want to give up the cat.
Matt was not unfamiliar with the pain of having something he loved ripped away from him, though. He would deal with it when the time came like he did all the times before it.
Foggy scooted closer to Matt on the couch, looping an arm around Matt’s shoulders. Matt was still irritated at Foggy for their argument they had earlier, but that irritation was dimmed when Matt was two inches from Foggy’s heartbeat that was Matt’s comfort sound, holding a warm pile of fluff and purrs, being engulfed by the sweet smell of Foggy’s shampoo and skin.
“Goddamn, you’re ugly,” Foggy commented before scratching the cat on the head.
The cat contentiously meowed back.
“Oh, are you arguing with me?” Foggy asked the cat. “I’m a lawyer. I’m a professional arguer. I’ll win.”
Matt chuckled when the cat yowled back at Foggy. “Maybe he was a lawyer too in a past life.”
“Do Catholics believe in reincarnation?” Foggy asked Matt.
“No, but,” Matt shrugged, “I just get the feeling.”
“That’s you being a sap,” Foggy chuckled.
“I’m not a sap!” Matt defended, frowning. He wasn’t a sap. He wasn’t an animal person. Animals didn’t even like him, really. He didn’t get taken with animals. He didn’t feel responsible for animals. He had a whole city of people to take care of first. Animals were self-sufficient and could take care of themselves.
This little, smelly, wobbly blind cat was an exception to all of that.
The cat had joined the conversation now and was meowing loudly like he was trying to interrupt Matt and Foggy’s argument before it started. Matt shushed it with pats on the head and it settled down against Matt’s chest.
“Maybe you’re more like a mediator,” Foggy hummed.
“Maybe,” Matt said back.
“Maybe he is a mutated Central Park pigeon.”
“Foggy,” Matt just groaned back.
The next morning before he had to get up for work, Foggy texted his family’s Facebook group chat asking if anyone wanted a cat. He didn’t attach a picture of the cat in case that would dissuade them from saying yes.
His mom messaged back first, reminding Foggy of his father’s severe cat allergy. Candace then said they already had 2 cats and couldn’t take on another. Theo stated their kids were too little for a cat at this time.
“Dammit,” Foggy cursed to himself. Of course his family couldn’t take it. That would be too easy.
Theo: You can put a flier up at the hardware store?
That was a good idea. He could do that. He could put a flier up at Nelson’s Meats and maybe ask around the employees there too if anyone wanted a cat. If Foggy got truly desperate, he could post in some neighborhood Facebook groups or maybe on Craigslist.
The cat itself purred loudly, sounding a lawn mower starting. Foggy glanced over to the cat – who was tucked into a little orange loaf next on Matt’s pillow next to his sleeping face. Foggy tried to keep the cat off the bed, but it was a futile effort. The cat ended up on the bed anyway, tucked against Matt’s chest or sleeping on his belly. For someone so sensitive to smells, Matt seemed perfectly fine with a smelly dumpster cat sleeping basically on top of him all night long.
Matt’s arm looped around the cat and he snuggled closer to it.
Foggy sighed. Matt was obviously very much in love with this creature and Foggy really didn’t want to have to take it away from him. That’s why he was hoping one of his family members could take it so Matt could still be close to it, but someone else would pay all of its bills and buy its food. It would be like being a cool uncle. To a cat.
Matt never seemed to be into animals before, so Foggy didn’t understand why this one was different for him. Maybe it was because they were both blind or something. Matt didn’t have a great childhood, so maybe he was getting some childlike novelty out of owning a pet.
But, they really, really couldn’t take care of a pet right now. They were barely scraping by financially on the mostly-pro bono cases they take on already. Matt had zero sense of self-preservation and had to be reminded all the time to eat and drink water himself. Foggy didn’t want cat hair on his suits or cat scratches on the couch and then if they went on vacation, who would watch it?
Well, he would have to convince Matt to actually leave New York to even take a vacation first, but that was beside the point.
Foggy watched his boyfriend cuddle this cat, looking so devastatingly cute with his puffy, sleeping face that was haloed by his mess of dark hair. He hated that they would have to separate them.
But, he had to. Realistically, they couldn’t keep it.
“It’s alright, Kitty.”
“Hold him tight.”
“I got him, just do it.”
They had to apply vet-prescribed eye medication every couple of hours to the cat’s face to help the infection and it must’ve caused Smelly Cat a lot of pain, because it was the only time he got hostile and aggressive with them. At the office, this turned into an all-hands-on-deck situation where Matt or Foggy or both of them had to wrestle the cat into a towel to prevent being clawed and Karen applied the medication. The cat would always scream its scratchy mewl and fight to get away.
This time it got a paw free and managed to sink its claws into the back of Matt’s hand, cutting little stripes through his skin.
“Are we almost done?” Matt said between his teeth as the cat tore his hand to shreds.
“Almost,” Karen said as she applied the salve. “Okay, done.”
Matt and Foggy both let go at the same time. The cat sprung vertically in the air about four feet before spasming and landing on its back. It righted itself and meowed loudly in protest like it was telling off the three of them.
Matt sunk to the floor and sat on his butt, beckoning the cat into his lap. “I know,” he said to him. “I’m sorry.”
The cat clambered into Matt’s lap, headbutting him in the sternum. Matt took his time petting the cat, letting him know he was sorry. Matt hated when medical professionals would poke and prod at him without warning while he was in the hospital recovering from his accident. And they could at least speak the same language.
“So, uh,” Karen was out of breath like she had just finished doing a sprint, “how long do you have to do that for?”
“For, like, three more weeks,” Matt said.
“More like, until we get him new owners,” Foggy said as he moved to the kitchenette to wash his hands. “Then they can deal with the hellion demon spawn.”
Matt huffed a little sigh, but didn’t say anything. He was afraid that if they just gave this cat to new owners, they wouldn’t treat him as well as Matt and Foggy would. Would they apply the ointment as prescribed? Or put his ear drops in? Or give him his antibiotics? Would they help him up to higher surfaces because he couldn’t see to jump there himself? Would they accommodate for him?
Matt didn’t have an answer to any of those questions and he didn’t want to turn over this cat to someone for it to end up in the same place Matt found him. He had already been a victim to a larger animal once. He wasn’t sure if this cat could last a second encounter.
“Do you have any leads?” Karen asked.
“I put some fliers up at my folks’ businesses and posted in a local Facebook group,” Foggy said as he wiped his hands. “A free cat should get snatched up pretty quick.”
Matt made a noise and tipped his head up from where he sat on the floor. “We’ll make sure they’re good people, right?”
“Matt,” Foggy sighed. “Your hand is all covered in blood.” He opened a cabinet and pulled out the small first aid kit.
Foggy sat down on the floor next to Matt to tend to his wounds.
“You look like you stuck your hand in a paper shredder.”
“They’re just cat scratches.” Matt yanked his hand back when the sharp smell of antiseptic filled the air. “I’m fine.”
“You’re getting blood on your sleeve,” Foggy argued and Matt begrudgingly gave him his hand back. Foggy wiped the blood off of his hand with an alcohol wipe and applied a bandaid that Matt knew he was going to rip off as soon as he got to his desk.
“We’ll make sure they’re good people, right?” Matt asked after a couple of moments of silence.
“Of course, darling,” Foggy said in a half-listening tone.
“Foggy,” Matt groaned. “I don’t want the cat to go to a bad home.”
“He won’t,” Foggy insisted, “we’ll make sure the trash goblin will be happy wherever he ends up.”
“You know,” Karen started in a very, very diplomatic tone. “The cat seems very happy with you both right now.”
Matt was pleased that Karen was on his side, but he didn’t show that while he petted the cat. Matt just kept rubbing circles under its ear as it curled into a little cinnamon roll on his lap. He purred, happy and loud and its slow breathing told Matt it was on the verge of falling asleep. This was leagues different than five minutes ago when the cat was trying to claw his way out from getting ointment applied to his face.
“We can’t take care of a cat right now,” Foggy insisted and stood up.
“You’ve been taking care of it already,” Karen pointed out.
“Sure,” Foggy said, keeping his voice level and professional, “but pets are a long-term commitment.”
“Alright,” Karen conceded, not wanting to argue with a lawyer or not wanting to cause contention in the office – Matt wasn’t sure. “I’m just saying. You both seem to care a lot about it.”
Matt heard Foggy’s mouth mash into a thin line and he got to his feet, pulling the cat up with him in his arms. It gave a little mrrp from being disturbed and twisted itself around so its paws were on Matt’s chest.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Foggy said, “but, realistically , we can’t keep a cat.”
“Fine,” Karen didn’t sound convinced. “Fine.”
Foggy didn’t want to give Matt (And now Karen! What a traitor!) any more ammo than he already had in the case to keep the smelly demon creature. He took to avoiding the cat – stepping around him and only touching him when he had to help give him one of the many medications that the vet gave them to administer.
It was hard, however. The cat was affectionate and sweet and Foggy just genuinely liked animals. The illogical, impulsive part of his brain that ran like a monkey smashing cymbals together was telling him that there was probably a reason why this cat was now in their life. And getting a pet together with your boyfriend seemed like a very natural progression of a happy, yuppie couple. Matt and him were at that stage now, right?
The sensible part of his brain, however, was only looking at the dollar signs as he quickly cataloged this particular cat’s needs and compared it to his checkbook register. They already had hundreds of dollars invested into something that was living amongst dumpsters just a couple of days ago. They would probably need to get it fixed if they planned on keeping it and get a cat tree for their living room so the cat wouldn’t scale their curtains or whatever. Plus there was the monthly cost of food and litter and toys. And what if it had a medical emergency and needed a vet? All of it was all adding up into scary numbers.
Maybe in a couple of months they could adopt a kitten together or something? Something a lot less maintenance than…that.
Foggy thought a Facebook post in a neighborhood buy/sell group advertising a free cat would garner more traffic than it did. He checked it regularly, but it only got four likes in eight hours. He texted his brother too, asking if anyone had inquired about the fliers he had Theo put up for him. Nothing.
It wasn’t until they were at home after work that Foggy finally got a message from somebody interested in the cat.
“Fogs,” Matt said as he dug around in the fridge. “Can you put beer on the grocery list?”
Foggy was on the floor of the living room, trying to get a picture of the cat that didn’t make it look like a decrepit opossum. The cat itself was playing with one of Foggy’s hair ties on the floor – he batted it around and then stopped and listened to where it settled with small cocks to its head. It reminded Foggy of Matt when he was listening really hard.
“Fogs? Foggy? Darling?” Matt called.
“Yeah,” Foggy said, “I’ll add it to the grocery list.”
“What are you doing?” Matt asked.
“Someone messaged me on Facebook about Trash Goblin,” Foggy said. “I’m sending them a picture.”
The refrigerator closed behind him. “Are they local?”
“I think they’re in Chelsea,” Foggy said.
“Oh,” Matt said, weakly hiding the disappointment in his voice and Foggy couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Chelsea was only ten blocks over from them. It wasn’t like they were shipping him off to be alligator food in the Everglades.
Matt cracked a bottle of beer open and made a thoughtful noise. “They seem alright?” He asked.
“Better than a dumpster,” Foggy said as he waited for the interested party to respond to his messages. He did list all of its current issues including the infected face wounds, the lack of ear and eyes, and the fact that it couldn’t put its head down to get to its food dish without falling over onto its side. They found a solution to this by putting the food dish on top of a shoe box.
“ Foggy ,” Matt groaned.
“Yes,” Foggy assured. “They seem very normal pet owners based on their Facebook profile.”
“Alright,” Matt sighed. “By the way, I think I’m going to go to Clinton Church before work tomorrow.”
That had Foggy spinning on his butt to face his boyfriend. Matt stood behind his counter and sipped his beer, looking pensive with a furrow in his eyebrow.
“Really?” Foggy asked. Of course, his deeply religious and severely Catholic boyfriend went to church all the time – before they got together. Matt hadn’t been going as much in the last couple of months. Foggy assumed he was avoiding it since he was in a relationship with a man now. The church didn’t really look too fondly on “ the gays” .
“Yeah,” Matt said, “I can put a flier up for the cat on their bulletin board.”
“Oh,” Foggy said, “yeah, that would probably be smart.”
Matt didn’t move from his spot in the kitchen. It was like he was rooted there – unmoving with that contemplative expression on his face.
“Are you going to talk to your priest?” Foggy guessed based on Matt’s expression.
“Maybe,” Matt said and finally moved. He walked to his little Daredevil closet near the fire exit stairs. “Depends on if he’s free or not.” He said after he had opened the doors.
“Alright, sounds good.” Foggy nodded. He wanted to be supportive, but he wasn’t religious. He was half-Jewish on his mom’s side but they were non-practicing. To an outsider, Catholicism seemed like a lot of ceremony and rules – and homophobia. When he came out to his parents as bi they said “we had a feeling,” and that was that.
But, Matt had a relationship of sorts with his priest. At least, Foggy knew that Matt would go to church when he needed to vent. Matt said he was “good” Catholic, so Foggy assumed that his priest was one too.
Foggy’s phone dinged and he looked down at a response from the person who messaged him about the cat. They politely declined, not realizing how many needs this one had. Foggy sighed. They’ll definitely need to put up fliers in more places now. He guessed a churching-going old lady with nothing else to do would be a good owner to this imp of a cat.
Foggy watched Matt don his gear for the evening.
“Are you going to be okay alone with the cat tonight?” Matt asked.
“Yes,” Foggy rolled his eyes again.
“Don’t be mean to him,” Matt said.
“I’m not mean ,” Foggy insisted. “I just don’t see the point of getting close with a pet we’re going to be rehoming.” Matt slid on his cowl and Foggy’s stomach clenched with familiar anxiety. “Be safe out there.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Matt just grumbled back and headed up the stairs, leaving through the fire escape doors.
Foggy sighed and looked back at the cat that was making his way across the floor in a diagonal. He bumped into Foggy’s leg and let out a surprised meow at the obstacle. Foggy gave in and scratched him on the head behind the ears. “I’m not mean,” he grumbled to himself. “I wish I could keep you. I do. I’m just…worried.”
He glanced at the fire escape doors that Matt had just disappeared out of. Always worried.
The next morning, Matt sat in Clinton Church in his usual pew. He inhaled the familiar smell of wood polisher and candle wax and listened to the nuns chit-chat about an upcoming fundraiser through the walls. He thumbed a cat scratch on the back of his hand as he leaned on the pew in front of him, picking at scab until it throbbed again in the air conditioning. The flier Foggy gave him sat in his jacket pocket, but he wasn’t really motivated to actually put it up.
“May I join you?” Father Lantom asked.
“Sure,” Matt nodded and Father Lantom took a seat next to Matt. He smelled like Irish Spring soap and shoe deodorizer and always cleared his throat before he spoke.
“I haven’t seen you for confession,” Father Lantom said. “I thought I lost you to the Chreasters.”
“Chreaster?”
“The folks who only show up on Christmas and Easter.”
Matt snorted. “You know I’m better than that.”
“Everyone’s the same in the eyes of the Lord,” Father Lantom said. “I just missed your company, is all.”
Matt felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn’t been coming to church as much since getting with Foggy. There had been plenty of Sunday mornings where Matt opted to cuddle with his boyfriend in his soft bed instead of getting up and sitting through mass. Well, Matt wasn’t the best at coming to mass consistently, anyway. But, still. It had been a long time since he had visited Father Lantom.
“I’m in a relationship,” Matt volunteered lowly. “We’ve been together a couple of months now.”
Father Lantom’s head cocked to the side and he made a surprised noise. “Do I know her?”
“No,” Matt said carefully, his turn to clear his voice, “ he’s not Catholic.”
“Oh,” Father Lantom said. “ He .”
“Yep,” Matt said, digging his fingernail into the cat scratch. “He.”
“Does he make you happy?” Father Lantom asked after a moment of contemplative silence.
“Yes,” Matt almost whispered, “he does.”
“Does he treat you right?”
“Yes.”
Father Lantom made a noise as he shifted around in the pew, relaxing with a sigh. “Well, that’s great then. I’m happy for you, Matthew.”
Matt felt himself release the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Not that Father Lantom could’ve prevented him from loving Foggy. But, that was the first time he truly had to come out to someone he considered a parental figure in his life. Someone who he wasn’t 100% sure he knew would react alright to Matt’s sexuality.
“You should bring him by so I can meet him.”
Matt felt the heat rise to his face. “Well, you actually already have. Remember that one Christmas I brought my college roommate by?”
“Oh, yes,” Father Lantom hummed. “What was his name? It was unique, right?”
“Foggy,” Matt said. “Foggy Nelson.”
“Foggy!” Father Lantom said with big nods. “Yes, yes. His folks own the deli right? Nelson’s Meats? Yes, I remember him. He was so nice. Funny, too! He told the funniest joke that had me in tears at the party. You’re going steady with him ?” Father Lantom asked. “He seems like a great guy.”
“He is,” Matt nodded. “He’s great.”
“Jack would’ve loved him.” Father Lantom said. “They would’ve kept each other in stitches with their jokes.”
Matt felt like someone suckerpunched him in the ribs. Because, Father Lantom was right – Matt’s father would’ve loved Foggy. Foggy would’ve won Jack over with his wit and charm and sense of humor. Foggy would’ve cracked a joke that would’ve had Jack on the floor laughing until he complained his sides hurt. They would’ve drank beers and embarrassed Matt with childhood or college stories.
Matt would’ve been able to introduce Foggy to his father as his roommate, and then his law partner, and then his boyfriend. He would’ve been able to bring him home for holidays, share Easter and Christmas meals together. He would’ve been able to introduce their parents and Foggy’s mom would’ve sent Jack home with a tupperware container filled to the brim with leftovers like she always did with Matt.
But, he couldn’t. Because he was dead. And it was Matt’s fault he was dead.
There was a wave Matt could feel on the edges of his mind. A hurricane of grief and despair and anger and sadness that should’ve been reserved for the deepest, most horrible parts of the night. He fought it. He always fought it back, tried to compartmentalize it, bury it, or make himself numb to it by going out and beating the shit out of bad men.
But, it was always there, threatening to rip open old wounds that would never truly heal.
Father Lantom was still talking – this time about a happy Christmas memory. The words blew through Matt, unable to stick to him. The walls felt like they were closing in on him and his senses were suddenly dialing up in sensitivity like he was preparing for a fight. He could suddenly hear a hundred voices in perfect clarity around him and it was overstimulating in the worst of ways.
“Um,” Matt suddenly stood. “I gotta…get to meeting with a client.” He let his cane unfold and snap into place.
“Oh, okay,” Father Lantom said, surprised at Matt’s sudden interruption. “Will I see you again soon? Mass or otherwise?”
“Yeah,” Matt nodded, squeezing past Father Lantom. “I’ll try to come by for confession more often.”
“And mass, right?”
Matt didn’t answer him. He was already moving towards the door, tears stinging his eyes and pooling on his cheeks behind his glasses. Grief made his joints heavy and his back ache. The noise of the city was thunderous in his ears.
He shakily pulled out his phone and started tapping to get to his contacts. He wanted Foggy. He wanted Foggy to walk him home and tell him it was going to be okay. He wanted Foggy to hold him with his loud heartbeat against Matt’s. He wanted Foggy to tell him it wasn’t his fault. He was just a kid rooting for his dad, that it wasn’t his fault his dad was murdered.
But, then he stopped and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Foggy didn’t deserve to have Matt dump his problems on him. He didn’t deserve Matt’s emotional breakdowns where everything fell apart and he had to put himself back together piece by piece by piece like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz .
Matt’s hands (shaking still, of course; why was he so weak?) went to his forehead. He needed to get off the street. The air was turning thick and viscous like trying to inhale glue. He needed to get out of here.
He needed to get home.
Matt was taking his sweet time at church.
Which was…awesome, because that meant Trash Goblin was trying to make friends with Foggy. He made wobbly figure eights around Foggy’s ankles under his desk and screamed loudly at him with his scratchy smoker voice. But, Foggy wasn’t going to give in to this eldritch demon’s wicked ways. He wasn’t going to cave in and pet him. That was his whole plan. Then Foggy would find him cute and want to keep him and they would be stuck with a sewer monster for a cat.
“Foggy,” Karen said from her desk, exasperated after the hundredth ear-splitting yowl. “ Please , pet your cat.”
“It’s not my cat!” Foggy protested, but reached under the desk and pulled the thing into his lap anyway. “There,” Foggy said to it, “are you happy? You’re in my lap now.”
The cat meowed again – pitiful and loud and unsatisfied.
“ What ?” Foggy asked back. “What do you want?”
The cat just meowed a grumpy meow back.
“Where’s Matt?” Karen asked. “He probably wants Matt.”
Where was Matt? Foggy glanced at the time on his laptop and then checked his phone. Nothing from Matt. It was later than Foggy assumed Matt would be done dropping in on his home away from home. Sometimes, he got talking to his priest and lost track of time, though.
Foggy picked up his phone and shot a quick text to Matt. He then decided to appeal to Matt’s affection to this naked mole rat of a cat in his lap and sent another text.
Your cat has been howling for you.
Foggy then left his phone alone for another half hour. At least the cat’s yowling stopped now that he was getting attention. He curled into Foggy's lap after trying to knead Foggy’s belly with his tiny demon claws like pizza dough. He licked at his paw with loud slurps and jerky head movements.
“You’re very loud for such a small thing,” Foggy said to the creature in his lap.
But, he was kind of cute when he was relaxed and happy like this. The wounds on his head were already starting to show signs of healing from Matt’s and his diligent medication administration. Ugh. He couldn’t be catching feelings for this thing now .
Foggy distracted himself by checking his phone. Nothing from Matt yet. A pang of worry went through him and he hit Matt’s contact picture to call his phone.
It rang twice and then went to voicemail, which told Foggy that Matt was declining his calls. Motherfucker . Foggy felt a flash of irritation replace the worry. He opened his texting app, angrily tapping out multiple lines of answer your goddamn phone you asshole we’ve been through this over and over why are you doing this to me again?
And then he deleted all of that text and retyped something more diplomatic. He might’ve just been caught up talking with his priest and didn’t want to be rude by taking a phone call.
Can you call me when you are free? I’m getting worried, baby. Foggy hoped the pet name would remind Matt that he wasn’t avoiding just anyone.
And it worked. Matt’s contact photo lit up Foggy’s phone screen with an immediate call back. Foggy sighed with relief.
“Hey, Matty,” Foggy answered. “I just wanted to see when–,”
“Foggy,” Matt’s voice was thick with an emotion that did not give Foggy the warm and fuzzies. Actually, it sounded like he had been crying. Something hard sunk in Foggy. Did something happen at church? “I don’t think…I don’t think I’m coming in today.”
“Where are you?”
Silence.
“Matt,” Foggy insisted. “Where are you?”
“Home,” Matt whispered.
“I’m on my way, alright? Don’t move.”
There was just some labored breathing into the receiver and then some silence. “You don’t–,” Matt finally started.
“Don’t,” Foggy cut him off. “I want to, okay? As long as you’re alright with that. Are you alright with that?” Foggy asked.
“Yeah,” Matt said.
“Do you want me to stay on the phone on my way there?”
“No,” Matt said quickly.
“Okay,” Foggy said. “I’ll be home soon, darling.” He said gently, quietly. “Just hold tight.”
Foggy hung up and looked at the cat in his lap. “Come on, Demon Creature.” He said and scooped the cat up into his arms. “Let’s go find Matt.”
Matt wasn’t sure how he made it back to his apartment, but he didn’t honestly care. He had dragged himself across his threshold under duress more times than he could count. He had crashed through his front door, trying to outrun his own emotions as this knot of guilt and grief worked its way up from Matt’s chest to sit at the back of his throat. He couldn’t breathe around it. He couldn’t speak around it. It made his heart beat loud against his ribcage and his face red with humiliation. He was humiliating. He was stupid, weak, pathetic. All those words bounced in his head in the same tone and timber as Stick’s voice.
He touched his entryway wall and sunk to the floor against it. It’s my fault. I killed him. His own voice was crawling up the back of his spine, sinking into him like a poison. I just wanted him to come home.
And there it was – the panic attack he tried to keep from happening. The storm was here, sitting right on top of Matt’s shoulders like dead weight. Everything he numbed himself to and avoided and pushed to the back of his mind was geysering out of him with no way of escape. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to crawl back into bed and forget this day happened. Actually, he really just wanted to shoot himself in the head.
He worked on breathing instead. He pulled off his glasses and then his coat and loosened his tie because everything felt so tight and rough and too much . Everything was always too much . He clamped his hands over his ears to block out the noises of the city. And he breathed. Or at least tried to.
It was hard between the sobs that bubbled up past the knot in his throat, between the tears boiling hot on his face. I just wanted him to come home. He cried harder and abandoned his breathing exercises to focus on not losing himself in the storm.
I just wanted him to come home.
Foggy crashed through the front door of his and Matt’s apartment, releasing the cat from his arms as he did so. He saw Matt sitting on the wall of the entryway in a fetal position. His fingers were knotted in his hair and his glasses and cane were on the ground next to him and he was crying hard .
“Darling,” Foggy breathed and crouched down in front of him.
And Foggy must’ve spooked Matt, because he swung a fist out. It was fast and brutal, but was a blind swing at nothing. And it wasn’t the first time Matt tried to unknowingly get a hit on Foggy while he was feeling threatened. Although, the last time it happened, Matt was bleeding out on the floor and Foggy was trying to get him to the hospital. He didn’t look visibly wounded this time. Foggy didn’t know if he could consider that an improvement yet.
“Hey!” Foggy said, grabbing his arm and putting it down. “It’s just me.”
“Foggy?”
“Yes, baby, it’s just me.” Foggy said.
Matt put his hands back on his face and sobbed hard, curling in on himself like he was trying to shield himself from an invisible force.
“Hey, hey,” Foggy said, grabbing his wrist and tried to pull him in. Matt was unmoving, however, and Foggy didn’t have the strength to move 160 pounds of pure muscle mass. So, he changed strategies and sat next to him on the wall instead. He rubbed his leg and let Matt get it out.
“Father Lantom,” Matt sniffed after a couple of moments of oscillating between huffing big breaths and crying, “he brought up my father and I wasn’t…I wasn’t expecting it. Usually I expect it and I can prepare myself, but he just…brought him up and, and–,”
“Oh, darling,” Foggy breathed, “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
Foggy remembered this one time in college when Matt had a similar emotional breakdown right after he broke up with his girlfriend, Elektra. Foggy remembered sitting with Matt while he cried and hiccuped and said things that Foggy didn’t really understand. Foggy knew his dad died, but it was the day that he learned that his dad just didn’t die, he was killed . Murdered. And Foggy wondered afterwards how Matt seemed so cool and chill all the time with that hanging over him. But, Foggy knew the truth now. He didn’t. He just waffle-stomped his grief and whatever down the Deal With This Never drain until he couldn’t anymore until something triggered him to burst like a shaken soda can.
Matt snorted, his face red and his big, brown eyes glazed with tears. He dropped his hands heavily into his lap. “Father Lantom said my dad would’ve loved you.” His fingers fidgeted. “H-he said that you would’ve made each other laugh.”
“Matt–,”
“And it’s true,” Matt continued. “You guys would’ve gotten along great but, you would never know that because,” Matt’s face contorted again, “because I killed him. I killed him, Foggy.” He cried into his hands again.
Foggy now really, really had to hug his boyfriend. He kind of forced himself into Matt’s bubble, getting an arm around him. Matt’s rigid form finally relaxed, and he cried harder into Foggy’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Matt.” Foggy breathed against his hair. “You were just a kid.”
“It is my fault!” Matt burst. “It’s all my fault.”
“Shhh,” Foggy hushed. “You were just a kid, darling. Just a little boy. Just a baby.”
Matt was shaking now and Foggy didn’t know what else to say to make it better. And maybe there wasn’t really anything else to say. No words were going to bring Matt’s father back. It was just something Matt had to work through when he finally could.
So, he just closed his eyes and held him and hushed him and tried to be there for him, because Lord knows the last hundred times Matt had to go through this, he did it alone. But, he didn’t have to be alone now. Foggy was there for him. He was always going to be there for him.
Mrrph .
Foggy opened his eyes to the cat trying to insert itself between Foggy and Matt. Foggy pulled away to give it room and it hopped ungracefully into Matt’s lap. Matt looked a little bewildered at the sudden intruder. But, instead of shooing him away, Matt picked the cat up and buried his nose in its fur. It immediately started to purr his horribly loud chainsaw noise and gave a little lick to Matt’s forehead like he knew he needed the extra support right now.
Well, fuck. Foggy couldn’t dare suggest giving up the cat now . He wasn’t a monster . He threw up the figurative white flag and petted the cat underneath its chin. He also kissed Matt on the forehead. “Do you want a beer or something?” Foggy asked and wiped the tears from Matt’s face.
Matt nodded, his breaths starting to even out as he clutched the creature to him. “Yes,”
Foggy maneuvered to his feet, grabbing Matt’s discarded things to put in their proper place along the way. Matt just stayed where he was, petting the cat and breathing.
“Hey, Foggy?” Matt said with a croaky voice.
Foggy turned around. Matt’s large wet eyes were staring through Foggy’s kneecaps. “Yes, darling?”
“We can keep him, right?”
Foggy made a big, fake gusty sigh. “I guess we can.” He said.
“He still needs a name. We can’t keep calling him Trash Goblin forever.”
Matt was curled against Foggy’s side on the couch, feeling a little more human than he did a couple of hours ago. He had showered, dressed in sweats, and came out to fresh containers of takeout on the coffee table and Friends queued up on the television.
Matt felt like a towel wrung out and left to dry too long on an outside clothesline – stiff and misshapen and useless. It was made better only by Foggy being overwhelmingly helpful in his Foggy way and the small bundle of fur that had velcroed itself to Matt’s side all afternoon.
Matt petted their cat that was curled up against his belly. “Hmm,” he hummed, trying to think, but it was hard when his head felt stuffed with cotton and exhaustion. Everything he felt earlier was still there, but it was far away now, back on the peripherals of Matt’s mind.
Foggy started to shift and Matt got up to allow him to get to his feet. Matt laid back down and pet the cat. The cat perked its head up when Foggy pulled out a can of food for him and almost splat into the coffee table trying to get down from the couch when he removed the lid.
The cat made loud, gravely meows around Foggy’s feet as Foggy overturned the can’s contents into his food dish.
“Okay, your honor ,” Foggy said. “Here is your food. Stop yelling at me.”.
That gave Matt an idea.
“How about Judge?” He suggested.
“Judge what?” Foggy asked and turned to rummage around in the fridge. He came back to the couch with fresh beers and handed one to Matt.
Matt sat up to accept it. “Judge, the cat. Like name him Judge?” He took a sip.
Foggy made a noise. “Since we’re two lawyers?”
Matt snorted. “It’d be funny.”
“I like Judge,” Foggy wound his arm around Matt’s shoulder and kissed a spot above his eyebrow. “I liked Jeremy too.”
“We are not naming our cat Jeremy.”
“Okay, fine,” Foggy faked sighed. “Judge it is.”
Matt pressed his face into his boyfriend’s neck and inhaled his scent. “Thank you, Foggy,” he whispered against his skin.
“I wasn’t actually serious about naming him Jeremy,” Foggy said. “That was a joke.”
“No,” Matt said and pulled away, “for being here…with me, you know, earlier.”
“Oh,” Foggy said, “well, no problem.”
“Father Lantom is right too,” Matt said, trying to keep the sadness from bleeding into his voice, but he was too tired to really put effort into anything. He fiddled with a fold in his sweatpants. “My dad would’ve found you hysterical.”
“Baby,” Foggy said, fear in his voice, “you don’t–,”
“No, he’s right,” Matt insisted, “he would’ve and it hurts to think about the fact that he’ll never get to meet you, but–,” Matt’s throat closed up and words stopped coming to him. He sighed with grief and pain and self-hatred, but it was far away. Close enough to touch but far enough away that it wasn’t suffocating him anymore. He flicked a tear away.
“Shhh,” Foggy said, putting his and Matt’s beers down and pulling Matt back into a hug, against his heartbeat. “I know I would’ve loved him too.” Foggy whispered.
Judge must’ve been done with his food, because he meowed loudly from in front of his food dish.
“And Judge,” Matt said and Foggy smiled against his hair.
“Let me go get him,” Foggy said and got up from the couch again. He returned with the cat, plopping it in Matt’s lap. Matt scratched behind his ears and accepted a kiss from his boyfriend and felt wrung out and worn, but better. Much better.
And maybe this wasn’t the deal he had with God, but that was okay.