D6 ] Kitty Keeni \\ Done!

He's alone in the house that seems too big for him.

It's not that the house isn't warm - it is, and that's what invites him to take a few steps inside. But it seems too large for him, too empty without any recognition, like there's space yet for his memories to fill. It's almost... almost like the streets, like a pat on the head (that he loves, incidentally), like curling up with some cats at night. Like (and he can barely remember this word, or what it's used for) home.

There are a few half-open doors without light, but he peeks in to see beds. (He's told to be quiet, but what's quiet? What are the fleshy manacles curled around his tiny wrists for? And what is this man, this man - uncle - whose breath is strong-sour-bitter all at once trying to do? And why, why is he bleeding, why is there pain? And why won't it stop?) He pulls back in silent fear of that lone memory (and its cause: the beds) and has to return to the cat's side. The cat seems to roll its eyes and it bites him (harder this time), causing him to squeak and scurry a little ways off. The cat doesn't come inside. He thought it would but it sits quietly on the windowsill, luminescent green eyes following him as he slowly explores more and more of the house, going further and further away from his anchor.

There's a room with the door wide open. He hears a girl's voice from the only brightly lit room he's seen in the house and balks. (She's taller, bigger than he is. She always will be. She drags him out of the chair - for what reason he can't even remember, he doesn't know if she needs a reason - and flings him across the room. She laughs. Everyone watches. He lets her hurt him over and over again with her little gang, lets himself drag himself under the bed at night and stare at the door, wishing he's gone away from here.

She has no care for him. She has no care for anyone but herself.

She forces him to starve. Like an idiot, he does. He lets her walk on him at her will, allows the hands around his neck to squeeze the air out of his lungs, allows her to watch and laugh as he struggles, chokes, sees Death's hand reaching for him before he blinks and it's only his imagination.

It's training, she says. Just training.)

The boy continues down the hallway. The light hurts his eyes a little, but it's not unlike the sun. He waits for his vision to adjust before he peeks into the room. (He recognizes it as a kitchen, but he's never been in one before.) The table in the middle of the cramped room is set with plates; boys and girls wander freely around the room, chatting back and forth with incredible ease. There's no obvious dichotomy here in this family (only can other people be considered family if they are not cats?). The boy quite likes the atmosphere (Things are only ever so calm, so peaceful when he's with the cats. They're his home, they look after him and he looks after them in turn. They taught him to survive - though, evidently, not to clean himself well - and he's learned to communicate with them to a point where he thinks they can fully understand each other. It's childish pride but he believes it true.

The atmosphere here is one he can get used to.)

Without a thought he wanders in and sits upon one of the empty chairs. Just as he's about to reach for a plate of what he vaguely recognizes as bread, a larger hand catches his (but gently). One of the tallest boys - a man, the boy thinks in awe - examines his hands thoughtfully, meets his gaze and leads him in silence to a metal thing that spouts water (he thinks it's a shower, but it probably isn't). The room is quieter now, and the boy feels the heavy weight of eyes on him. He lifts his head a little (proudly) and allows the dark-haired man to lather his hands and arms in fluffy bubbles. He wants to touch one, his light eyes following one that floats away lazily. It pops before his hands are released (and he can't help the pout on his lips).

Once his hands are clean (he admires the pale tone of his skin that has long eluded him) and his face is wiped free of mouse blood, he's led back to sit with the others. They don't appear to care he's there; the man who held him settles him in the chair and sits in the empty seat next to him. His lap looks a lot more comfortable than the wooden chair he's on; the boy ducks under the man's arm to try and curl up awkwardly on a lap too small for a boy who only knows how to be a cat. (It's an urge he can't resist, he likes the comfort of someone close by, likes trying out different spots on their bodies to see which part is the most comfortable.)

It doesn't work; the man pushes him back onto his own seat (he tries to cling like he always does to no success) and like it's been his plan all along the boy takes a piece of bread and nibbles the edge. He's starved, he realises not too long after he's practically inhaled the bread. The next piece he takes is taken apart more carefully, enjoyed like it might be the last time he's ever eating bread.

A strip of dried meat dangles in front of him. The boy looks up and curiously paws at the meat. (The man chuckles and says something about cats and keeping something but he's more interested in following the motions of the dangling meat.) He bats it again, then reaches up (carefully) to take it in his teeth and tug it free of the man's grip. It tastes good. He devours it with the last of his bread. Someone else puts dark green things on a white plate in front of him. There is silverware he doesn't remember how to use, so he picks it up with his hands and takes a bite. (They teach him table manners later on, but he prefers eating the mice he catches when he's hungry with his hands. It's not long before the Keeni house is free of mice and he has to find other hunting grounds.) It doesn't taste good but it's food.

The boy eats all they offer with a sort of delicacy, picking apart the food and putting it carefully in his mouth to avoid any spills, any waste. The chatter around the table goes on (he avoids the gazes of the girls, avoids the woman he will later recognize as mother - but he does not trust her as much as he trusts the boys he'll call his brothers). The man next to him laughs suddenly. He looks up (tensing at the sound, ready to run, but the man is easy, the man is calm.) The man says, "I think I'm going to name him Kitty." A finger tickles him under his chin; he squirms, but when someone rubs his head he pushes into the touch, letting loose a purr. "Kitty Calico Keeni. Sounds about right."

Kitty lets out a mrow. Then, "Kit." (His voice is weird when he makes human sounds. He can't say it all. They teach him to speak later, show him letters and words and he learns but still keeps his silence and cat-like ways. There's nothing they can do to change that, even if they tried.)

No one tells Bear that calico is only for female cats. The family accepts it without a care.

(Sometime in the future, maybe about a year, Kit reminisces about this day. He supposes in a way he adopted the Keenis. Much like a pet chooses its owner, he chose them as his family with the help of the cat. But to make things easier for the teachers at school he lets them believe that the Keenis adopted him.

Kit keeps his silence on his past and most things. No one knows, but no one has actually asked, even his adopted family. He finds that he doesn't mind.

The past can remain where it is. He's happy with the now.)

Kit's eyes flick around the table, and he purrs.