tanaquil83

Latest Posts by tanaquil83

@oakys-sideblog Let the Tumblr book club commence! Anyone else want to join us in reading queer books & trying to find literally any endorphins post-election?

Part two:

Thomas finds him up front, not so gently ushering an older woman out the door before locking it with a sigh.

“A first edition? Honestly, the nerve. Angel’d never trust me again!”

Thomas twines round his legs and lets out a single, pointed mew.

“Alright, alright. Yes, lets get you fed.”

He reaches down and scratches Thomas lightly behind the ear.

“Come on then. First you, then Aziraphale. Can’t have him getting out in weather like this. Could do a curry. Maybe a lassi for his throat…”

Thomas ignores this stream of chatter as his bowls are filled. He’s quite used to it by now.

It’s not long after when Thomas detects an absolutely wonderful smell. He follows the trail up the stairs, and sees him carrying a large tray into the bedroom. Thomas pads in softly behind.

“…can’t believe I slept the whole day! You should have woken me, dear, really! I imagine you had better things to do than watch the shop all day.”

“Nah, s’fine, Angel. No problem at all. Now, you must be starving. I ordered from that Sigar place down the road you like so much.”

“Sitar. I must admit, I’m quite famished. Did you happen to get any samosas?”

“‘Course, Angel. And the dal, some paneer, a korma, and some of those little ladoos you liked so much last time.”

Thomas sits next to the side of the bed, staring up at the steaming tray. He knows better than to jump up now, and besides with both of them up there, there’s hardly room. He puts just his front paws up and looks straight at the weakest link.

“Looks like Thomas has taken a fancy to the samosas as well. Here, boy. You want one?”

Thomas’ mouth waters.

“Crowley! Absolutely not! You’ll make him sick. He can have a little rice but that’s it. You spoil that cat.”

“Yes well, he and I have an understanding.”

“We do?” thinks Thomas.

“You do?”

“Yes. Someone has to look after you when I’m not around.”

Ah, that.

Now that he mentions it, Thomas does recall one late night quite some time ago. He’d heard the door upstairs slam and slunk out of his third favorite napping spot (behind the curtain on a large window sill) to find him curled in on himself on the couch. As Thomas had crept closer, he heard the faintest whimper. Thomas had nudged his hand with his nose and when he looked up, had seen the tears slowly trickling down.

“Why do I always fuck it up? He has no idea, just no idea at all and its killing me. All I want is to make him happy. Wish I could do half as good a job of it as you. You’ll have to look after him for both of us, then, s’alright, Thomas? Till I can figure this out.”

Thomas had stayed with him a long time that night before finally going upstairs to sleep at the foot of the bed.

Part one:

This is the story of a cat.

Thomas was a book shop cat. He barely remembered anything before coming to live in the shop, just a faint shiver of cold and wet that played along the edges of his memory and upon which he thought it best not to dwell. His first clear memory is sudden, large hands, the smell of smoke, and a blooming warmth as he was scooped up and carried into the back of the shop.

His days are largely spent slowly following the sun as it moves from window to window. The light swirling with dust motes and, often, cat hair. Currently, Thomas is curled up in his fourth favorite napping spot at the bottom left corner of the bed in the small flat above the shop. It is early still, just after nine, and he has no intention of moving for a few hours yet.

“Honestly, Angel, it’ll be fine. I can watch the shop for a few hours and make sure no one buys anything.”

Thomas cracks open an eye.

“Look, there’s no point in arguing, just go rest a bit. Come on, I’ve got your tea.”

Thomas huffs and jumps down just as the door opens, tail disappearing underneath. Technically he’s not allowed on the bed but normally they both ignore this rule.

The mattress dips and a tiny clink sounds on the night stand. Shuffling feet, blankets being pulled up, and a soft murmured “Thank you, my dear.” as the footsteps recede.

Deep, heavy breathing as the previously marred stillness creeps back into the room.

Thomas is just considering hopping back up on the bed when a sudden, almighty sneeze bursts forth, sending him speeding out of the room, tail fluffed in fright.

On to his fifth favorite spot, he supposes.