Archive of Our Own ^beta

The food-giver has brought in a new human. This is not unusual, because the food-giver likes to bring hurt humans into Miyuki's home, who stay until they are better. Some of them are good humans, who give her head-scratches and understand that she is the one in charge here, and some are bad humans, who yell and push her away when they are the guests in her home. The food-giver does not always understand this, but Miyuki can handle a few bad humans. She is a lady.

This human does not yell.

He does not do much of anything, really. He is bad-warm, and he smells like sour sweat. He is young, too, not much more than a kitten. Miyuki takes one look at the shaking, crying boy, and knows one thing to be certain.

This boy needs a cat.

Miyuki does not often take interest in the humans that are not the food-giver, but this is a special case. 

"I never thought I'd see the day," One of the hurt humans says, sitting up in his bed. "Is that demon cat actually purring?"

Miyuki flicks her tail at him, kneading her claws in the human's chest. She is demonstrating an ancient healing technique, thank you very much. The two painted-face humans look at each other, waving their hands. Miyuki does not like the painted-face humans. They do not understand the need for a cat to have good food, which they keep unfairly in their home-with-walls.

"Miyuki," The food-giver says. "It's good to see you doing your part."

Well. At least one human understands her. She turns back to the too-warm human, and resumes her ancient healing technique. He mumbles something, and all three humans look at each other. The not-painted human mutters something about the poor kid, but the food-giver is unconcerned, so Miyuki remains indifferent. 

Miyuki cannot watch the boy all the time, so she has to trust that the food-giver has it under control. The other humans are there too, but she knows that the humans can turn violent over incomprehensible things, so she is loathe to trust them with each other.

When she returns from her feline business, the not-painted human is walking, slowly but surely, around the room. Miyuki hopes this means he will leave soon. He does not yell at her, but he clearly doesn't appreciate her hard work. Ungrateful humans.

She hops once more onto the boy's chest, and leans over his face to check his breathing. To her surprise, he opens his remaining eye, staring at her with a bleary glare. She returns his gaze, but he barely has strength to mutter a few words before his head falls back again. She licks his face, but his eye remains closed.

This may be a difficult case. Still, Miyuki has decided that this human is hers, and she will not give up now.

The painted-face humans leave in the morning, and she refrains from hissing at them as they leave. The food-giver has asked many times that she not antagonize the hurt humans (something about hospitality?) so Miyuki contents herself with a contemptuous tail flick. The smaller human flicks her fingers back, and the larger human shakes his head. Then they are gone, and Miyuki can get back to her work. The food-giver has replaced the bandages on the boy's face, and forced some foul-smelling concoction down his throat. Now, at least, he smells more like bitter herbs than sickness. Miyuki does not like the bitter herbs smell, but she knows it means healing. And healing is what the boy needs. With that in mind, Miyuki settles onto his chest, and purrs. 

The boy is gone. Miyuki left for barely a moment and he is gone , how could the food-giver let this happen . Miyuki will not howl, because she is a cat with some pride, and because the food-giver is exceptionally useless today, so instead of getting help she sniffs the air, and follows the smell of sickness and bitter herbs.

To her utter embarrassment, it is the hurt human who finds her boy first, hiding under a table. She winds around his legs to show her displeasure, and leads him back to his bed. She leaps back onto him to force him to rest, and the hurt human chuckles, giving her a quick pat on her head.

Hmm. Perhaps this human is not so bad after all.

Eventually, the no-longer-hurt human is retrieved by his fellows, who give the food-giver some bags that aren’t for you, Miyuki, and her home is finally, blessedly, quiet. The boy is still bad-warm and sour-smelling, but when the food-giver changes his bandages, his face has begun to heal, and he has been able to drink some good-warm nice-smelling broth. 

In time, the bandages come off for the last time, and the boy becomes stronger and more lucid. He is still warm, but warm like the humans with fire hands, and not like the humans who sweat and groan and toss in their beds. The boy is no-longer-hurt, but still he stays. He takes to helping the food-giver, lifting heavy things and crushing up plants and going up and down the many steps to her home. He attempts to make her dinner, and he keeps trying until he finally makes something Miyuki will actually eat. More humans come and go, and the boy learns how to take care of them, the way the food-giver does. They accept his place in Miyuki’s home, and she is glad she will not have to chase another human out of her home. 

The boy is not good at being a human. She knows this because the hurt humans will look at him strangely, at the way he doesn’t talk often, and pops up from the shadows, and won’t let himself be distracted from any given task.

The boy is not a good human, but he is a good cat.

It takes time, but he settles into his place on the mountain. He gets better at making her food, and helping the hurt humans. He takes to each task with a furious intensity, and snaps at the fighting humans who disturb her napping.

Miyuki has never been more proud.

Sometimes the boy acts like he is still hurt, even when his face is long healed. The burn scarred, so maybe the boy has scars in other ways, too. Miyuki does not know. She does know that she won’t let her boy mope around when there’s work to be done. The boy scowls at her, but he still scratches under her chin in the way he knows she likes. 

The boy cannot stay forever. Miyuki knows this, because the only true constant on the mountain is the food-giver, but he is still her boy . He is no longer a kitten, though, and he has to go out into the world. The new human, who talks too-loud too-fast, is taking him away. She gives him a final sniff and turns away, so he knows he can leave. The too-loud too-fast boy runs off with him, and she curls up for an afternoon nap. All cats must leave the nest, she knows, but he will always be her boy.