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As a kid, Mickey always loved that film Oliver and Company. He thought it was underrated, sure, not quite as good as the Lion King – but what the fuck was – but still better than any of that Princess shit Mandy liked to watch.
It’s why he has two issues with walking past the box on the sidewalk.
One, the bit in the movie when that one kitten got left behind always traumatised him. He could sympathise for the kitten, but didn’t get why people were big enough dicks to just leave it out there alone.
Two, the ginger little fluff ball is basically his idiot boyfriend in cat form.
It’s already starting to drizzle and the kitten’s tiny where it’s trying to use the folded in flap of the cardboard box as protection from it. Mickey’s heart feels like it’s literally fucking bleeding at the sight, so like the idiot he has become, he scoops the kitten up into the palm of his hand.
It nuzzles against him when he tucks it inside his jacket and stays there where it’s warm when he swings into a store to grab shit like food and a litter tray.
He doesn’t need to ask Ian’s permission, again for two reasons.
One, this is a fucking democracy. Gallagher isn’t as in charge as he likes to think he is.
Two, he knows Ian. There’s no way the sap would look at the kitten’s face as say no.
So he ducks his head and turns up the edge of his collar, walking him as fast as he can manage it. He can feel the kitten purring against his chest now that its stopped shivering.
When he gets home, Ian is out with one of his clients away from the gym (still at the gym, but whatever) and the kitten seems loathe to move from its place inside Mickey’s jacket. He catches himself smiling softly as he pries its claws loose from his shirt and sets it up on the kitchen counter.
He knows that particular fact is something Ian would go a bit bat shit about, but what Ian doesn’t know won’t cause him any unnecessary grief so Mickey doesn’t mind. The kitten sits down on its ass and blinks at him through its large green eyes. It watches as Mickey finds an older bowl with a chip in the side and shakes some of the little heart-shaped bits into it.
He sets it on the floor and deposits the kitten in front of it.
It sniffs around at the bowl for a second before practically diving in. It makes Mickey wonder when the last time the thing ate was. He decides it probably doesn’t bear thinking about.
By the time Ian gets home, Mickey’s filled the bowl twice more and is watching Oliver and Company – just because – with the kitten curled up on his lap.
Ian looks surprised by the sight of them, but his expression softens almost immediately. He leans over the back of the couch and kisses Mickey gently. The kitten doesn’t stir as Ian runs a hand over its tiny head. It just twitches one of its ears slightly and sleeps on.
“You want me to make an appointment at the vets?” Ian asks.
He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it up, taking off Mickey’s shoes and setting them down too before he settles underneath Mickey’s legs to watch the movie.
“Yeah,” Mickey says, eyes back on the screen.
The kitten is purring in his lap.
“Welcome to the family, Oliver,” Ian says softly, rubbing one of those soft ears between his finger and thumb.
*****
It turns out that Oliver is in fact female, but by the time they discover that, the ship has sailed and the name has stuck.
“About time we had a lady in the house,” Ian says, smiling wide. “You’re going to have to stop being such a pig.”
“Then you’re going to have to stop walking around naked,” he retorts and the vet coughs awkwardly.
Mickey blushes and scratches the back of his neck. “So is she good to go?” he asks, smoothing a hand down the kitten’s spine.
The vet nods. “I’ve given her the necessary vaccinations and given her something to kill any fleas. So yeah, you can take her home, feel free to call if you have any questions.”
Ian nods and thanks him whilst Mickey scoops Oliver back up and tucks her into place inside his jacket.
Over the next few days Ian goes a little mad.
He buys out what has to be the entirety of the cat section at the pet store. Oliver ends up with a new bed for both the kitchen and their room, a climbing frame type structure with soft little pouches on different levels, an engraved collar, a set of proper bowls and enough cat toys that Mickey can’t go a step without tripping over one of them.
Mickey’s contribution is a box to put all the toys in when Oliver’s not playing with them.
Still, it’s cute to see Ian spoiling her. It makes him think of how Ian is with Ellie, how he’d be if they had their own kid. Not that he was thinking about them having their own kid, but it was just cute to see Ian basically fathering the cat.
Ian kept insisting he was going to be the fun parent, cradling the cat while he walked around the apartment even though she had four working legs and Mickey caught him playing with her for a few minutes after he got up to piss in the middle of the night.
Mickey didn’t mind though, because it wasn’t like Oliver really seemed to have any particular preference between them. She was pretty fair in everything actually and pretty well behaved. She didn’t scratch their shit or do a shit in any of their shit. Mickey could deal with her moulting all over the furniture because if he was being honest, she didn’t do it any more than Ian did.
Plus, she was cute as hell and it was kind of nice not to come home to an empty apartment during the day whilst Ian was at work.
Whilst he was in the shower, Mickey came back to find Ian had changed his screensaver to a picture of him holding Oliver and pouting. When it rang and people saw it, they actually fucking cooed.
Mickey didn’t find that he minded.
“I don’t think we’ve done bad with our first kid,” Ian says to him when they’re in bed, Mickey nestled against his chest and Oliver no doubt nestled into the depths of their clothes hamper.
“First?” he asks, choking a little on his spit.
Ian laughs. “Yeah, first.”
And see the thing is, Mickey knows Ian isn’t just talking about more cats. He finds the idea doesn’t scare him as much as he thought it would have done. He finds he wants everything with Ian that he can have.
“I still want a dog,” Ian mumbles into his hair just as Mickey’s drifting off.
He snorts into Ian’s chest, breath tickling his chest hair. “Talk to me when we’re through Ollie’s teenage years,” he says.
It might as well have been a yes.