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Waking up is hard, but not impossible whenever she’s warm and cozy underneath her blankets, but she knows she has to struggle through it. She has to. The tiredness that lulls her back to sleep, the gentle coaxing of rest and passivity is a siren call to her… and she’ll admit it. For a witch like her, constantly boiling and brewing, the idea of laying in bed for just a little while longer has always been an indulgence that she’ll never be able to give her full attention to.
But she longs for it. Just one day. Just a taste of what it would be like to wake up later in the day, just once, to know what it would be like to be someone of higher class and not have to wake up and start the day in order to have food on the table by night.
A wish that cannot be fulfilled.
She has orders to fill. Potions to brew. She has a garden to check up on, and a growing farm to keep an eye out on. She has eggs to collect, chickens to feed, and a shop to open. She doesn’t have time to sleep.
So Marinette wakes. Usually. Pulls the covers off quick enough so that she doesn’t regret the action, and sits up before her body recognizes her traitorous plans. She leaves Chat on the bed as she uses their basin to wipe the residuals of sleep out of her eyes. She cleans thoroughly with the water from the pitcher, usually opening a box stored in the shelf just underneath and places a couple of petals inside to help with any puffiness she’d had throughout the night. Citrus. Lemon. The petals soothe. They decrease redness. They smell impeccable, just bright and floral enough for her to be alright with dunking her face into the bowl and letting it soak into her skin.
This is about the time where Chat finally finishes his stretches on the bed. He focuses on giving his own body a stretch if he’s been in a position for too long. He stretches slowly, just like a real cat, waking himself up by stretching out his paws. Then his front legs. Then his back. She’s watched a couple of times as his tail curls into the shape of a crescent moon when he dips down onto his front legs, giving a big stretch that she’s helpless to coo at whenever he does it… it’s quite cute.
But today isn’t a normal day.
Marinette is just about lucid when she witnesses Chat wince and startle awake. She feels it, because she’s still fending off the sleep that plagues her every time she blinks— hopeful that her blink will take ever-so-longer and let her succumb to it… but his curious chirping wakes her right up. Oh. Oh. He doesn’t do this often. That’s… worrisome. He’s nothing but a cat at the moment, all black fur and void with nothing but green eyes to differentiate him from what should be a shadow. He’s warm, tucked up into her side, right against her neck in a way that makes her feel safe— but the way he chirps when he wakes, pausing in his languid licks of his arm, looking up and blinking at her— there’s something up.
Oh. Oh, there is something wrong. She can’t mistake it at all.
The way he ears flatten against his round head, the way his eyes look wide in the sunlight that comes through their windows, slipping out the door just as she rouses herself out of bed and murmurs out a tired question, is enough to wake her fully— what in the world could’ve happened? For a demon so fit to laze around the moment he gets the chance to, to hide in the warmest patch of sun, what could it possibly be that’s caused him to change his normal?
“What is it?” she asks, as she covers herself with a conservative slip. Judging by the way he’d allbut fled from the bedroom the moment they woke up, she doesn’t have time to braid her hair back with her hands, but a quick wordless spell allows her to tidy herself up as best as possible. She finds her slippers, finds her ribbon she uses to tie off the end of her hair, and follows him out the door in a rush. Even her gossamer shivers from having to move so quickly, almost tumbling behind Chat in an attempt to catch up. “Chat? What have you found?”
“How interesting,” she hears him reply, close to the fireplace in their cottage. Oh, has he really transformed back? He’s no longer cat whenever he’s able to speak, definitely in his normal state… what made him rush out of his cat form? She peeks down the hallway that leads up to the front of the house, looking for whatever it is that he’s so curious about. There is nothing in the hallway, with the polished floorboards looking pristine and clean. “Oh, this is… unexpected. Princess, come quickly— we have a guest.”
“A guest?” In the house? How did they get in without Chat even hearing it? Chat hears all with those large ears of his, and certainly would’ve felt whoever it was approaching with that large magical dome he uses to cover the cottage in spells to let her sleep throughout the night. He’s a guard dog, and she’d tell him that straight to the face, if she weren’t so worried he’s make an expression that rivaled a pear from how sour it is. Poorly named, she knows. Regardless, she always feels protected, covered in it that lets her rest easy throughout the night, which is why she hadn’t even felt the stranger’s approach— who is it? Who could it be? “Chat, what is—”
She hears a meow. A gentle one. A chirping noise almost to just get attention— and to be fair, it definitely gets Marinette’s— she makes her way towards the noise, expecting to see Chat back into his cat form and the one meowing, only to find him crouched down in his normal form. His back, turned away from her, all smooth lines underneath his gentle cotton shirt and— oh, Tikki, it always surprises her just how massive he is. Even while turned to her and on the floor, his shoulders are so broad.
“We have a guest,” Chat repeats, lazily twitching his tail when looking up at her, a cat in his lap. Oh. Oh. What a beautiful cat! Tri-colored— she remembers what Chat had told her, which is a three-colored cat is usually a female— oh, she’s purring. How sweet. She’s tiny, smaller than Chat is in his cat form, with hazel eyes and an interesting facial pattern— she meows at Marinette when they make eye contact, looking towards Chat as if she’s asking for confirmation.
She steps off of Chat’s lap, walking slowly and gingerly over— it takes a second for Marinette to notice the roundness of her stomach, much too round for a normal size of a cat. She has a moment of confusion, only to realize…
“Oh!” Marinette exclaims. “Oh, beautiful, you’re pregnant, aren’t you? Hello there, Momma. Are you looking for somewhere to nest for a while?”
The cat does nothing but purr.
She’s a sweet thing, coming over to rub her face onto Marinette’s hands, her ears so tiny and small. It always amazes her just how small these little creatures can actually get. So portable. So carryable. So pick-upable.
“I didn’t realize she was going to follow me home from yesterday, but I think that’s what she’s doing here— she’s desperate to find a place to give birth. She’s been trying to find one for the past three days, I’ve found her in all sorts of places, trying to find somewhere small and quiet, but the town is too loud for her.”
“And she’s alright with your presence? I thought mom cats don’t enjoy being around other animals. Not to mention males.”
“I guess she doesn’t mind me?” Chat shrugs. “Well, clearly not, since she’s here. She’s very sweet, though, even when she’s not pregnant.”
“She really is. I’ve never met a cat so gentle before, she doesn’t shy away from me at all.”
“Keep petting her under the chin,” he instructs. “She likes that.”
She doesn’t know much about cats, she’ll admit that much… but she knows that it’s important to check her over. So she starts with the basics. Chat’s healthy and strong, so she knows what the back of a cat should feel like— she runs her fingers along the momma’s back, making sure there’s no injury at all. She looks healthy— she looks just about the same as Chat usually does, minus the obvious roundness and size difference.
Healthy eyes, nice-looking teeth, and definitely not dehydrated. So far, everything looks fine…
The momma cat doesn’t look to be hungry, either, but she knows that Chat will go searching for food in an instant if the cat meows for food, so she makes note that Chat will have to leave soon to find her something to eat. She looks around their living room, trying to find somewhere quiet for the mother… “How long is she until it’s time, Kitty-cat?”
“Any day now, it looks like.” Chat quiets. “Any hour now, actually. You scared me, Maddie, I thought you were an intruder when I woke up.”
Oh. How interesting. “She has a name?”
“Of course she does. She told me.”
“She told you— wait, you know her? Personally?”
“I know all the ladies in town. I have to— after all, the last thing I need is to get into a cat fight on accident because someone is scared of me. Or doesn’t know who I am. She’s usually around town whenever I follow you,” Chat grins. “haven’t you noticed? She’s Salem’s sister and Bast’s mother.”
“You know them all by name?”
“I like to make connections.”
“Wait, so you do know… how to talk to cats?”
He turns to her as if she’s speaking in a language he doesn’t recognize. “Shopkeepers give them the nicknames, not me. She didn’t name herself. It stands for Madeleine, but she’s most comfortable with Maddie. Isn’t that right, beautiful?”
Maddie meows back.
“Impressive,” she whispers. She plays with the cat for a little while longer, stalling as Chat readies a box for her in the corner. She’ll take to it like catnip, knowing cats. Always liking a little corner to hide, especially a soon-to-be mother, wanting to keep secluded to keep her babies safe. There’s not much for her to do in order to deter Maddie from making camp in here, but Marinette finds herself not needing to. She’s never helped a mammal give birth before, it’ll be a learning experience— one that Marinette would love to document and write down. “I wonder what the babies will look like.”
“Hopefully a lot like their mother.” None of the boxes he holds are heavy, but he brings them close enough to Maddie for her to sniff them and inspect any one she likes the best. She chirps at the second box, and although it could mean absolutely anything in this cat language, Chat seems to understand enough to put the second box— an apple crate, how lovely— in the corner, rummaging around their messy cottage for a blanket and a soft padding for her.
“Little calico kitties? Could you imagine it, Chat? A bunch of little black and brown and orange kitties running around the living room, meowing? How adorable it would be!”
“It would be. I hope they’re all like their mother— the father’s nothing impressive, unlike her pattern.”
“Do you know the father, too?” she finds herself asking.
“Probably.”
“Do you think there will be a kitty that looks like you?” At this, she looks up, watching him raise a brow. Silence settles between them both, Marinette picking at lint off of the momma’s whiskers, trying to make sense as to why he’s looking at her with a smile easing onto the edges of his lips. “Chat?”
“You’re not trying to imply that I’m the father, are you?”
Oh! Oh, Tikki!
“No!” she gasps. “Oh, stars, that’s not— absolutely not, no. I just thought that, since she’s a calico, she might end up with a kitten that has no markings at all like you, I—”
But he laughs. He laughs, hard, shoulders shaking and laughing hard enough for Maddie to shirk away a bit from the noise— she hides more in Marinette’s lap, cowering away from how Chat makes himself sound larger than he actually is. It’s the type of laugh that makes him look so handsome, so sophisticated, so irresistibly young that Marinette has to bite her lip in order to not start laughing with him. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”
“Chat!”
“I don’t do that sort of thing,” he amends between breaths. “I’m faithful, you know I am. Besides, could you imagine if I produced an heir that was a cat? I don’t… stars, my dad would kill me. Besides, I have a type.”
She blushes. “Do you?”
“Of course I do.” He bites the inside of his cheek. Teasing. “Not cats. Someone small, of course, though not always. Someone who loves hitting me with her elbows when we sleep. A mouse of a person.”
“A mouse of a person?”
“A mouse of a person,” he repeats, kissing the top of her head. “A goddess with the sharpest elbows in bed I’ve ever met, with the tenacity of getting into so much trouble whenever I look away.”