Chapter Text
Caleb hadn’t meant to adopt so many cats. Really he’d started with just Rudy, a sleek brown tabby that he’d enticed into the house with a bit of chicken. Then he’d had to get Rudy a companion for when he and Essek were traveling, because according to the sitter, he was miserable alone. The companion cat hadn’t been very sociable, but Caleb wasn’t going to turn her out on the street, so a third had been necessary. Then, shortly after Essek had officially left a set of his own study materials and half a season’s clothes crammed into the closet Caleb had set aside for him, a particularly fat calico had shown up in their backyard. Essek had returned from business the next morning to Caleb panicking over the five kittens that had been born in the garden overnight. Weeks later, they were still in the process of rehoming them.
The number of cats was not a problem. The problem was that Essek clearly didn’t know what to do with cats. He had alluded, early on, to the fact that he’d not had a pet of his own before. Though Caleb felt some pity at him for the fact, he still found the resulting relationship of equality Essek struggled to foster with the cats quite funny indeed. Essek talked to the cats like they were people, was the thing. Essek would philosophize to the cats, practice lectures on them, or try to make bargains for agreeable behavior.
Essek and the cats' conversations always seemed very one-sided to Caleb, but Essek seemed invested enough. Even if Essek seemed otherwise… overwhelmed . Essek’s original solution to the fur and whiskers and random fallen milk teeth had been a form of gravitational field manipulation that had gone horribly wrong after he levitated out all the cat residue from the surfaces of the house– only to have it swirl into a tornado of dander and fur that had had even Caleb's nose running for a week. After that, they had simply set aside a monthly sum to invest in lint brushes and laundry.
Which was extremely necessary, Caleb found. Fitz like to climb the curtains. Rudy, like his father, was an experimentalist at heart and liked to test the laws of gravity with various objects on (then off) the shelves. And, having not quite learned what it meant to be an indoor cat yet, some of the kittens had left a few highly unhygienic presents on Essek's side of the bed. So, yes, Essek had a tumultuous relationship with the cats that occupied his home like a chaotic force of warmongering toddlers.
All, that was, except for Brunhilde. An elderly, perpetually crusty, gray-fluffed Marquesan beauty now beyond repair, Brunhilde was an old lady by cat standards at a ripe nineteen years of age. She had two teeth and her eyes were nothing but cataracts all the way through. She drooled, was half-deaf, and did not purr, but rather made a kind of grinding sound like an engine filled with sand. She had no tolerance for any of the kittens, and hissed at every other adult cat that got in her way. She liked to spend her days asleep in the soft, self-warming bed Caleb had enchanted for her by the fireplace, where she was able to survey her domain without having to move too much. The effect was somewhat off-putting: she looked like a child’s overly-loved soft toy that had been left out in the yard one afternoon and never brought back in, settled in quite contentedly by the fire at any given time. You could almost forget she was even there— if it weren't for the strange not-quite-offensive odor that followed her everywhere.
And she was absolutely in love with Essek.
Brunhilde was the only one that Essek seemed to completely be in tune with. Unlike every other cat in the house, Brunhilde did not chase or swat at Essek’s accessories and accouterments, taking joy rather in letting herself be gently praised by Essek from afar. On rare occasions she would deign to be picked up and gently held in Essek’s arms as he glided through the house, though she was very particular about how she was held. The two of them, at least, seemed to have come to an agreeable arrangement.
It might not have ever been much more than that, but it warmed Caleb’s heart nonetheless to see Essek reading in one of their library chairs with a pile of kittens asleep in his lap, Rudy and Fitz lounging nearby, and sweet Hilde drooling quietly in her bed by the fire not far from the collective.
Still, the days went on. Caleb helped raise the next generation of mages at the Academy, Essek made arrangements for their next trip to Aeor, letters and Sendings were passed back and forth across the Nein, and their lives were very fulfilling indeed.
—
“Shatzi,” Caleb started one night as he watched, besotted, as the kittens chased the tassels on the edge of Essek’s robe as the drow made his way through their kitchen. “What did you get up to today?”
They were cooking dinner together, the most recent of many attempts to improve their domestic skills. It had started as a challenge from now-proud homesteader Beau, who claimed she’d never seen either wizard cook, simply conjure. Admittedly, neither of them was very good at it. But they were learning. Tonight they had a hearty stew on the stove, slowly simmering while they finished the final touches. Caleb had started the stew before leaving for classes that morning, and Essek had dutifully watched it through the day as it bubbled away, meat tenderizing and root vegetables soaking up a beautiful gravy. Now Caleb worked at making bread to go with it.
“Oh, not much,” Essek answered with a sigh as he stirred the pot on the stove, stealing a bite of potato out of the pot with an approving nod and a further shake of the salt canister. “I sent requests for component replenishments and repairs on the remains of our current equipment. Checked on the state of our publications… Perhaps ate too many of the durian pastries Jester sent.”
Caleb laughed. “Was that what I smelled on your breath?”
“Oh, hush, you,” Essek chided, swatting Caleb half-heartedly with a dish towel before wiping his hands clean. He dusted stray flour off himself and floated his way over to the sink to clean his hands more thoroughly. Caleb sometimes envied him the skill if only because it meant that Essek did not have to deal with the risk of tripping over a half-dozen cats as he walked from table to sink.
“Yes, yes,” Caleb said, pecking Essek on the cheek and patting his face with one floury hand, to Essek’s grimacing chagrin. “But everything is coming along as it should?” Caleb asked. He gently lay the rolls into a pan and draped a towel over them, leaving them to rise a second time while the oven preheated. Caleb then watched, smothering laughter, as Parsnip, Carrot, and Rudy followed Essek from kitchen to living room, chasing after the trailing tassels on the edge of the comfortable robe the drow wore against the Rexxentrum chill.
“For the most part,” Essek said with a sigh, floating over to settle himself into his favorite chair with a sigh, grumbling as three of the kittens joined him with squealing adolescent meows. “Though it will be some time before our cold weather clothes are fully mended, considering the damage to the enchantments inlaid in the linings.”
“A shame,” Caleb said, not meaning it at all. “Perhaps by the time the semester is over, then. We can take a trip to the North over the break.”
“A needed vacation, I am sure,” Essek agreed. He accepted the cup of tea Caleb passed to him, smiling when Caleb handed it to him with a peck on the cheek, lingering durian breath and all, before retreating back to the kitchen.
“Did the cats bother you overmuch?” Caleb asked over his shoulder. He pulled a knife from the block and sorted through a bag of apples on the counter, selecting a piece of fruit that was ripe but not bruised, a friendly weight in his hand as he searched for a bit of cheese to add to the plate for good measure.
“Oh, you know how it is. Rudy got into the trash. Fitz would not sit still for brushing. Tater and Tot both got stuck in the laundry hamper somehow.”
“And Brunhilde?” Caleb looked over their little kitchen together, drawing down a paring knife to slice the apples and divide up the log of goat cheese Beauregard and Yasha had brought them last time they’d stayed for dinner. It was an odd shape, but pressed with herbs, soft and delightfully tangy. He was not an overly ambitious cook, but Caleb could appreciate a good cheese and fruit together.
A pause. “Brunhilde was Brunhilde. A good den mother to all, which is to say, she watched the trouble and did not fix any of it. Did you pick up the mail?”
“Ach, my apologies,” Caleb tutted at himself as he plated their snack. “I left it in my office. I will bring it home tomorrow. Would you say Hilde did her duty as clan leader?”
Essek’s mouth twisted in a wry smile that belied his amusement. “She sat on Parsnip so long he fell asleep under her rump. Though I’m not sure she even knew Parsnip was there, if I were to be perfectly honest.”
Caleb laughed— an open, easy laugh, as it often was these days. He returned his attention to the cutting board as Essek continued to tell his tale.
Caleb had been trying to remember recipes from his childhood, reaching back as often as he could to a simpler time: to his father's yeasted sweet rolls in the oven, swirled decadently with cocoa and cinnamon in the soft centers— a treat when he had done well in school. To the beef roasts his mother would make on special occasions, stewed for hours with carrots and parsnips from the garden. He had reached back through the foggy depths of trauma and forced forgetfulness to birthdays and holidays and weekend mornings, each bite and each memory distinct and meaningful, nearly painful in its gentleness.
But here and now, many difficult years after those meals, Caleb stood in his own kitchen, Essek nearby as he sliced crisp Autumn apples and cheese for a snack while bread baked in their oven and stew simmered on the stove, and thought of the way his parents had taken great care with their kitchen knives, rubbing mineral oil into the handles and polishing blades to keep them bright and sharp— the signs of a happy home.
Caleb took a deep, satisfied breath as he carried the plate over to share with Essek just as Essek wrapped up his story of Fitz nearly knocking over a lit lamp. He slipped a slice of apple in his mouth, tongue chasing the tart-sweet juice on his lips and laughing when Essek chased it with a kiss of his own. Cheese and apples, a well-cared-for knife, a beloved companion at his side, and bread in the oven. What more than this fortune could his parents have hoped for him?
“Did your students behave themselves?” Essek asked Caleb after he’d finished his own tale.
"Oh, you know how it is," Caleb responded. "It's my turn to handle the introductory course for the new class, and so I have been tasked with the grave responsibility of explaining the complicated concept of 'basic research ethics' to the youngsters."
Essek smothered a laugh into his hand. "The irony is not lost on me there, young man. I am sure they will manage. And your graduate students?"
Caleb grinned. "There is a new woman this year. A former ship's hand.” She had reminded him of Fjord, in fact. “She is older than me, and far more traveled than my other charges. We had a very nice chat about the last time I visited Darktow. Apparently they are still telling the tale of cultists thwarted by the Cobalt Soul and the Mighty Nein around there, albeit as a piratical mythos."
“I don’t believe I have heard that tale,” Essek said, both eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. He settled further into his chair, complaining only a little as Brunhilde clawed her way up to sit on his lap, effectively shoving the younger cats out of the way with a hiss. Caleb hid his smile behind his hand, even as Essek let his hand gently sink into her long, ash-gray fluff.
But Caleb wrinkled his nose as a smell wafted towards him from Essek’s lap. “Have you wiped Hilde’s ears recently?” Caleb asked. “Her, ah, funk is a bit strong today.”
Essek’s hand paused its gentle path along Brunhilde’s back. “I can do it after dinner. She seemed so content today that I did not want to bother her.”
“Hm, alright, as long as she is not suffering,” Caleb said with a chuckle. Carrying on, he explained his brief stint as a pirate as he puttered around the kitchen, tidying up while waiting for the bread to finish. He listened to Essek tut after Brunhilde, praising her deaf ears as she kneaded his lap and shed all over his fine robe. They (or, rather, Caleb, as Essek was abysmal at it) would have to do laundry again.
In the end, the stew could have used a bit more spice, but at least they hadn’t over-salted it this time. And the bread was only a little burned on the outside; it was at least baked all the way through. Next time, next time, Caleb told himself as he settled into his recliner and dragged the last bit of a roll through the gravy pooled at the bottom of his bowl. They had plenty of time now.
—
Folsen was a half day of classes, an early kick-off to the weekend for students, which Caleb usually devoted to grading papers in his office. Now, years into his appointment at Soltryce, Caleb found the methodical nature of ticking off multiple choice answers or correcting essays was quite a nice way to spend an afternoon. Though there were inevitably a few hiccups— shoddy arguments, illegible handwriting, or even the occasional gallous plagiarism— Caleb quite liked leaving encouraging comments in the margins of papers, asking his students to elaborate on their understanding of the subjects at hand or further evolving their own arguments.
When he was done with papers for the day, he turned to the mail he had left on his desk the day prior. There were the usual bills and requests for research collaboration, most of which Caleb would turn down, but a package from Caduceus, covered in faint soil smudges and wrapped with twine, piqued Caleb’s curiosity. Better to open it now— packages from Caduceus often contained rather perishable items, and it was best not to let them fester.
Sure enough, a letter, a jar of honey, and a sachet of tea greeted Caleb when he unwound the string on the outside of the package. At the bottom, hidden under the rest, was a simple woven-leather bracelet. Caleb turned it over in his hands. There was a distinct magical aura coming off of it, and the small handwritten note tied to it elaborated: Speak With Animals, 1x/day, 15 min duration.
“Oh, my,” Caleb breathed. A smile broke over his features. He tucked the bracelet away in his pocket, repacking the box and carrying it and the rest of the mail out of his office and down the road towards their home.
Essek wouldn’t be home until much later, out visiting the library with Beau as his chaperone. In the meantime, Caleb puttered around the house for a bit, sweeping the kitchen, gathering stray teacups from the living room, and scooping out the litter boxes while he was at it.
But at last, he settled in his favorite chair and looked at the letter Caduceus had sent. It gave more detail on the honey (from a neighboring lavender farm), the tea (a new type of mint Caduceus was selecting for) as well as some pleasant news for Essek: his sunflowers had produced one last round of blooms all along the perimeter fence, following the light that guided them through the long summer and now into late Autumn. The corn, too, was waving silk now, sweet and fragrant, peas climbing their stalks and pumpkins below, growing heavy as the summer waned and Fall came into full effect.
Curiously, there was no further mention of the bracelet beyond a quick jotted line that said that Caduceus had found it in storage and thought its appropriate home was with Caleb and Essek. Caleb turned it over in his hand. It looked like a simple affair, just three lengths of different leathers woven into a simple band, tied with a jade bead to secure it.
He cast a glance at the assortment of felines that were in the room with him: four of the kittens tumbled over each other on the rug in front of the fire, watched distantly by their mama. But they were chased away when a monstrous growl rasped through the room, old Brunhilde trotting angrily towards the kittens like a blind, drunken dragon stomping after puny goats. The kittens scattered in her wake and instead fled to Caleb, climbing his trousers and meowing pathetically.
Caleb Identified the bracelet just to be sure, heart racing excitedly. Just as the brief note had said, the enchantment was a simple one— it would allow the user to speak with animals for fifteen minutes. No more, no less.
The five kittens had piled onto his lap, tussling in the cradle of his hips. He activated the bracelet and murmured to them, “Hello, little ones.”
Hello! Hi! Talking! The kittens screamed at him at once. Caleb tickled their tummies and lifted them out of his lap.
“You are doing well? You all feel good?” Caleb asked, feeling a little silly for even asking. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he beamed at their antics.
Mama is here, and we love you, Food Bringer! Is it time for wet food yet?
Caleb laughed. “Not yet, little ones. There is still kibble in your bowl. Go eat that if you are truly starving.”
Mean! Floating man brings food always!
“Oh?” Caleb smothered more laughter. He would need to have a chat with Essek, perhaps. “He loves you too, though I do not think he knows how to say it. Don’t worry, we’ll find you homes soon. And then there will be all the wet food and toys you can imagine.”
And when Essek came home, Caleb greeted him with a fierce kiss, telling him about his day— leaving out the few minutes with the bracelet.
He wasn’t quite ready to share that, yet.
Instead Caleb heated leftovers, listening as Essek murmured to the kittens somewhat exasperatedly. If he closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth of the kitchen and Essek’s gentle scoldings, he could almost imagine it was children of their own that Essek spoke to, chiding them about their manners and keeping their hands clean.
And, oh, wasn’t that a sweet sort of fantasy?
—
Yulisen morning, Caleb woke up early. Essek tranced beside him, though it could easily have been mistaken for a light doze. Essek had tucked himself up against Caleb’s side as he tranced, one hand on Caleb’s bare chest. He must have been coming out of the last of a trance just as Caleb woke, as the first sensation Caleb registered as sleep cleared from his mind was Essek’s hand thoughtlessly petting the fuzz in the sunken center of Caleb’s chest. The hair was fine and fair, curling over the arches of his chest where good food, comfort, and time had softened his middle. Essek had always been quite fond of it, and it was nice to let himself be pet, sleepily sinking into their mattress.
“Would you ever want to talk to the cats?” Caleb murmured sleepily, turning to face Essek directly. He wiped sand out of his eyes with the heel of one hand, scooting just a hair closer, so that his head rested on the edge of Essek’s pillow. He let his eyes fall closed again, though his hand draped over Essek’s trim waist.
“I do speak to the cats,” Essek replied matter-of-factly.
“Ja, ja, I know,” Caleb said. “But would you want to understand the cats?”
“What would there be to understand?” Essek sounded genuinely puzzled.
“Hm. Fair enough.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Essek’s shoulder; the man was particular about kisses on the mouth before basic hygiene had been taken care of, but Caleb was adaptable.
And the weekend went on. Essek went out for the day, off to attend to things that needed doing while Caleb lazed around at home. There were supplies to procure, kitten homes to broker, travel to prepare for.
Caleb did laundry. He cleaned the kitchen. He put fresh sheets on the bed.
And when chores were done, he sat in the living room by the grate and set a fire low and warm, just for the background noise and faint heat. The kittens were distracted elsewhere, and the other three adult cats were tending to their own businesses. Only Hilde was left in the room, in her usual spot in her bed by the fireplace. Caleb passed a little magic through the bed he had built her, letting it warm the elderly cat’s old bones so that she started to purr contentedly.
Caleb sat down on the floor next to her bed, gently running a finger along her scalp as he activated the bracelet. Brunhilde opened one blind eye, the cataract as milky white as Empire snow, tapetum lucidum mirror bright.
"Don’t tell the others," Caleb said conspiratorially, "but I got a new toy. Can you understand me, Grandma?"
A grumble and a groan, just as mean and ornery as ever— and just as coherent. Hilde gave a halfhearted hiss and settled into her bed with a wet sort of snuffling snort.
Too quiet, was her croaky response. Speak up. She let out a rumbly mrowwwl and tottered to her feet, effectively looking now like a feather duster that had been abandoned in a wool factory for the better part of a decade. She arched her back, stretching to and fro before shaking herself and wobbling out of her bed towards Caleb. Time for food? she mreowed hopefully.
"Not quiet yet," Caleb told her. He paused. "I would like to carry you to the chair with me. May I pick you up?"
Her fluffy tail twitched back and forth. She had seen a lot, this one. Caleb inwardly found it amusing that the fact that they could communicate was not surprising for Bunhilde. Tell me where we are going.
“Ja, okay,” Caleb said softly. He carefully picked up the old lady, supporting her overly-fluffy rear and murmuring, “Carrying you now. I’m just sitting down. Ach, let me put my feet up…there we go, and a nice soft blanket as well. You like this one?”
Doesn’t smell right, Hilde complained grumpily, even as she kneaded at the crocheted technicolor monstrosity from Veth and purr-snorted.
“Yes,” Caleb said, smiling hard now, tears rising to the corners of his eyes. “I just washed it. It will smell like usual in a day or two, I am sure.” Oh, if only he had been able to do this sooner!
Hmph, she purred, voice grinding like so many rusty gears.
Time passed, minutes shifting by with the ticking of the cuckoo clock perched above the mantle, the crackling of embers in the grate soothing Caleb’s racing heart. The room was warm, and Hilde was a delicate weight in Caleb’s lap, purring softly as he murmured mostly nonsense to her, sharing what was going to happen when the kittens found new homes.
When does Twinkly Purple return? Brunhilde asked at last, kneading Caleb's lap contentedly.
“Twinkly Purple?” Caleb asked. That was even better than “Floating One.” He fought a giddy laugh, gently petting between sweet Hilde's eyebrows.
Nice filed claws. Gentle touches, good brushes. Gives me kisses, Brunhilde said succinctly.
“Oh, my.” Now Caleb stuffed the laughter down— not easy to do when he was overwhelmed with deep, intensely giggly affection. “Gives you kisses?” He had not seen that particular interaction… ever, if he was being honest. It was hard to believe.
Every day, Hilde confirmed. Before he goes away. And when he comes back. And always when he wanders too far and I call after him to find him.
“Twinkly Purple will be back tonight,” Caleb said gleefully. “I miss him as well. He is very good at giving kisses, isn’t he?”
Brunhilde kneaded at Caleb’s lap, claws kneading in and out as she made biscuits. The best. And good scratches. And gives me cheese. Delicious, smelly. Better than chicken.
And the enchantment faded. Caleb’s hands paused on Hilde’s back. Well, that explained the smell, at least.
—
But the final joy was when Essek got home. He presented the bracelet and explained its enchantment, watching with bated breath as Essek slipped it on and gave it a whisper of magic to activate it. He tentatively floated over to the cats, seeming to listen intently to what Caleb knew would be a cacophony of vague conversation.
Essek’s eyebrows shot up, mouth falling open in surprise. He covered his mouth with one hand, eyes darting back and forth between the five different cats in the room. “Oh! I can understand them.”
He floated over, looking at the cats more intently before murmuring greetings and carefully responding to questions. Caleb noted to himself that it sounded exactly identical to his conversations without the bracelet— formal, dignified, conversational, and frank, Essek still spoke to the cats like they were fellow people. There was something beautiful about that, he decided.
Caleb sat and watched as Essek spoke to the kittens, telling them about the homes he had found for them. Then to Rudy and Fitz, asking after their days and whether or not they had bested the mouse in the pantry yet. At last, with the air of one approaching an aging monarch, he made his way to Brunhilde.
He did not even need to approach her. Caleb sat and watched as Hilde simply climbed to her feet, stretching with a growl of a purr before yawning heavily and tottering over to Essek. She didn’t even pause, but gingerly put two paws up on his calves and stretched, giving a grating, crackling meow as if saying , My turn. Essek cast a glance at Caleb as if he had once again been caught breaking the law, but scooped her up without hesitation, murmuring baby talk into her ear and carrying her to his chair, where he sprawled, quite undignified, and let her stomp all over him, kneading his thighs and belly. Eventually she flopped over Essek’s shoulder, nuzzling and grooming him until he had a matted lick of hair on the side of his head. She mouthed against his pointed ear, kneading at him the whole time.
Essek looked like he was going to cry, murmuring back to her, asking her questions, offering new treats, but ultimately simply laying in his chair, letting his clear favorite expose his every indignity.
Caleb grinned wide enough to split his face, fighting back all comments— except for one.
“We will have to send Caduceus a thank you note,” he said, knowing that the charm would have faded by now, though Essek’s conversation with Hilde continued. “But… Essek?”
“Yes?” Essek asked, voice still distracted as he focused on the aged feline in his lap.
“Please. No more cheese for Frau Hilde,
ja?”