roartonrisen (
roartonrisen) wrote2016-05-24 09:38 pm
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AU
Quite honestly, for about three months, Kieren just sort of figured his cat's been getting really fat. It's not like he should know better, because it's not like he'd ever had an appreciation for the animal arts when he'd been alive. So when someone had given Kieren a look like he's an idiot and commented that the cat's just pregnant, he doesn't think it should be his fault he hadn't noticed.
He hadn't even noticed himself coming back to life. How is he supposed to notice a cat?
He can notice, though, that the cat seems to be in distress and a quick check on the internet says that this is around the time they go into labour. Still, he's not doing this on his own. A touch panicked, Kieren fumbles around the bungalow for his things and fetches towels and an actual dropcloth, texting Sirius absently as he wanders, running a hand through his hair until it's wild.
Does he call a vet? Does he get a house call? Do those things still happen?
He hadn't even noticed himself coming back to life. How is he supposed to notice a cat?
He can notice, though, that the cat seems to be in distress and a quick check on the internet says that this is around the time they go into labour. Still, he's not doing this on his own. A touch panicked, Kieren fumbles around the bungalow for his things and fetches towels and an actual dropcloth, texting Sirius absently as he wanders, running a hand through his hair until it's wild.
Does he call a vet? Does he get a house call? Do those things still happen?
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Kieren's knelt beside him now, towel and warm water at the ready and Sirius reaches a shaky hand forward to lightly pet poor Ginger, trying his best to soothe though it seems to have not much of an effect. "I suppose we don't much encourage her to breathe or push," he says, frowning. "Do we just wait for them to pop out one by one?"
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"Or will that hurt them?"
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Little Ginger lets out another low, rather pained-sounding yowl then, as though in response and Sirius cringes, his heart going out to her. "I've... I've a feeling we don't do a thing," he says then. "Kittens are born every day without human intervention, are they not? Perhaps we just sit and wait?"
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Poor Ginger really seems to be having a bad go of things, still yowling faintly even as Kieren lightly brushes his fingers over her fur.
"Do we need to... adjust her?" he asks, grimacing slightly as he cocks his head. "Like, ehm. Spread her legs or any of that? Or do they just slide out?"
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Sirius shifts as Kieren nestles in closer, warm against his side in a way that, even now, Sirius finds himself delighting in. He leans into it gently as he curls arm around Kieren's waist, hand resting on his hip. "I think gravity will help out in the long run," he says. "And biological necessity. I suppose can move them one by one so there's room."
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"Haven't a clue," he answers honestly. "How much would we even sell them for? Could we just drop them off at someone's doorstep?"
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"All of them? Do we even know how many there might be? Haven't I told you before -- I'm really much more of a dog person."
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Kieren's more a cat than a dog, really. He's lanky and a touch clumsy grace and far more standoffish than a friendly dog would ever be.
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Little Ginger lets out another noise then, one that seems distinctly distressed and Sirius's eyes fall wide as he looks down. "Oh, maybe that one," he says, watching in slight horror as a small little thing slides right out poor Ginger's bum area.
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Poor Ginger is still making sad, pained little noises and seems to be breathing a little faster than normal and Sirius leans forward, very gingerly picking up the very, very small, not quite wiggling little mass of goo.
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"What sort of sticky substances?" he asks, glancing quickly over at Kieren once more. "Did you need someone to lick you clean at the time?"
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His smile softens to see Ginger caring for the little ones, and he melts a little himself. "How many more do you think are coming?"
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"Yes, well that stickiness was a good deal different than this kind, I'd think," he says, still grinning as he drops his hand to Kieren's knee and leaves it there. "And, honestly, I haven't a clue. I suppose we just wait and see? I've a feeling Ginger will let us know when she's done. Women have a way of knowing these things."
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There's another little slimy mass wiggling free then and Ginger curls immediately to start licking the goo from the new kitten's tiny body. The other one is still squirming faintly, shifting on the cloth, its little eyes closed. "We're not officially outnumbered by felines," he remarks with a smile. "Padfoot won't like this at all."
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"You could name it?"
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Not that he has a clue what name he'd pick. The first things that come to mind are utterly ridiculous. Things like, Sir Purrpickle Rumplesnacks and somehow he's certain Kieren won't go for that.
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"I feel a bit like I'd have to name any cat Minerva out of respect," he admits. "But perhaps that can be a middle name."
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