Papyrus sat in his kitten pile, content to just let the little things crawl over his lap, even if their baby claws scratched him a bit. He smiled.
Mama was laying against his thigh, probably happy for a break from the little hellions. They were almost three weeks old, and they were starting to get mobile. Their stumpy little tails sticking up in the air as they waddled around was never not going to make Papyrus squeal and grin and feel the urge to flap his hands because of the sheer cuteness of it.
He’d named them all, of course. There were six babies, all of them healthy and happy and cuter than anything he’d ever seen. Four white ones, just like their mama, a little one with black patches, and an all black one that had caught Sans’s fancy. The white ones were Frostbite, Claw, Bloodlust, and littlest one he’d named Snowball. The black and white one was Goresplatter- Sans had protested such menacing names for kittens, but Papyrus knew they needed names that would elicit terror! Except for Snowball, who was far too small and cute for such things.
Papyrus scratched Claw’s chin, watching as the kittens all climbed over him, some finding comfy spots in his PJs to rest on, two playfighting nearby. Sans was sitting on the couch, the single all-black kitten playing in the fluff of his hoodie.
“What are you going to name them, brother?” Papyrus asked. The kitten was the most rambunctious and mischievous- already getting into trouble even at just three weeks. Sans patted the little guy’s back and grinned.
“I dunno… you got any ideas?”
“Nighthunter!” Papyrus exclaimed, eyes gleaming. “Shadowkiller! Coalbiter!”
Sans snorted. “I’m not givin’ it one of your weird names, bro…” he scratched his chin. “But… I kind of like Coal?”
Sans snorted and waved his brother away. “Just Coal is fine. He looks like he got covered in the stuff, dont’cha little dude?” he cooed, petting the kitten’s head as it attacked the string of his jacket hood.
Papyrus smiled. He looked down at Doomfanger, smiling warmly before reaching down and running a gentle hand through her fur. She started purring, of course, because she always purred.
“Who's a good mama? Who's the best mama? You are!” he exclaimed, giving her head a pat. She made a little chirping noise and rubbed against Papyrus’s hand.
One could never have too many cats, he reasoned.