Doomfanger was getting fat.
Papyrus sat on the living room floor, the cat in question resting beside him. He inspected the fluffball’s belly, giving it a poke that elicited a little churring noise from the beast. Sans’s squish wasn’t this hard- and Doomfanger hadn’t been eating more than usual… in fact, he’d been going out more! So if anything, he should be getting less fat, from all the exertion.
“Sans?” Papyrus asked.
“Hmm? Sup bro?” his brother blearily responded from the couch. He’d been half asleep.
“Doomfanger’s getting a bit chubby. I think he’s taking after you.”
Sans snorted. “Couldn’t have a better model, then.”
“Sans! This is serious! What if he’s ill?” Papyrus said, reaching over and stroking his pet’s fur. He started purring in his sleep, and Papyrus’s soul grew three times it’s size at the noise.
“Pap, the cat’s fine- maybe he’s been finding junk outside to eat or somethin, I dunno.” Sans sighed and leaned back on the couch, patting Pap’s shoulder for a second. “Listen to ‘im go. He’s happy as a damn clam.”
Papyrus made a face, but didn’t press it. He supposed his brother was right.
Doomfanger was getting really fat.
He waddled around, belly nearly as big as Sans’s. Papyrus watched him go, concerned but unsure of what to do. There were no vets around, and they couldn’t afford to take him even if there were- should he try putting him on a diet? He seemed happy enough.
Papyrus watched his cat clean himself on the kitchen table. Sans wasn’t home, so he wouldn’t yell about the long white fur that got all over the place. Pap reached forward and rested a hand on the swollen, furry belly, eliciting a little “prrup” from the cat. He turned to look at Papyrus with big eyes before giving him a slow blink and heaving his big fat body up and jumping to the skeleton’s lap, purring all the while.
One morning, Papyrus got out of bed and didn’t feel a familiar warm weight against him. He sat up and looked around, but the blob of white fur was nowhere to be seen.
His soul fell at once. What if he had been sick- what if he was deathly ill, or worse? Papyrus stood at once, neglecting a change of clothes and hurrying to his brother’s room in his bone-patterned pajamas.
“Sans!” he exclaimed as he flung open his brother’s door. Sans snorted and sat up, blinking.
“Huh? Pap? What the fuck ‘r ya doin?”
“Sans, is Doomfanger here?” Pap asked, already rocketing over to Sans’s bed and bending down to look under it. No cat. He checked the closet- also no cat.
“Wh- no? I don’t think so? He always sleeps with you.”
“Well he didn’t! And I don’t know where he is!” Papyrus said more aggressively than he’d intended. He sniffled and tried to wipe his tears away before they spilled over. “I can’t find him,” he whined.
Sans frowned. “Bro, I’m sure he’s fine- maybe he stayed outside last night.”
“But he never does that!” Papyrus shouted. “He’s always in my room!”
Sans held up his hands. “Okay, okay, let's go look for him, yeah?”
Sans helped calm the situation. Papyrus stilled his terrified soul, trying to push the morbid thoughts from his mind.
The brothers searched the rest of the house. Doomfanger wasn’t in the kitchen, or any of the cupboards, or the bathroom, or behind the couch. He wasn’t outside- Papyrus stood and called for him for almost ten minutes, hoping beyond hope that a big ball of white fur would come bounding through the snow and rub on his legs and demand to be scritched and scratched and patted. But he never did.
Pap wished he could say he was calm, cool, and collected, but as soon as he got back inside, he broke down and started crying.
Sans, who had been re-checking the kitchen cupboards, jerked his head up at the noise. He was over to his brother in a second, taking a knee beside him and putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, c’mon bro, it’s okay,” he tried to soothe, but Pap was still sniffling. “He hasn’t even been gone for a day! I’m sure he’ll come back, bro. C’mon, don’t cry.”
“W-We’ve looked everywhere!” Papyrus cried, grabbing his brother and hugging him as tight as he could. “What if something happened to him? What if… what if he isn’t coming back?”
Papyrus only succeeded in making himself cry harder. Sans rubbed his back, and he sucked in a breath to say something, but before he could there was a noise.
Both of the brother’s went still. Sans looked at Papyrus with big eyes while he waited for it again.
There it was. A tiny little high-pitched noise.
“Sounds like it’s upstairs,” Sans said, but Papyrus was already on his feet and dashing.
He got to the top of the stairs in record time and waited.
Another little noise- it was in his bedroom!
He burst in, throwing off his covers and diving under his bed to look, but there was no cat. There had to be! What else could be making that noise-
There was another. Papyrus straightened and looked to see that his closet door, which was usually always shut, was slightly ajar.
He hurried over, tears of relief gathering in his eyes as he flung open the closet and-
He blinked. He blinked again. Doomfanger was laying on his side in an empty box, staring up at him and purring, but there were… furry little beans by his tummy.
Sans was beside him in just a moment, huffing. He looked into the closet and said nothing for a little while as one of the tiny nuggets lifted its even tinier head and gave another squeak.
Neither of the brothers said anything for a moment. It was Sans who eventually doubled over and slapped his knee, a harsh laugh erupting from his gut.
“Doomfanger’s a girl!” he barked, bent over and wheezing.
Pap’s eyes went wide. His cat blinked up at him and gave a soft little churr, purring as his- her little babies kneaded her belly and ate.
“Oh my god,” Papyrus whispered, hands flying to his mouth. “Sans, Doomfanger had kittens!”
i couldn't not give them names lksjdflks (and yes the whole time i was like "these are just warrior cat names arent they")
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.