If Brutus had one weakness.. It would be that damn furball of his brother’s. He had only just brought him home a week ago, but the little white kitten, ‘Doomfanger’ Royal had named him, already had the tubby skeleton wrapped around his pinkie finger. All the itty bitty kitty had to do was look up at him with those big shining eyes and Brutus was a doting, sniffling mess.
He had come home late one night, after a not so successful evening trying to make some money, honestly feeling like utter shit. He took off his jacket, chucking it to the side and throwing himself back onto the couch, floating a beer over and turning the TV on to some channel he’d not have to pay attention to. He sighed, slumping back. Sure, he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken, but he usually had at least a few customers. Right when he was letting himself start to dip into a funk, tiny little paws pressed against his belly, Doomfanger climbing up to the top of mount stomach to walk in a few little circles, mew and then lay down to rest.
He felt his worries slowly melt away as the tiny creature purred against him.
“who’s a good li'l kitty.. s'you..”
He hadn’t been able to stay awake much longer, letting the little sounds lull him off. Royal finding him in the same position come morning, chuckling at the sight of the tiny kitty sitting atop of his sleeping brother. He gave the cat a gentle pet before he left for work, leaving Brutus sleeping with a soft smile on his face.