Chapter Text
The cat has been there for a while now. Always faithfully waiting, staring at him from the steps with its grey eyes, when he comes home from work in the evening. Only ever in the evening, though.
It never backed away from him, never even flinched. When he first saw it sitting at his door and held out his hand for the cat to sniff, it did so almost without hesitation. The cat is not very affectionate, though it does seem to like getting a few pets. Its deep grey fur is unbelievably soft, too soft for Phoenix to believe that the cat's a stray.
But it doesn't have a collar, and it's always there in the evenings. It must be a stray. And as is so, so typical of him, he's started caring for it.
There's no microchip to be found, either. The vets are closed this time of day, so he took to the internet to find out how to feel for a microchip. He sat on the steps in front of his house for probably an hour, first petting the cat, giving it a few treats (yes, he had already bought treats for it, of course he had), making sure it wouldn't hate him too much, and then moved in to feel around its neck. Taking little bits of skin and massaging them gently to feel if there was anything in there - apparently it was supposed to feel kind of like a grain of rice - but coming up empty-handed. The chip could have moved, but in his not-so-expert opinion it was simply not there.
For a few weeks, that's how things stayed. The cat on his doorstep, greeting him after work, or otherwise he'd spot it when looking out the kitchen window. He'd pet it whenever he saw it, and feed it a few treats every now and then.
And then the city saw its first major rainstorm in months. Phoenix had worked late and wanted nothing more than to get home. He greeted Maya as she walked off in the other direction, towards the nearest bus stop, and got on his bike. It was dry when he turned the corner, and pouring by the time he was halfway there. Getting a bus from here was no use, they didn't go anywhere past his house. He pedalled on, and only found the courage to stay out in the rain any longer than necessary because he really didn't want his bike to get stolen, so he took the time to properly lock it to the railing of the steps.
A soft meow took him out of his thoughts, which at the moment were 'get inside'. He hadn't even seen the cat hiding in the corner, right behind where he parked his bike. Its fur decently wet from the rain, and it was clearly uncomfortable because of it.
"Poor little thing. You must be freezing out here, with your fur all wet." He kneeled beside the cat, and slowly extended his arms towards it. Once again, the cat didn't flinch, and it even allowed Phoenix to pick him up. With the cat safely in his arms, he made a run for the door and tried his best to unlock the door as quickly as one can whilst carrying a wet and unhappy cat.
It jumped out of his arms as soon as they were in the dry comforts of the little hallway with four doors, one for each of the apartments contained within the house. Phoenix's door was the one on the right, a fact that always amused him more than it should. Two of the other doors led to the apartments upstairs, and the other was on the left, right across from his. He unlocked his own door too, and the cat sprinted past his feet to get anywhere warm and comfortable.
He stripped off his thoroughly soaked coat and draped it over the heater. A few feet over, the cat had nestled itself next to the source of warmth, and now had its eyes closed. There was something to be said for the simple company of an animal like this. Maybe one day he would get a cat of his own. Maybe he could adopt this particular cat, if it really didn't belong to anyone else.
For some reason, it felt inappropriate to undress completely in front of the cat. He escaped into the bedroom for a change of clothes, and grabbed his drying rack to hang everything up to dry. The soft fabric of his sweatpants and the warmth of the new sweater he had bought the other day, completely on a whim and definitely not because the colour reminded him of someone, made the stress of his workday and the discomfort of wet and sticky clothes disappear. He caught his image in the mirror, and cursed under his breath. Edgeworth, of course, looks infinitely better in red.
From the bathroom he grabbed two clean towels, one for his own hair and one for the cat's, if it hadn't dried up from the heater. It looked up when he sat down next to it, a towel around his shoulders and the other in his hands.
"It's really soft, and it will dry you right up. I promise." As gently as possible, he wrapped the towel around the cat's body, and rubbed it softly.
And the cat purred. Not for very long, but it definitely purred. When it was done purring, it hissed at him, and Phoenix took the towel away immediately. He was, weirdly, already used to this kind of behaviour from the cat. How it would enjoy getting pet for a while, and then almost seem to realise or conclude that it was embarrassing, signalled to him through a hiss or an attempt at a bite or a scratch. But it never actually bit or scratched him, and would typically meow what Phoenix took as an apology right after. A very sophisticated and well-mannered cat, definitely unusual for a stray.
"Are you hungry? I have a bag of food in the cupboard." Yeah, Phoenix, because cats can understand you, nevermind respond. "It belonged to my upstairs neighbour, but her cat died last week, so she asked if I wanted it." Oh, he was lonely. Talking to a stray cat that was taking shelter in his house. When exactly was the last time he went out? Did something fun? It had to have been weeks, if not months, ago, if he was talking to a cat that wasn't his own.
The cat happily trotted after him to the kitchen, where he put a reasonable amount of food into a bowl he never used. The poor thing must be hungry, living on the streets. But when he put the bowl down to grab himself some leftover chow mein from the fridge, the cat didn't eat. Not when Phoenix was scooping his own food onto a plate, not when he was waiting for it to be microwaved, not when he opened a cold beer to go with his food.
"Why aren't you eating? It's okay, I won't hurt you."
It nudged the bowl with its head, moving it ever so slightly towards the dinner table, and meowed insistingly.
"Oh, you just don't want to eat here, do you?" Phoenix took the warm plate of sort of evenly reheated noodles and his beer, and put them on the coffee table. It was Friday evening after all - not that he didn't allow himself to eat in front of the TV on other nights - and that meant any and all societal rules were completely off the table. Then he took the food bowl, and some chopsticks from the drawer to eat his own food with, and moved those to the living room as well. The cat followed obediently.
Cats probably shouldn't be taught to eat on the couch, but there was no other place where it would eat. Sitting next to Phoenix like a friend, both of them eating, with the TV turned on to some cooking show, and therefore not nearly loud enough to drown out the cat's crunching or Phoenix's slurping. It almost made him feel like a normal person, and not like Phoenix Wright, attorney extraordinaire by day and certified mess by night.
It was then that he knew it for certain. He was going to adopt a cat, preferably this one, but a cat, no matter what. If only he would ever see it during the day, so he could take it to a vet. Emergency vets, which were no doubt open at this hour, were not meant for things like getting a stray cat examinated, vaccinated and chipped, and he didn't even want to bother them with the request. He wondered how old the cat was. It definitely didn't look to be an elderly cat. With his limited knowledge on cats, he estimated the little guy - yes, he was pretty certain it was male, though he'd definitely been neutered if he was - to be around 7 years old.
He immediately got a taste of how mischievous cats can be, though it didn't bother him much. The cat, once finished with its own food, pushed his bowl off the couch (it didn't break, thanks to the rug Phoenix had bought only a few days ago), and then went on to bug him for a piece of chicken. One quick Google search later, he decided that one piece shouldn't hurt, so he placed it on the couch, from where it disappeared almost instantly. Of course, the little guy wanted more.
"No, it might be bad for you. There's onion and garlic in here, you can't eat that." Sad meow. "Seriously, I'd rather be extremely careful. You can't have any more." Angry meow. "You'll thank me later, I'm sure."
The cat turned its back on him and curled up. At least it still seemed to be comfortable with him. And it was forgiving, too, because by the time Phoenix got up to do the dishes, it followed him, possibly in search of more food, possibly to be in the way, but curling around his legs and meowing happily regardless.
It let Phoenix scratch and pet it while they watched TV, purring again, not snapping at him this time. It begged for Phoenix's crisps by endlessly headbutting his hands, and even attempted to steal some while he wasn't looking, which he only narrowly avoided. When bedtime came around, it started running about and getting in his way. And Phoenix enjoyed every second of it.
The cat stayed in the living room, despite a few attempts to get it on the bed. Every time it would run away or jump off, clearly not yet interested in sleeping that close to him.
"Suit yourself, you can take the couch." Which it did. Phoenix went to sleep with a smile. Maybe he had endeared himself to this cat too quickly, a cat that might even belong to someone else. Or maybe he had just found his new life companion. Either way, he had made a friend. A feline friend, but a friend nonetheless.
Which only made it sadder when he woke up the next morning and couldn't find the cat anywhere. Not in his bedroom, under the bed or in the closet, not in the bathroom, not in the living room, under the couch or the table, not in the kitchen, and yes, he even checked all the cabinets just in case. It was gone.
And so were his new red sweater and favourite sweatpants.