Kurt doesn’t need a cat. He doesn’t even necessarily want a cat. He’s not opposed to cats in general, he just doesn’t want one in his apartment, clawing at his flea market furniture or shredding his vintage scarves. Besides, he’s never been fully convinced that an animal that does its business in a box of sand should be kept indoors. Santana and Brittany have a Siamese that has a horrible habit of climbing in bed with them while they’re having sex. Santana claims it’s the yowling and high-pitched moaning that lures it up there, makes it feel comfortable.

No thank you.

But when Kurt sees the shivering creature cowering behind a dumpster in an alley near home, he knows immediately that he has to rescue the poor thing.

Because it’s a black cat, and today is Halloween.

The cat won’t become a permanent resident, he reassures himself. He’s only offering it one night of refuge. Kurt doesn’t want some depraved teenaged kid or superstitious asshole finding and harming the little guy. So he’ll take him home, and then, on November 1st, Kurt will deliver him safe and sound to their local no kill cat shelter, where he can be examined, given a clean bill of health, and put up for adoption.

Until then, Kurt will give the beastie food and water … and a bath.

Maybe three.

He feels awful carrying the thing at arm’s length as if it’s a nuclear warhead, but after the infamous bedbug incident of three years ago, he isn’t looking forward to a flea infestation, too.

He itches all over just thinking about it.

But most of all, he feels terrible about doing this to Blaine. Blaine wants a cat so badly, but Kurt can’t agree to one right now. They’re still in the struggling student stage of their lives. They rarely have the energy to give one another attention, let alone an animal, and they’re just getting by. If it weren’t for Kurt’s job at the diner, his exceptional couponing skills, and the portion of Blaine’s trust fund they agreed he would use to cover his half of the bills, they would be eating Velveeta shells and cheese instead of actual food. He can’t justify adding the upkeep of an animal to that tally. Food isn’t the only expense they’d have to take into account. Vet bills alone could bankrupt them if, God forbid, something should go wrong with the animal. And Kurt knows Blaine. Blaine would spend every last cent he had to nurse the thing back to health.

He should call Blaine, tell him what he’s doing and why, but his phone is in his pocket, and he can’t get to it with one hand holding his attaché, and the other cradling the fuzz ball. He doesn’t want to give Blaine false hope by bringing home this kitty, doesn’t want him to think that there’s any chance of him staying, even if he is the adorablest kitten in all the world, with a squishy face and piercing green eyes.

Even if he has the sweetest meow in all the universe.

And even if Kurt may have already started thinking of names for him …

Kurt sighs. No. He has to stick to his guns. Kitten Harington cannot stay. Kurt said no cats. He has good reasons for not getting a cat; he just has to keep reminding himself of them.

Something about money … and pooping in a box.

Were those the only two? He swears there were more.

Kurt narrows down what he’s going to say to Blaine when he walks into the apartment. He’s going to cut to the chase before Blaine can get the wrong idea, explain the situation, be simple and direct …

… all of which flies out the nearest window when Kurt walks in to the apartment and Blaine meets him at the door. Blaine spots the kitten in Kurt’s hand and his whole face lights up.

“Oh my goodness! Kurt! Who’s this little fella?”

“We’re not keeping him,” Kurt says without thinking. He had to. He could see it in Blaine’s eyes, how quickly he was falling in love with Henry Kittinger. “It’s just, I saw him in an alley, and you know it’s Halloween. And he’s a black cat, Blaine!” Kurt insists as if Blaine is arguing and not staring at his fiancé with a mixture of amusement and nerves. “You just know some idiot is going to do something unspeakable to him, and I couldn’t leave him. I wouldn’t be able to have fun tonight if I knew he was out in the cold, hiding and scared.”

“It’s all right, Kurt,” Blaine says, scratching Kitten Caboodle on his furry forehead. “I understand.”

“Thank goodness.” Kurt breathes a sigh of relief, thrusting Fred Kitteh-staire into Blaine’s arms when he remembers – fleas. “I’m so glad you understand. Whoo!” Kurt puts down his bag and starts unbuttoning his coat. “Well, we’ll need to make a small potty place in a corner for him (God, I hope he uses it), and buy him some cat food. Oh…” Kurt stops taking off his coat when he outlines the logistics of having a feline boarder, one as young as Sir Kitten-stein. “You don’t think he’s going to be lonely here all by himself, do you? I mean, he’s so vewy, vewy little,” Kurt coos, pulling a face at Sir Lawrence O-Kitteh-ier.

“Oh, well, maybe,” Blaine answers with an unusual amount of apprehension. “But, then again, maybe not.”

“Why?” Kurt asks, looking up at his fiancé with a quizzically wrinkled brow. “Did Mercedes cancel? Did you change your mind about going?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Blaine chuckles. “I just think that, maybe, he won’t be lonely because … he’ll be hanging out with the black cats … I … brought home.”

Kurt raises his eyes slowly, peering up at Blaine, cheeks turning red as a radish. He peeks behind Blaine, still cuddling Tracy Kit-burn, and stares past him at a living room filled with black cats. Kurt doesn’t know how he didn’t notice them all. Three of them are circling his feet, looking curiously up at the new arrival. They seem to be adult cats, coats gleaming in varying stages of partially damp, which means that Blaine brought them home, bathed them, and then … what? Went out looking for more?

“Blaine…” Kurt says, but bites his hypocritical tongue when he catches himself scolding.

“I’m sorry, Kurt,” Blaine says, removing the cat climbing his right pant leg and setting it gently on the floor. “I know you don’t want a cat, but I was talking to Dorothy down at the bodega, and she said that last year someone stole her shop cat. She got it back safely, thank goodness, but a lot of black cats weren’t so lucky. And then I saw a couple of cats and thought, you know, like you, that it’d be just for the one night. But then I saw one more … and one more … and I think they actually started following me home.” Blaine pauses, anticipating a lecture, but when he doesn’t get one, he continues. “But, I understand that you don’t want a cat,” he ends sadly, holding Kitty McCuddleCuddles close to his chest. “But, it’s just for the one night, to make sure they’re safe, and then it’s … it’s off to the shelter.”

Kurt watches the black cats lounging around their apartment, draped on every piece of furniture, lying in every patch of sunlight coming in through the windows, stretching out on their bed, content in the knowledge that they are warm and safe for the night. Then he looks back at Blaine, nuzzling the tiny kitten with his nose, the kitten purring with eyes shut, so calm it looks ready to fall fast asleep.

It’s such a small kitten in comparison to its companions, Kurt thinks. It definitely won’t take up too much room. It probably won’t eat all that much. And as for the vet … there are programs. The vet mobile goes through the neighborhood twice a month.

They can make it work.

“Well, how about all of them except for Bela here,” Kurt suggests, giving the kitten a scratch and his fiancé a kiss on the cheek.

“Really?” Blaine asks, peeping up over the kitten’s head, that effervescent smile returning for an encore.

“Yeah,” Kurt says. “Really. But you have to promise me …”

“I’ll take full responsibility. 100%. I’ll take him to the vet, get him all his shots, I’ll clean the litter box …”

“And …”

“And …” Blaine searches Kurt’s face for the thing he’s forgetting, cheeks burning when he remembers it, “I’ll lock him in the bathroom while we’re having sex.”

Kurt gives Blaine a half hug, careful not to crush the newest member of their family. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”