"Not the one sleeping in the litter box."

"You'll regret that," John said, ringing up a bag of food and other cat essentials. "Look, Mr..."

"McKay," Rodney said, poking his finger through the bars of the cage to let the tiny Siamese kitten - the one not happily dozing in a nest he'd made of clean litter - swat at it.

"Mr. McKay," John said. "That one's a little...spirited."

"Good," Rodney said. "Spirit is good."

"Oh my god!" Rodney yelled into the phone. "It's insane! It broke out of that cardboard thing and clung to my head all the way home! I barely got it into the house. It's at the top of my curtains hissing at me, and I think it's plotting my death!"

"Told ya," John said. "Spirited."

"Possessed! Get over here. And bring the stupid one with you!"

one month later

"Yeah," John said, pleasure-drunk, his head rolling back on the pillow. "Yeah, Rodney. Do that again."

Rodney hitched John's leg up slightly higher and pushed into him, slow and sweet. "That?" he said, breathless.

"Okay, okay," John moaned. "That's good, too." He arched his back and tightened his hands on Rodney's shoulders.

"Fuck!" Rodney said, and pulled out suddenly.

John groaned, "God..." and tried to follow, but Rodney sat back on his heels.

"They're doing it again," Rodney said, pointing.

Sure enough, the kittens, Frank and Joe, were sitting on the nightstand, watching avidly. Rodney reached out, trying to shoo them away. Joe obligingly jumped down.

"Fuck!" Rodney stuck his bleeding finger into his mouth. "That cat is psychotic!"

John watched as Frank jumped to the floor and walked away, his tail switching smugly back and forth.

John pulled Rodney's injured finger toward him and kissed it, groping for Rodney's cock with the other hand.

"Spirited," he said.