Jennifer's first pet was a cat. She remembered the day it was gifted to her as though it was yesterday.

It was her fifth birthday, and she awoke to her father's gentle calls. A pink ribbon tied to her doorknob led her downstairs to a cat carrier in the same colour.

Sixteen years later, she still fondly remembered that warm feeling as she flung the door open and reached out for the creature.

This was probably why she tolerated Rowan bringing the fleabitten little thing into their kitchen and plonking it down onto the bench, most likely infecting every surface in the place.

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It was very still, and its fur was mostly matted, but it was otherwise quite a cute little thing.

"What should we do with it?" Rowan frowned.

"I don't know," she replied. "Probably take it to a vet. Or an animal shelter."

"Right, right," he nodded. "But..."

"What?"

"We could, I don't know... keep it?"

She scoffed. "And do what with it? You know full well neither of us have the money to look after a cat."

"Aww, come on Jen," he pleaded, lifting the cat aloft and dangling it in front of her face. "Can't you see he needs us?"

Jennifer fought to keep the no-nonsense expression on her face, but it was no use.

"Fine," she conceded. "But we need to get it cleaned first. I'm not a fan of fleas."

Rowan beamed at her toothily.

She absentmindedly noted that it was the first time he'd ever done that in a non-sarcastic way.