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Outside the rain struck softly against the windows, a pitter patter that adds a counterpoint to the roiling of waves against the rocky coast, and the occasional rumble of thunder echoes deeply in the young man's tired, tired chest. All things considered it was a stressful week, and Klaus is exhausted. His eyes burn from lack of sleep and too many hours spent soldering on an electrical panel - he wants little more than to fall atop the sheets and never think another thought in his life.
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As Klaus trudges towards his bed lightning flashes just beyond window, illuminating his scattered belongings on the floor in stark chiaroscuro, a bittersweet still-frame of a life on hold. While that in itself is hardly worth noting, the movement Klaus catches from the windowsill is.
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Deep slate which could almost be construed as blue, an Alolan Meowth lies sprawled on her side against the window, her paw absently swiping at the nearby blinds cord. She trills a curious note upon seeing Klaus, the sound repeating at a higher timbre when the man asks, "Where the hell did you come from?" In response to the question the little Meowth hops from her perch and onto the bed to bat at the pokeball lying there. Brow furrowed, Klaus crosses the room and picks up the unassuming sphere to pluck off the note taped to the side - one of the other workers must have dumped his mail on the bed if the letters encouraging him to fill out credit card offers is any indication.
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Unfolding the paper reveals his father's handwriting.
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Klaus,
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Remember how Hedy had kittens a few months ago? Most of them found good ships to serve on, but I never found the right place for this little girl. When you came by last week you seemed down. I thought a little bit of home out there at the end of the world might be some comfort.
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Her name is Traute.
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Love, [break]
Dad
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Eyes burning now for a wholly different reason, Klaus blinds rapidly and then rubs at his eyes. He refolds the letter, swallowing around the lump in his throat, and sits on the edge of the bed.
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"Hey, Traute."
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With a low mewl of curiosity, Traute slinks over to Klaus's side to sniff at his now-extended hand to offer a little kitten-lick. His laugh rough at the action, warmth seeps into Klaus as the Meowth curls against his hip, her little paws drawn up under her into a perfect loaf, adding to the melody beyond with a shockingly loud purr. "Hey, Traute," he mumbles thickly again, his fingers burying into plush grey fur.
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Who knew such a little thing could be so potent of medicine for melancholy?

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