#nervous cat

[five-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

after joking around with @revenyance we had the idea of the gnarpians in regretevator being able to converse by illuminating their whiskers in different patterns for when they’re out of earshot or in he prescence of ‘lesser’ species and I couldn’t help myself from making it with some basic examples

[struckspeechless]

I went to a cat cafe with my friend for her birthday and one of the cats was really shy at first but he was really good at hiding

[felassan]

More on the Varric deaths stuff, two, as well as on DAII Exalted March and DA:I -

"This expansion was going to be called Exalted March, and here, Varric was going to finally step out from the interrogation room so we could play in the present day, so to speak. It was also here that Varric - in a climactic confrontation new villain Corypheus, introduced in Legacy - was going to die. "So what I wanted to do with the expansion was: there's a lot of stuff we cut and I really wanted to put a bowtie on the Dragon Age 2 story," former lead writer David Gaider told me earlier this year while chatting about the creation of the Dragon Age world for a piece about maps. "It had the confrontation with Corypheus and the whole thing. We'd introduced him in a DLC, which I didn't want to do, but we did it, so I wanted to sort of tie that off. And I wanted to kill Varric because he was the viewpoint character and I'm like, 'This is his story, it needs to end with his death.' "He was the unreliable narrator, right?" he added. "I felt like it had to end with him. So we had this great moment where Corypheus is using the Red Lyrium and it's growing out of control, but [Varric is] a dwarf so he's a little bit immune, so he's able to do the Wrath of Khan Spock thing and get in close and destroy it. And he gets Corypheus enough so the party can take him out, but then he's dying from Red Lyrium poisoning so there's this nice moment with him and Hawke as Hawke says goodbye. And with his death, the story ends. And I felt that's appropriate for Dragon Age 2's arc." Exalted March, however, was never released. BioWare cancelled Exalted March to refocus the studio on new game Dragon Age: Inquisition and the move to new engine Frostbite. The expansion was "cannibalised", as Gaider put it, talking to me, and expanded to become Inquisition. Which is how Corypheus suddenly became the main villain in Inquisition, and how Varric managed to stay alive. It didn't stop Gaider trying to kill him again, though. "I tried to kill him in Inquisition," he told me. "I think mainly because I didn't get to do it in [DA2]. And everyone was like, 'But the Inquisitor isn't Hawke! It lacks the same meaning.' And I was like, 'Yeah, I guess you're right.'" Still, it was a difficult thing to let go of. "I was a little bit upset," he said, "and I remember I went and said - because they wanted to start work on Dragon Age 3 immediately - 'Well, you can make me do that, yes, and I will just be the guy in the meetings doing this [he makes a standoffish posture]. Or you can let me go home for a month or so, get this out of my system and grieve, and I will come back. And I swear, when I come back, I will be ready to go.'" He was true to his word, but he still wasn't entirely done trying to kill Varric. In March last year, Gaider revealed there were once plans for Corypheus to attack the Inquisition's mountain castle base, Skyhold. "The threat of Corypheus after Haven was never truly realised," Gaider tweeted. "An attack on Skyhold would have upped the ante. Maybe I could have killed someone finally... but instead, Corypheus remained a remote villain you chased but were rarely chased by. "By the way," he then added, "if you're wondering who I would have killed in Skyhold, given the chance, the answer is obviously Varric. That dwarf was meant to die in the (cancelled) DA2 expansion and escaped his fate despite having been in my crosshairs ever since." Varric survived again. "After Dragon Age Inquisition came out I'd already left the Dragon Age team," he told me."

[source]

what I'm reading, if I understood it right, is that Varric has survived death at least 3 times thus far.. (；・∀・)

[kewpiekills]

fish x mammal yuri

[thereweredragonshere]

Could you draw the gang as cats?

Actually got way too invested in this drawing. Not entirely sure if some of these colourations are genetically possible in cats but who cares. Look at them!!!!

[mossy-paws]

Clementine returns. (PHIGHTING!)

deciding to accumulate all of these into a singular post to make my life easier + so that I can have some more food for you all,,, anyways.

My. My son. Clementine my baby my sweet boy,,, Some of these ARE actually reposts but the first 2 are for sure not :3! (I think at least LMAO), enjoy this :3! I must go back to my hole /silly

(Also a bonus as well )

[catawampuscorner]

I think Hunter would like this shirt :) Happy July, everyone!

✨Patreon✨| Commissions | Bluesky

@ahsoka1 @all-hallows-evie @onwardsandsideways @pentowrite-wingstofly @pyromanicdaydreamer @dangerousstrawberrypie @clonecyare @youngcheesecaketale @techissweet @ladykatakuri @freerunner4427 @weridgreenaurora @burning-quesadilla @constellation-savvy @chromia7567 @ahsokatano-thetogruta @my-flights-of-fantasy @darkangel4121 @zoeyserpentluck @theproblemwithstardust @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life  @ladysongmaster @yellowflicker09 @mmmdixie @needlefrost @queencousland101 @imrowanartist @bloom-domino-akrum @evergreen-lyricist ​​ @molly-mcgiftens @korribanarchive ​​  @victoryandlife​ @negative-ghostrider @screamingmadvoid @moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom @zaya @darknight-brightstars @trickstermoose67 @arkred @theredshirtsarecoming @mis-mcgifstenn @elismor @coline7373 @nekotaetae @dangraccoon @mandogab @jediava @thatgreyjedi @ladykatakuri @droids-you-are-looking-for @saphirlefanz @u-got-lokid @zaya-mo @yellowflicker09 @jonathananubian @AhsokaTanoFan25 @razor0-0 @thatgreyjedi @the-bad-batch-baroness @nerd-ika @quinchronicles @trixie2023 @sunshinesdaydream

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Chuck your name in here if you want to be tagged!

[carrotcakecrumble]

GIRLS girls ☝️☝️new favourite thing just launched

the Larry the Cat (the cat that lives at 10 Downing Street) twitter account has suddenly gone very vocal about politics due to all the far-right riots happening in the UK right now, but because there’s no notifier about what posts are made from the pov of Larry the cat and what posts are directly coming from the admins mouth, all the comments are replying to the posts as if they’re engaging in nuanced political debate with the cat himself

[moomeecore]

Its officially official! I have a store now!!

Very excited to announce that I'm finally selling some of my art! People have asked about it before, and I began my "start selling art online" project in....early 2022. Its taken a while....

My store includes prints, magnets, and stickers!

I built my own site, partially because I just wanted a website anyway, so I'd have a portfolio to showcase my art - since previously the only place I had my art online was my tumblr (not great for showing real life people) and partially because etsy pissed me off when i tried to use it

Check out my store here!!

[copia]

not to get dramatic but one of copia’s dissociative translations in his troubled head was seeing sister imperator’s saucer of pills as a mug of tea and biscuits. he’s clearly an unreliable narrator who sees things we can’t trust to be true; going off of this, can we trust that the mug of tea he was handed before the encore was actually that? who’s got time to down a whole mug of hot tea when you’ve still got three songs to perform? isn’t it a strange beverage to give him out of all the other options? don't get me wrong i'm absolutely not being serious here (also not insinuating that copia is ill like seestor, i'm going down the psychological route) but what i'm saying is he could have been handed medication he didn't want to acknowledge

[groovygrub]

[foxeroni]

SCAR. SIR. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN.

[gray-thistleclan]

is it a nest made of cherries a nest for cherries or a nest on a cherry tree?

[sleepyc63]

drew myself hugging spearmaster because i want to hug spearmaster

i love spearmaster

no shading cause i cant decide what i like more

i love spearmaster

[bigthecatirl]

somebody got in the catnip again

wanted an excuse to draw big making this stupid face

+sleeby big

[diyasgarden]

betting on losing dogs cats

a story of a stray (patrick zweig) and a stray (kitten)

When Patrick finds it, he thinks the cat is dead. 

It takes him a moment to even recognize what it is, first assuming the little dark speck under the streetlight is just some unfortunate roadkill. A racoon or skunk. Maybe even an overgrown rat. The patch of grass it lays on is close enough to the narrow parking lot that all it would take is one hasty driver to swerve onto the curb and leave it for dead. It’s only when he pushes himself off the wall of the roadside shop and towards the light can he make out its little paws and upturned ears. 

It’s a bit odd for a cat to be out here in the first place. Far out on the interstate and away from any city. A place between places, but not a destination itself. He himself only stopped here for the pack of Marlboro Reds now in his back pocket. If he believed in a higher power, he’d take the dead cat as a sign to quit smoking. He opts for another drag instead. 

It’s on its side with its paws outstretched and eyes closed, the street light forming a warm halo around its body. Its fur is simultaneously scruffy and groomed in a way that makes it unclear if the cat is a stray or not. Although Patrick has a hard time imagining anything laying on the ground like this is loved in any capacity. Maybe it had owners it slipped away from. Or owners who let it go. There isn’t any blood either, so he can’t even tell if it’s roadkill. From its position to its stillness, it all feels peaceful. A hazy scene which looks less like a dead cat and more of an artist's rendition of one. 

He pulls the cigarette from his lips and languidly exhales. Without his permission, his legs bend down to stroke the cat’s sable fur. His hand tepidly extends and just as he is about to indulge his impulse, the creak of the store door’s hinge snaps him out of the trance.

His eyes flicker to the couple stepping out. While they look his age they sport smiles that give them a sprightly joy he now lacks. His expression turns sheepish as he remains squatted, arm out. They’re too engrossed in their own conversation to even notice Patrick. Their voices blend with the noises on the road and his gaze trails them back to their car, before he pushes himself up. Eyes drifting back down to the cat. 

He lifts the cigarette to his lips and looks to the side, away from the Carvaggio of a corpse. His eyes settle on the interstate and the cars who zoom by. His next challenger is two states over. If he is lucky, it will be another five hours on the road (it’ll take him seven). Yeah, you should get back to your car.

He drops the cigarette to the ground, allowing himself one last look at the cat as he grinds the cigarette butt into the pavement. This time he sees its paw twitch.

The cat’s nose sluggishly presses against his thumb and its whiskers brush against a callus on his hand. A soft, ticklish sensation Patrick would enjoy more if it wasn’t for the dull drone of the fan above him. His head tilts up to watch its jagged movement, expecting it to fall down on him any second. 

The low walls have a grimy yellow hue and if he squints he can make out the faint outline of cracks. His nose wrinkles at the stale wet-dog smell — which really should be reported on Google reviews. He takes it all in and is hit with a sense of deranged nostalgia for the crappy motel rooms he’s stayed in. The type of place you could fleetingly carve a home in, if you blurred around the edges. There is a somber appreciation at the fact that this shelter is the only one open at this hour. That even now, this is the sort of place to find him. 

He looks at the elderly woman behind the front desk, the only other person here. Her eyebrows droop to her eyes, which flick every few seconds to the clock overhead, but never to him. Her nose is buried into one of those cheap novels sold in the check-out aisles of grocery stores. A book not nearly compelling enough for the comical way she clings to it, but admittedly an astute way to ignore his presence. 

He lets out a sharp exhale and parts his lips to speak, but is cut short by the feeling of velvety fur shifting in his hands. His eyes dip down once more to the little thing, tracing its frail and dainty shape. It's too small to be anymore than a few weeks old. A kitten.

It sticks out its tongue and his finger instinctively moves to feel its sandpaper-like texture. Has he ever held a kitten before? He doubts he has ever been trusted to hold anything this young in his life. Does he even know anyone who had a kitten? 

No.

He knew someone with cats though. 

The corners of his lip involuntarily twitch upwards as he remembers a tabby who would crawl up onto his lap whenever he was around. 

“I don’t get why he likes you so much,” Art told him once, as if Patrick knew why Grandma Donaldson’s cat preferred him. The blonde ran a finger over the red scratch to the left against his pale skin, the little orange beast’s favorite scratching post. 

“Well he has good taste,” Patrick quipped back in response with a lopsided smirk, earning a laugh from the blonde. Or was it a scoff? The corners of his lip dip down once more, eyebrows knotting as he tries to recall.

It had to be one of the two. 

Could it have been both? 

What was even the name of the cat? Something with an S. Sebastian? 

Fuck this.

Not like any of it matters anyway. 

Art’s grandmother is dead. 

The cat probably is too. 

None of this matters. 

He feels the kitten’s tongue scratch his thumb once more, and his attention is brought back to the creature in his hands. Its amber eyes flutter open for a second before shutting again. It faithfully repeats this motion and Patrick is overwhelmed with the sense it is stuck between life and death. Purgatory? Not quite. More like it hasn’t decided if it wants to remain in this life or move on to the next. To live or to die.

He wants to hit himself for his next thought. 

You’d be better off dead. 

“Well, definitely a stray,” are the first things the woman says when she finally acknowledges his presence. His frown deepens into a grimace, but is quickly washed away with a more neutral expression. If she notices, she says nothing. The woman’s finger runs back and forth over the kitten’s delicate spine, as Patrick tentatively places it on the treen desk in front of her. . 

“So you’ll take it?”

The woman’s finger abruptly stops the moment the words leave his lips, just watching the little creature roll around. The ragged hum of the fan turns oppressive as he waits for her to speak, but she only turns her head up to him instead. She sports a frown which is equal parts pitiful and honest, her eyes piercing into his with little wrinkles that imitate her lips.  

“Well in cases like this…” she starts in a tentative voice usually reserved for children, but her voice fades into the background. He doesn’t catch anything after that, his focus shifting to the bile forming in his throat. 

An acutely sadistic part of him wants to laugh at himself. Mock the asinine belief that he could save this kitten. What did he expect? That this shit show of a shelter would magically nurse this dying creature to life? It’s hilarious to him now. Another joke with him at the punchline. 

The woman continues on about sedation and tranquilizers, but it remains a distant murmur, eyes drifting down to the kitten. He watches it open its mouth and lets out a noise so soft, he may as well have imagined it. 

Maybe he did. 

He probably did. 

Not that it matters. 

For Patrick, it’s the only sound in the room. 

You did the right thing.

You did the right thing. 

You did the right thing. 

You did the right thing.

You did the right thing. 

This is what he tells himself as he hits 80 on the interstate. He holds his foot steady on the accelerator, eyes glued to the endless highway in front of him. After the day he’s had, what’s a bit of speeding? The whole kitten debacle was an hour long detour, and now he doubts he’ll even make it to the tournament in time. Not that it would stop him from trying. Why else would he be speeding? It’s all justified. 

There's a slight disapproving trill, and from the corner of his eye he shoots a look at the kitten now in his passenger seat. It sleepily raises its head to meet his gaze, the only part of its body peeking out from the worn, gray shirt he’s wrapped it in.

It purrs once more. 

“Okay sure, I’ll slow down” 

(He doesn’t)

author’s note: finally explored a concept that has been lingering in my head since i wrote these cat headcanons. this fic is different than anything else i’ve shared, so please share your thoughts! shout out to @pparacxosm for pulling me out of fanfic writer retirement !! and also shoutout to sebastian. realest cat out there!! i love you and your owner @apatheticrater !!

art credit: i’m not sure who drew the smoking cat itself, but i made the yellow background-double cat graphic. if you know who the artist, let me know so I can credit them :)