Please forgive me for this work. It was a hyper little plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone, and I am perfectly aware that I am strange and a complete idiot.

Sometimes the loneliness was just too hard. It wasn't that he didn't love his human, and it wasn't that he couldn't put up with her friends—especially when they were willing to lend a warm lap. But sometimes. . . sometimes Crookshanks didn't even know what he was looking for. There was only so much time that babysitting humans and scratching furniture required, leaving open the forlorn hours of the night to wander aimlessly, completely alone.

Was there no one else out there? Did no other half-kneazle hybrid or any other sort of somewhat intelligent cat seek out him?

And then, one day, the impossible happened. Her.

She was scouting the halls with her human, all the image of a mean, tough girl with nothing but spite at the world. She was beautiful in that strange, shadowy way.

But he could see through it all.

"Mrs. Norris," he heard her human say. A Mrs.? That didn't phase Crookshanks. The things cats were called by their humans these days. . . titles tended to be meaningless.

The courtship was slow, at first, but it was how they both preferred it. They were cats, after all, not stupid slobbery dogs incapable of truly recognizing their emotion. But they deeper their love became, the harder it was to be apart.

Soon only one thing was needed: they stole a broom and flew off to Vegas.

The humans weren't too happy, especially Mrs. Norris' when the children were born, but she and Crookshanks didn't care.

Because sometimes kitties fall in love.